Motor City

Detroit during the 1970s might be cool to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there, as Motor City vividly proves.

This ultraviolent revenge thriller vibrantly captures the period with more than just authentic fashion and hairstyles, neon-infused streetscapes, and an array of vintage muscle cars. It immerses us in a setting overrun by anarchic mayhem incited by rampant blue-collar crime and pervasive socioeconomic despair.

The hook is that there’s almost no dialogue, which winds up as a distracting gimmick — a forced choice in a film that otherwise lacks much subtlety and nuance. At its core, it’s a formulaic vigilante saga about a broken man seeking vengeance after a tragic loss.

The story takes place in 1977, when John (Alan Ritchson) is preparing to marry his waitress girlfriend, Sophia (Shailene Woodley), when he’s framed for a stash of drugs in his trunk and thrown in prison.

While he’s locked up, with John’s romantic memories providing him both comfort and motivation, he’s taunted by the slimy kingpin (Ben Foster) who perpetrated the crime, and doubles down by making moves on Sophia. That relationship predictably spirals.

Meanwhile, John’s chances at justice are scuttled by cops who are either indifferent (Ben McKenzie) or outright corrupt (Pablo Schreiber).

Eventually, John realizes he must be bold and create his own chance for redemption. He’s resilient and determined, with a big heart to offset his reckless impulses.

As directed with operatic intent by Potsy Ponciroli (Old Henry), the adrenaline-fueled confrontations are often punctuated by slow-motion or outbursts of brutal violence.

Ritchson (“Reacher”) fully commits to the role with a commanding physical presence, forced to act almost entirely using body language and facial expressions. It’s not his fault that the lack of spoken conversation winds up inhibiting our emotional investment or stifling peripheral character development.

At least the relative silence in the nonlinear screenplay by Chad St. John (Peppermint) allows for some nostalgic needle drops from Bill Withers, Fleetwood Mac, David Bowie, and others.

With style and attitude to spare, Motor City struggles to escalate the emotional stakes alongside its body count. It amounts to an intriguing genre experiment in which the ambition surpasses the execution.

Rated R, 103 minutes.