The Nice Guys

The Nice Guys is one of those movies that looks like it could go either way when you read the synopsis: two mismatched private eyes stumble through a seedy 1970s Los Angeles while trying to solve the case of a missing girl and the death of a porn star. I went in half expecting a pastiche of every buddy-cop comedy you’ve seen before, but what I got was something way sharper, funnier, and surprisingly heartfelt. Shane Black directs with the sort of confidence you wish more filmmakers brought to mid-budget comedies now. He manages to create a world that's sleazy but not suffocating, neon-lit and just cartoonish enough to let the actors cut completely loose.

Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe are maybe the last duo I’d have predicted to have such potent comedic chemistry. Gosling, especially, is a revelation here. He's hapless, often drunk, and has this absurd physical comedy that makes me wonder if he studied old Looney Tunes. One bit where he tries to keep a bathroom stall door shut while talking tough almost made me cry laughing. Crowe’s straight man routine gives the absurdity a solid anchor, and he’s somehow both menacing and weirdly gentle.

What really caught me off guard is how lived-in the film feels. The set design is wild, and everything feels sticky with the grime of 70s Los Angeles, from the billboards to the wallpaper. But there’s still a bit of Hollywood glitz in there that makes it fun to watch. The cinematography brings a weird sort of polish to all this chaos, so you never feel lost in the noise. Instead, it all just feels immersive.

Tonally, it bounces around—a lot. Sometimes, the script underscores real emotional loss, especially with Gosling’s character and his daughter (played by Angourie Rice, who, by the way, is great and keeps up with both leads). Then, just as quickly, it’ll dive into slapstick or reckless violence, and for the most part, this works. When the movie leans on its emotional moments, they actually hit. But sometimes, it blurs the line between silliness and seriousness to the point where an entire subplot feels like it’s flapping in the breeze.

Pacing-wise, The Nice Guys never really drags, though your mileage will vary if you’re allergic to movies where the plot is mostly a crunchy, convoluted excuse for the next gag. There’s a point where all the clues and twists stack up and you have to ask yourself, “Do I actually care about this mystery, or am I just enjoying the ride?” For me, it was more the latter. If you’re the kind who nitpicks plot logic, you might get antsy here.

The dialogue is probably my favorite part. It’s snappy, darkly witty, and rarely feels scripted in that forced, “we’re so clever” way that lesser comedies fall into. Gosling’s delivery in particular nails that sweet spot where he’s just dumb enough to be believable but not so over-the-top that he’s a parody. The quips feel like actual banter rather than punchlines stapled to monologues.

If there’s anything to complain about—besides the occasional plot thread that goes nowhere—it’s that the movie can feel pretty mean-spirited. The violence goes further than it needs to sometimes, and there’s a handful of scenes that try to be edgy but come off as indifferent to consequence. It doesn’t ruin the movie, but it leaves a bit of a bitter aftertaste when the credits roll.

Overall, The Nice Guys isn’t quite a modern classic, but it’s a high mark for comedies from the last decade. If you love movies like Kiss Kiss Bang Bang or early Tarantino, you’ll probably dig this. It’s sharp, messy, thrilling, and actually funny in a way that’s rare these days. And it deserves way more love than it got when it first came out.