Logan Lucky

Logan Lucky here means no luck at all. Well, maybe the odd but brief illusion of good luck.

The redneck West Virginia family has a history of failure and disaster. But when the two Logan brothers, their sister Mellie and their con co-conspirators pull off a major heist, their luck seems to have changed. The Credence Clearwater song “(I Ain’t No) Fortunate Son” expresses their upbeat energy but foreshadows their doom. 

Their success promises to be short-lived. The one-armed bartender Clyde seems about to be seduced by the pretty, dogged FBI officer Sarah Grayson who won’t take “Case Closed” as an answer. Clyde (hangdog Adam Driver) is too nice, too vulnerable, too doomed, to resist her. 

Director Steven Soderbergh treats his white trash subject society with respect. The convict Joe Bang (the explosives expert, of course) has two standard issue moronic hillbilly brothers, but Joe himself is a brilliant intuitive talent with a solid foundation in science and an impressive strength of character. Ironically, Daniel Craig gets an “And introducing” credit at the end — for this is an all-new appearance for the reigning James Bond.

These hillbillies include heroes. The brothers’ patriotism cost them an arm and a leg. Clyde lost his arm in one of his two army stints in Iraq. The limp Jimmy incurred in service costs him his digging job at the racetrack. His “preexistent condition” is “a liability issue.” That phrase explicitly places this comic heist in the context of the current American political debate.

That is, this film gives face and voice to the disadvantaged, frustrated, have-not and ignored society that rose up and voted for Trump. The meticulously planned and executed robbery, which seems like their miraculous stroke of luck, stands in for their happy election result. But their relief is temporary, as the institutional threat at the end suggests. Their triumph is set to prove pyrrhic.

Jimmy’s decision to return the bulk of their unlawful score establishes this class as principled, wanting what’s their due and to meet their need and no more. Nor for them the oily smugness of the racetrack management which is satisfied with the insurance payment they scored on drummed-up estimates. That victim proves more corrupt and greedy than the robbers. He evokes Trump’s career of personally profitable bankruptcies. 

Our heroes have modest expectations of success. Mellie is a hairdresser. Jimmy’s ex-wife moves interstate so hubby can set up a new car dealership. Her young daughter wins the talent pageant by dropping the Beyonce umbrella song she planned and rewarding her dad with his favourite song, that paean to West Virginia, “(Take me home) Country Roads.” Her cracking little voice spurs the crowd to sing along.  This is American community, cheesy but real. 

  Our heroes’ success requires the brothers to enlist another set of brothers, Joe Bang’s. He also deploys another class of alienated and disadvantaged, the black convicts. Their riot succeeds because the vain warden (Dwight Yoakum) refuses to admit there can be a riot or a fire in his prison. The black force is abetted by the white vanity. 

The heist site is pure Americana — a speedway during a big Nascar race. There’s the moving LeAnn Grimes anthem, unfurled field-sized flags, the showy jets above. And mainly, underneath the competition and working class ambitions and diversion a network of pipes channels all the incoming flood of money into a vault, which for once the have-nots — our gang — empties. That’s a concise summary of America: a flashy patriotism covers the siphoning of all the poor folks’ money to the rich.  

One can see how this script lured Soderbergh out of his retirement from filmmaking. The plot is a sharp piece of clockwork, including the device of breaking two convicts out of jail for the heist and returning them unnoticed after. The characters are colourful, touching, funny and engaging. The specifics of the heist with its protagonists’ rise and fall are an irresistible analogue to Trump’s failure to “drain the swamp.” Left to themselves these characters manage to overcome the social and economic disadvantages laid on them. But in the end the system brings them down. In America the underclass cannot win, even when they briefly seem to.  Crime doesn’t pay — except for the bosses.
     This film’s warmth and humanity demonstrate that the privileged elite (e.g., a mainstream film director) and the yappy liberals in his audience can after all acknowledge the needs of the disadvantaged, the ill-represented, can respect their difference and end up rooting for them. They’re at least as American as the fat cats who exploit them. But as Trump reduces his presidency to self-dealing and self-service, these poor souls who invested their faith in him can’t win. They’re Logan lucky. Low men on the totem pole.