Give me a brooding mid-1970s Detroit nightscape stained with grubby neon, drop a body with a severed leg off a building and crank up a David Bowie song and you have my attention. But director Potsy Ponciroli’s vicious revenge saga, Motor City , while impressively sustained on many levels and even fun in a mindless exploitation way, can’t get around a gimmicky script by Chad St. John populated with pulp-crime stereotypes in boilerplate situations.

A glowering Alan Ritchson brings gravitas by virtue of his hulking physical presence alone, but Shailene Woodley , Ben Foster and Pablo Schreiber are stuck playing characters too familiar to pack much heat.

Give me a brooding mid-1970s Detroit nightscape stained with grubby neon, drop a body with a severed leg off a building and crank

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