“Dragged Across Concrete” (2018)
S. Craig Zahler doesn’t make political films. Or, at least that’s what he’d like you to think. “I’m not politically driven,” he told The Daily Beast while promoting “Dragged Across Concrete,” a pulpy thriller centered around two cops (Mel Gibson and Vince Vaughn) who are suspended after being caught on camera viciously beating an unarmed suspect. That’s right, folks: a film made in 2018 wherein a pair of racist cops played by two actors who have publicly aligned themselves with white supremacy, that features lines such as “Being branded a racist in today’s public forum is like being accused of being a communist in the ‘50s,” is not politically driven. Regardless, Zahler does occasionally stumble into some harsh truths— granted, to arrive at them you have to endure 159 minutes of racist diatribes regurgitated by an infamous anti-Semite and other social toxicities. The texture of the film is repugnant, to be sure, but framed beside its cinematic-ness—a lean and mean filmmaking style, a Blaxploitation-like dark funk soundtrack, a patience that makes for a climactic shoot out that goes on for 30 minutes— it at least is fascinating in its ugliness. Ultimately, Zahler’s nihilistic examination of the ambiguities of good and evil can’t help but expose an inherently racist system that punishes society’s most marginalized members, and whose cycle of economic impoverishment turns some to a life of crime. His compromised, nasty protagonists perpetuate this system: members of a militarized gang of white supremacists, whose only form of punishment is paid time off. ‘Dragged’ might be the cinematic antithesis to films like “Blindspotting,” but its repellent message is so blunt you’ll at least never forget its bruising blow.– MR
“Fear City” (1984)
“Fear City” is Abel Ferrara before his films were screened at prestigious international film festivals, back when he was still making scandalous, gutter-level grindhouse masterworks like “Ms. 45” and “China Girl.” “Fear City” offers viewers an icky, immersive time capsule of Times Square in its raw, dangerous, pre-gentrified form, and it’s a cult exploitation classic that features plenty of the director’s low-down signature obsessions. The police are a somewhat ancillary presence in “Fear City;” the film is mostly about a pair of grifters who manage exotic dancers in Manhattan and must deal with the fact that a psychotic slasher is targeting their clientele. However, Ferrara, savant of the underworld that he is, understands how ineffective and obstructive the police can be in a drastic situation that occurs outside the realm of traditional moral law. No one personifies this ineffectual-cop trope in “Fear City” better than Billy Dee Williams, who plays a proudly unscrupulous detective who mainly exists to make already-dire situations worse. “Fear City” proffers a terrifying scenario: a world where not only is the law nonexistent, but those who have been sworn to uphold it are effectively rendered useless. – NL
“Filth” (2013)
“Trainspotting” author Irvine Welsh specializes in writing disreputable, often disgusting characters, but he’s never given his fans a protagonist as piggish as D.S. Bruce Robinson in “Filth,” his most vulgar and controversial novel to date. James McAvoy plays Robinson in the rowdy film adaptation of Welsh’s book, which was directed by Jon S. Baird, of “Stan & Ollie” fame. Clearly, McAvoy relished being afforded the opportunity to play such a contemptible, piece-of-shit character, and he must have felt relief that at no point does Welsh’s xenophobic lawman make a misguided bid for audience sympathy. Robertson isn’t even a bad cop of the morally ambiguous variety: he knows he’s wicked, and he seems to enjoy the sense of grotesque power he freely wields over others. The unbridled lechery and cruel nihilism of Robertson’s persona proved grating for some viewers and critics, but it must be said that this is part of the point. “Filth” offers an ugly and revealing portrait of the modern police officer as a moral monster, one who’s all too happy to impose his horrible will on any poor soul he might cross paths with. – NL
“The French Connection” (1971)
Where would the films on this list be without William Friedkin’s Oscar-winning feature about hardened New York detective Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle? “The French Connection” is unquestionably the most imitated of the films on this list, but also the most morally complicated to reckon with in today’s landscape. Fifty years later, Friedkin’s tale of two cops (Gene Hackman and Roy Scheider) on the hunt for French heroin dealers in New York, is still the subject of opinion pieces surrounding the ethics of its depiction of systemic racism. While there are undoubtedly discussions to be had concerning Friedkin’s portrayal of unchecked racism, the film is arguably even more vital in today’s conversation than it was at the time of its release. Although the film never culminates in any type of retribution for Popeye, its lack of moral handwringing allows audiences to stew in the film’s elegiac climax – one that asks us to root for an unabashed racist to come out on top. It’s an unshakeable coup d’œil into the psyche of a volatile cop and the ultimately ineffective ways our laws protect the real evil in society while suppressing those at the bottom. – MR
“Fruitvale Station” (2013)
The tragedy in the story of Oscar Grant is that it has been told so many times. An unarmed Black civilian is targeted by police officers. The situation escalates to a lethal peak. Said Black civilian is then murdered. Cue social media outrage and futile virtue-signaling, then silence until the next police murder occurs. Ryan Coogler, who has gone on to have a spectacular career in Hollywood directing “Black Panther” and “Creed,” shows that he is tapped into a singular form of Black rage in his stirring film debut, “Fruitvale Station.” This is a film that helped make Michael B. Jordan a star, and its lived-in naturalist atmosphere is certainly a far cry from the fantastical heights of Wakanda. The film’s central set piece – a standoff that unfolds at the Oakland BART station where Grant was fatally shot – is depicted with unblinking clarity. The police are given no real reason to harass Grant and his friends, and the situation ends the only way it seems to these days: with needless, horrific Black death. Oscar Grant was someone’s son, lover, and friend, and “Fruitvale Station,” bless its heart, never lets us forget those facts. – NL
“The Glass Shield” (1994)
The ’90s were something of a golden era for Black filmmakers in Hollywood, ushering in groundbreaking films from directors like Bill Duke, Cheryl Dunne, Kassi Lemmons, and Ernest Dickerson. Unfortunately, one financial bomb spelled doom for Black filmmakers in a way that white men have never experienced. Charles Burnett, a legendary filmmaker who reinvigorated independent and Black cinema in 1978 with his debut, “Killer of Sheep,” toiled in obscurity for the next decade, until ’90s heavyweight, Miramax, backed his 1994 police drama, “The Glass Shield.” Burnett’s story follows a rookie deputy sheriff (Michael Boatman) as he navigates a predominately white, unabashedly racist Los Angeles sheriff’s department, only to get caught up in a cover-up involving a wrongfully accused Black man, Teddy Woods (Ice Cube). Unlike other sensational corrupt cop films of its era, Burnett’s portrayal of the cycle of corruption is relatively restrained, offering a more complex and thoughtful dissection of being a Black cop. While not quite as powerful or memorable as the director’s greatest works – Burnett has admitted Miramax’s interference compromised most of his vision – the film remains a vital examination of discrimination and how the system makes everyone on their payroll guilty by association. –– MR