So, you wanna know why us girls like bad boys? Go see Public Enemies and you’ll see a bona fide Kiss Me Now You Fool Bad Boy — not the all-too-common a-holes who masquerade as the real deal.

Oh– movie review stuff first. Dum dee dum dum. The cinematography reinforces that this is a highly personal biography — lots of closeups, lots of tight focus. Although most of the film captured the larger than life silver screen feel that movies set in the 1930′s will automatically evoke, too many oddly-placed documentary-style shots made some scenes more like a TV movie than a big screen epic.

The gritty world of 1930′s crime and justice is brought starkly to life, and most foreign are the differences between now and then. The inferior position of women in society, the helplessness of the public against the government and criminals, and what cops and feds could get away with in a world before Miranda rights is astonishing, and I’m glad none of that was sugar coated.

Christian Bale is astounding. Carefully avoiding a worn-out goody two-shoes act, he plays his role with delicate severity. I’m not a fan of movies that show the alleged good guy blowing away bad guys without a second thought. But Bale’s portrayal of a tenacious, driven G-man shows that, even when it is in the line of duty, killing is not something to be taken lightly, and death is not something easy to witness.

Now with all that out of the way — on to Johnny Depp. Om nom nom. Forget those impossibly dark eyes, the curl of the lip, or the seamless transition from cruel to kind as he brings America’s most legendary bandit to life. My absolute favorite bit:

“I like baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey, and you. What else you need to know?”

Shut up, Johnny. You had me at “I like.”

One thing that, regrettably, feminism took down as collateral damage was a man’s natural skill to make his woman his. There’s a fine line between firm and pushy, but being assertive has gone by the wayside due to the mistaken modern dogma that requires men to be sensitive and passive all the time. When Depp leans in and tells Billie that he is hers and she is his and there isn’t anything else to it, frankly, it’s hot. That’s solid. That’s reliable. That’s a guy who isn’t wishy-washy about what he wants or noncommittal about his interest. You only live once, so why let her slip by?

This is Dillinger as I want to believe he was. I know that some of it’s romanticized, some of it’s fact, some of it’s fiction, and some of it will never be sorted out one way or the other. But what I can hold to is that he was the Rock Star of bank robbers. One sexy and stylish sonofabitch who could have lured me in. I want to believe it all. That he was a dirty rotten crook, but that he was not a murderer and enjoyed charming the pants off of his hostages. That he never robbed individuals and only took from banks, who were as cruel and callow to the American public as the gangsters and corrupt cops.

The great tragedy of Dillinger is that he didn’t get the death he deserved. He was ratted out by a prostitute trying not to get deported (surprise surprise, the Feds let her get deported anyway) and he was shot in the back by Feds who took him down because of bruised egos. Did Dillinger have a gun? Sure. But he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer and the one murder he was accused of is only a maybe. He could have been nabbed on many occasions, but J. Edgar Hoover’s egotistical need for the FBI to take all the credit for the arrest meant that he never tapped the resources that local law enforcement could offer, and his men were always outgunned and outclassed. They knew they could never get him honorably. So they blew him away and made him a legend.

I like to imagine the other version for guys like John Dillinger and Jesse James — the legend where the hero gets away with the loot, and not the version where he gets his head blown off by a guy who sneaks up from behind because he’s too chicken to face him. The story where he isn’t a martyr for the cause of Sticking It To The Man. The story where he does ride off as an unbeaten outlaw, and Good King Richard comes home with a pardon to send corrupt King John packing. Where Maid Marian kisses him and the curtain drops, instead of being just one more reason why men are entitled to be bitter about ex-girlfriends.

So, Johnny. Any time you want to hit the road in a V8 and knock over the local savings and loan . . . just come on over and flash that pushy, charming smile. I won’t let you down.