The Harder They Fall

Wearing grindhouse and spaghetti influences on its creative sleeve, The Harder They Fall isn’t about evoking nostalgic charm as much as creating a merciless world of betrayal, greed, corruption, and revenge.

Indeed, it’s every outlaw for themselves, regardless of gang affiliation, in this subversive Western that explores familiar themes and settings through a fresh lens.

With style and attitude to spare, this audacious if ostentatious feature debut for British filmmaker Jeymes Samuel flips traditional racial politics and gender roles on the American frontier while benefiting from a terrific ensemble cast.

“While the events of this story are fictional, these people existed,” declares a title card, before the film immerses us in a rural landscape of ruthless violence and cutthroat brutality.

Heroes and villains are delineated right from the opening sequence, when notorious marauder Rufus Buck (Idris Elba) kills a preacher and his wife right in front of their young son.

The kid’s mental and physical scars are still apparent years later, when he’s a gunslinging cowboy named Nat Love (Jonathan Majors), leader of a gang that includes a sharpshooter (Eli Gathegi) and a brash quick-draw youngster (R.J. Cyler).

While trying to reconnect with an old flame, nightclub singer Stagecoach Mary (Zazie Beetz), Nat isn’t certain whether he can trust a lawman (Delroy Lindo) who tells him Rufus’ sidekicks Cherokee Bill (Lakeith Stanfield) and Trudy (Regina King) plan to rob a transport locomotive to free Rufus from custody.

That sends Nat’s gang into enemy territory with revenge on its mind. The ensuing collection of intense standoffs and bloody confrontations funnels toward an inevitable high-stakes final showdown to determine the last man or woman standing.

Like its characters, The Harder They Fall tends to shoot first and ask questions later, preferring to emphasize spectacle over substance. The screenplay by Samuel and Boaz Yakin (Remember the Titans) — which builds upon Samuel’s 2013 short film They Die by Dawn — indulges in many of the same genre tropes it seeks to playfully tweak.

There’s not much beneath the surface in terms of emotional depth, moral complexity, historical insight, or cultural perspective. However, the energy is infectious enough to ignore most of the anachronisms and embellishments.

While paying homage to Leone and Peckinpagh in particular, Samuel confidently showcases his own visual flourishes. In the process, he adds a worthwhile new chapter to Wild West mythology.

Rated R, 137 minutes.