The one member of the gang, Johnny says, that all the others want to be, remains a cool-looking enigma of absent personality, a void at the film’s heart.

Nichols shows us that even when it all goes sour, the excitement of this ridiculous and aggressive world is catnip to the born outsider.

Most contemporary westerns end up mourning a vanished era of compromised freedom. The Bikeriders doesn’t quite believe in that myth, but it still finds time to dampen a handkerchief as its shadow recedes. A flawed, fascinating film.

Even at over two hours, ‘The Bikeriders’ feels in the end like a series of sketches that never quite add up to the story that Nichols seems to want to tell.