Two hapless private detectives unknowingly uncover the crime of the century.
Set in 1970’s Los Angeles a mismatched pair of private eyes investigates the apparent suicide of a fading porn star. Neither of them are prepared for the hell they are about to unleash.
Our story starts with single father and licensed private detective Holland March (Ryan Gosling) who is hired to investigate the apparent suicide of famous porn star Misty Mountains. The trail leads him to a girl named Amelia (Margaret Qualley).
Along the way he encounters a more hands-on detective who’s also been hired to find the girl. This unlikely and unlicensed hero, Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe) is saviour of the naive and desperate. Healy uses brute force, brass knuckles and a gun to get what he needs.
The duo eventually decides to team up. Together they make one decent detective. Little do the men know that they have become embroiled in a plot that will push them to their limits and force them to risk everything they hold dear.
The two men drive around LA taking in the smog and porn while they track down Amelia. But the situation takes a turn for the worse when she vanishes and it becomes apparent that March and Healy weren’t the only interested party.
Amelia isn’t just any girl; she’s the daughter of the head of the Department of Justice. As the plot thickens it becomes clear that quick wits and even faster fists are required to crack this case. The detectives will have to take on a world of government conspiracies, eccentric goons and strippers to rescue the frightened youngster.
After the billion-dollar success of Iron Man 3 director Shane Black has returned to his roots with something much grittier. The Nice Guys is a tale of sleaze and slapstick in 1970’s LA.
Black has created a pitch perfect homage to 1970’s violent cinema. The chaotic chemistry between its chalk-and-cheese male stars is pure gold. It’s the complete package of slapstick, action and thriller all rolled up into one mesmerising movie. The Nice Guys is a reminder of what movies should be.
By Ruth Walker