In the taut, 80-minute neo-noir American Muscle, Ray (David Thompson) is the mechanic at an isolated auto shop in rural Kern County. Ray is in serious debt to a very serious man, but he has a scheme for raising the payoff. Trouble is, his lender’s two very scary enforcers arrive to collect the money now, and Ray doesn’t have it. Just then, Ray’s long-estranged sister Maggie (Liana Wright-Mark) shows up unexpectedly. Ray’s financial deadline is accelerated, and he is plunged into a desperate and apparently hopeless race against the clock.
The out-of-town enforcers (Gbenga Akinnabe and Brendan Sexton III), with their chattiness and intellectual curiosity, are a welcome homage to the hit men Vincent and Jules in Pulp Fiction. (And I love that they wear bolo ties with their suits!)
Thompson and Wright-Mark are excellent as siblings who have survived a grim upbringing that will either make one strong and resilient or break one into weakness. American Muscle reveals that childhood’s impact on both Ray and Maggie.
In his first feature, writer-director Joel Veach creates a vivid milieu and delivers a perfect ending. Veach understands a great truth that is also a tenet of film noir: if you’re a loser, you can always find a way to make yourself a bigger loser.
The dry emptiness of American Muscle’s Kern County (it was actually shot in Santa Clarita) makes the Bakersfield of Honey Don’t look like Mumbai.
I screened American Muscle for its world premiere at the 2026 Cinequest. A perfectly-seasoned mixture of humor, menace and cynicism, it’s ever entertaining and a first class neo-noir.
