'Rampart' Takes an Unconventional Approach to Bad Cop Cliches

Nothing busts canons quite like living in interesting times. In our ongoing Inflection Point series, we look back at the films that have taken on new relevance due to our ongoing cultural and political upheaval. Some beloved, some undiscovered, these titles deserve newfound consideration as film criticism evolves to meet the moment.

In 1997, a pair of high-profile incidents put a national spotlight on the Los Angeles Police Department. In one, an undercover officer shot and killed a fellow off-duty officer, launching an investigation into ties between members of the L.A.P.D. and Death Row Records. In another, testimony following a bank robbery led to a departmental inquiry into the anti-gang team, Community Resources Against Street Hoodlums (or CRASH). The resulting lawsuits, media coverage, and public demonstrations against the L.A.P.D. would, in the words of The New Yorker, “[break] the L.A.P.D. in a way that not even the Rodney King beating, in 1991, and its bloody aftermath had not.”

This Los Angeles would serve as the backdrop for “Rampart,” Oren Moverman’s 2011 police drama starring Woody Harrelson as fictional L.A.P.D. officer “Date Rape” David Brown. Combining a standout performance from its lead with Moverman’s nontraditional approach to storytelling, “Rampart” has carved out its spot in movie history by taking an unconventional approach to a very conventional narrative.

David Brown (Harrelson) has made a career out of losing faith in the institutions he serves. After serving a tour of duty in Vietnam, Brown – who earned the nickname “Date Rape” for the alleged murder of a rapist during the early days of his career – made a name in the Rampart Division for his heavy-handed approach to crime and punishment. With the Rampart Division emerging at the center of a city-wide scandal, Brown finds himself in a cold war between the leadership of the Los Angeles Police Department and his legal team.

Despite this, Brown still tries to exert a firm hold on his personal life. Living in a relationship with two sisters and their respective daughters, Brown attempts to wrestle his unconventional home life into something “normal,” much to the frustration of his oldest daughter Helen (Brie Larson). Brown’s only source of comfort comes in the form of fellow toxic professional Linda (Robin Wright). Her career as a defense attorney has sparked a strong sense of self-loathing – a movie trope the industry would be better off without but used to underline the prejudices of those ostensibly meant to protect us from harm.

James Ellroy, who received a co-writer credit for “Rampart,” has spent his long career dramatizing the various scandals of the Los Angeles Police Department. In films like “L.A. Confidential” and “Dark Blue,” Ellroy has explored the culture of lawlessness that continually pop up in the institutions sworn to protect us. There is nothing in life that Ellroy loves more than a morally compromised police officer. In Brown, the screenwriter has provided the foundation for a performance as memorable as that of any Russell (Kurt and Crowe). Harrelson gives the character his all, and watching him bounce off the few meaningful relationships of his life with increasing desperation quickly makes this one of the best performances of his already-impressive career.

Those of us viewing “Rampart” through a contemporary lens will also find little flourishes meant to evoke a more in-depth conversation about the relationship between police and the communities they serve. For instance, Brown’s understanding that any litigation would immediately make him a folk hero among a specific subset of conservative viewers. “I’ll have my own show on Fox News inside one week,” he gloats to Sigourney Weaver’s Assistant DA. Moverman also finds unique ways to reinforce the separation Brown has from Rampart by never showing the protestors outside his precinct. Although chants of “no justice, no peace” are ever-present on the soundtrack, Brown has no interest in paying attention to the protestors, so neither do we. We are all-too-aware of the limits of Brown’s perspective.

The most obvious comparison for “Rampart” is “Time Out of Mind,” a 2014 character study in New York City homelessness, also written and directed by Moverman. Much like the latter film, “Rampart” eschews traditional narrative cohesion in favor of the ambient noise of Brown’s life. We experience his downfall in flashes – halfhearted patrols, unconventional home life, and violent extracurriculars – until Brown’s legal battles transform into a mosaic of existential breakdowns. At its best, “Rampart” leans into Moverman’s gift for ambiance, turning the many voices in Brown’s life into a drone of chaos and self-loathing.

But while Moverman’s adherence to Brown’s perspective borders on the subjective – we view the world through his eyes and ingest a steady stream of conservative talk radio reinforcing his worldview – it is this same perspective that causes “Rampart” to stumble. In the film, Brown is told by those around him that his inability to change will be his undoing. In contemporary interviews, Moverman acknowledges that Brown’s failure to adapt – politically or personally – makes him “a fixed character” concerning the events unfolding around him. There are many films where this artistic choice might be the right one, but for “Rampart,” storytelling and story seem an uncomfortable match.

Obsessing on a fixed point in a film steeped in historical change creates a unique tension that the film is never quite able to overcome. By anchoring on Brown, “Rampart” defines the movement of its supporting characters only in opposition to him, not the essential cultural and structural changes occurring around him. Harrelson’s performance, mesmerizing as it might be, becomes an anchor that threatens to drag the entire film down. No amount of stylistic flourishes – including one headache-inducing visit to a local sex club – can atone for the fact that “Rampart” is, in every way that matters for an audience, surprisingly inert.

How well movies stand the test of time often requires a negotiated reading that pieces out forward-thinking ideas from period tropes. Entire dissertations are written about the tension between the cultural climate of a film’s release and the current climate of its reevaluation. Good writers and directors understand that their ideas can (and will) transform over time. But in surrounding Brown with a subjective reality, Moverman makes it hard to explore policing through anything other than his viewpoint. The result is a film that is both fascinating and limited in equal measures, a disappointing outcome for something with so much potential.