White Boy Rick

Even if its true-life events take place more than three decades ago, White Boy Rick doesn’t paint a very flattering portrait of Detroit.

Unfortunately for the downtrodden Motor City, this evocative but emotionally flat biopic about a teenage drug dealer turned FBI informant almost feels timeless in its illustration of rampant crime and socioeconomic despair.

We’re taken back to the 1980s, when the 15-year-old title character (Richie Merritt) lives with his weapons-dealing single father, Richard Sr. (Matthew McConaughey) and junkie older sister (Bel Powley).

Setting a poor example, Richard struggles to keep his kids out of trouble. “This is Detroit. If you ain’t on the take, you gettin’ your ass took,” father explains to son, referencing corrupt officials who turn a blind eye.

In order to get Richard out of a tough spot, federal agents convince Rick to befriend a group of drug dealers — they’re black, thus the titular nickname. He becomes one of their most loyal confidants, yet the undercover operation hits some snags. Eventually, Rick’s loyalties become torn as suspicion causes the walls to close in on all sides.

White Boy Rick is noteworthy only for the age of its protagonist. The depiction of cops and hustlers, pimps and prostitutes, and life on the streets otherwise isn’t very distinct or exciting. The typical rise-and-fall arc lacks depth in exploring Rick’s motives and his internal turmoil.

Although Rick is not a sympathetic character of his own volition, we root for him almost by default, being relatively well-adjusted compared to the widespread dysfunction around him. Merritt’s understated debut performance shows future promise.

McConaughey loses his trademark drawl in one of several underdeveloped supporting roles. Powley (The Diary of a Teenage Girl) is squandered despite a couple of powerful moments, as is Jennifer Jason Leigh as the primary FBI agent.

French filmmaker Yann Demange (71) approaches the material with an appropriately gritty visual texture, but the screenplay offers only half-hearted scrutiny of racial disparity and selective enforcement of harsh narcotics laws during the Reagan-era federal crackdown. There’s not much subtlety or surprise along its obligatory path to redemption, and the uneven second half is more tedious than thrilling.

Once you learn of Rick’s eventual fate, you realize this embellished portrayal probably isn’t telling the whole story. Perhaps a documentary treatment would have better served its subject.

Rated R, 111 minutes.