American Night (2021)

American Night is the kind of neon-soaked neo-noir that doesn’t just show you New York’s art scene—it weaponizes it, turning galleries and penthouses into arenas where taste, greed, and ego collide. Alessio Della Valle shoots the city with pulpy, high-gloss swagger, and the movie rides that energy hard, letting Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Paz Vega, and Emile Hirsch play in a world where every stare feels like a threat and every deal has a hidden blade. The vibe is sleek, lurid, and knowingly over-the-top, more concerned with momentum and atmosphere than tidy realism, and that’s exactly why it’s so watchable when it’s on a roll. It’s also very much Rated R in every sense—violent, profane, and sexually explicit—so if you’re allergic to excess or Tarantino-adjacent bravado, it may not be your glass of champagne, but if you want a stylish, messy, entertaining crime thriller with a wicked grin, it’s an easy ticket.

American Night wants to be a slick, neon-soaked neo-noir about the art world colliding with mafia power plays, with a Warhol painting as the shiny fuse. The problem is it often feels like it’s borrowing post-Tarantino cool—snappy posing, crime-movie clichés, fractured storytelling—without giving you a clear emotional or narrative payoff, so the plot can come off more confusing than intriguing. Even with a capable cast, the characters aren’t given enough depth to make the violence and twists land, which can make the whole thing feel strangely empty. If you’re mainly here for style, attitude, and R-rated grit, you might get some mileage; if you want a coherent thriller with real tension and character work, this likely isn’t your night.