Jake is sweating bullets, having just quit his job and signed a $30,000-a-month lease on the new restaurant. Vince is telling him, "It's not a prison sentence." Wes and Estelle are conveniently having their meet-cute by the jukebox, while Roxie and Tony are back in the kitchen, about to be swept up in the "Isle of Joy" Vince is desperately trying to build.
They're tough to swallow as siblings, even if their odd-sock pairing is part of the point: Jake (Law) is a hustler perpetually at the edge of his means, living in a rented penthouse with loaned art on the walls; Vince (Bateman) is a recovering-he prefers "former"-addict who's always running some kind of scam, digging himself into holes for the thrill of getting back out.
There is a whiff of grandiosity about this crime drama's title, hinting at ambitions to say something a little bigger than usual for a movie about cowboys and Indigenous Americans concerning cultural identities and appropriation, the legacy of the old west, and so on. It doesn't quite lasso the bronco, but the ambitions of writer-director Tony Tost's yarn are ambitious and interesting, and he has at least assembled a cracking cast to tell it.
A good crime show should feel like the toxic, luxurious relief of a well-earned cigarette break. "God, I needed this," you sigh as you swill a nice, cold drink with your one hand while you exhale a nice cloud of smoke. Luckily, that's precisely how "Family Statements" feels, a solid-world building effort by Brad Ingelsby that's primarily interested in driving the plot forward. A truly expert crime serial knows how to build atmosphere, dangle new clues, and complicate our detective's troubled family life.
Mare of Easttown, which starred Kate Winslet as a small-town Pennsylvania police detective, was a terrific crime drama. As much a character study as a detective story, it made the most of both its characters and its locations. Writer-creator Brad Ingelsby leaned into the miniseries, or limited series, format: Because this was a one-time story, even the most central characters might die at any point, upping the tension considerably.
It wasn't yet another national media story telling Portland about itself, but rather a book review-of a novel, no less. Portlander Willy Vlautin's The Night Always Comes rendered the city's cost-of-living crisis through one woman's torment. Somehow, the book knit a lifelike portrait of systemic injustice into a quick, violent crime drama that careens through a single, momentous night-escorts, guns, cocaine, and a stolen Mercedes-without selling out its characters or its city.
Michael B. Jordan’s portrayal captures two distinct identities, offering a compelling exploration of duality while grappling with the film's themes of trauma and redemption.
I said if you help the Harrigans, the Harrigans will help you. You have not helped the Harrigans. Not at all. Okay? So now I, Kevin here, he's gonna lose his family, I'm gonna lose my family, both of us are gonna die, and others, yeah? Thanks to you, okay, and Eddie. So I don't think it's very fair that you don't share in some of that joy, you understand.
