Count “1992” as one of those films with its heart in the right place but its execution in the wrong space. Set on April 29, 1992, the day of the Rodney King verdict, this is a surprisingly uncomplicated film, one that attempts to balance its heist-thriller elements with its combustible racial milieu. It features Tyrese Gibson as a single father named Mercer, working to protect his teenage son Antoine (Christopher Ammanuel) from the surrounding violence only to upset an ensuing robbery led by Lowell (the late Ray Liotta) and his crew. There are shootouts, a car chase, some heroics and some hard life lessons—but this film isn’t breaking new ground on either the action or socio-political front.   

Director Ariel Vromen’s “1992” often plays like a significantly lesser mishmash of Kathryn Bigelow’s “Detroit” and John Carpenter’s “Assault on Precinct 13.” It poses a one-night structure that puts to test the resolve of its Black protagonist to simply survive the night whether through brunt force or through pained civility. And while certain thrills can be had from its nuts and bolts construction, you’re left wanting this film to lessen its well-worn genre elements in deference to the difficult father-son dynamics it initially sells.   

Those dynamics, in an on-the-nose script written by Vromen and Sascha Penn, come in two forms. The first arises between Mercer and Antoine. The former was recently released from prison six months ago, and now he’s working on not going back by staying away from the gang he once ran with and by plying his trade as a maintenance worker in a plant. Mercer, of course, doesn’t want Antoine to follow in his footsteps. So he has the teen, despite Antoine’s charge that he’s being locked in a proverbial cage by his dad, to return directly home from school. The film’s other strained father-son relationship is Riggin Bigby (Scott Eastwood) and his father Lowell. It’s Riggin who thinks up a get-rich-quick scheme, proposing that Lowell’s gang rob Mercer’s plant where there happens to be $10 million worth of platinum—with the uprising associated with the Rodney King verdict providing the perfect cover for their plan. 

Of the two threads, it’s clear that Mercer and Antoine have a far more potent relationship. Through their eyes we are transported back to the hood films of the 1990s, where the potential for danger seems to rise higher around every corner. It’s here Mercer is still a local legend for his violent ways. In the film’s first half, Gibson remains stoic, as though he is afraid that any show of emotion will lead to trouble. The same could be said of his hunched posture, the way his body is swallowed up by the oversized jumpsuit he wears to work. This is a man attempting to change himself from the inside out. When Mercer’s acquiescence is thrown against Antoine’s fervent desire for revenge following the verdict, an enthralling explosiveness develops between the two. Unfortunately that energy is often undone by the film’s frank dialogue and blunt scenarios, such as a police barricaded roadblock that nearly goes wrong. 

That father-son relationship only leaves the other more wanting. We know that Riggin is tired of working for his dad and his band of petty criminals. He also wants to take his younger, sensitive brother away from Lowell. Beyond that the writing just sorta stops. There are very few scenes between Liotta and Eastwood, which admittedly, might have been out of Vromen’s hands. We’re not sure why Riggin hates Lowell and vise-versa. Nor do we get a sense of Lowell. Liotta is delivering his lines with confidence, but they don’t string together into a complete character. He is merely violent and heartless, and not much else. 

Fascinatingly, these two families do not immediately meet. In fact, Lowell and his crew are halfway done with their robbery, over halfway through the film, before Antoine and Mercer stumble onto their criminality. The film then becomes a fight for survival as Mercer and Antoine attempt to avoid Lowell’s wrath. Though the majority of the action happens in these scenes, the film, mysteriously, appears to slow down. There is no suspense to Mercer brawling with Lowell’s men. Maybe that’s because it’s all been thrown together at the last minute, casting away the pleasures of seeing rivalries and vendettas that have naturally been developed over the course of the picture? Or maybe it’s because the shooting of these sequences is fairly rudimentary?

In any case, “1992” doesn’t wear its genre elements well. It can also struggle in the edit too, such as the clumsy integration of archival footage from the Los Angeles uprising. Vromen can’t decide whether to show us those images via the television, whose broadcasts of the news often occupy the back of the composition or to show it as a documentary. The score also feels mismatched, opting for syncopated jazz music in a film that plays as far too sweaty and far too grimy for such precise percussion. 

And yet, it’s difficult to wholly disavow this film. There is an albeit obvious tension in two Black men avoiding these white criminals while in the film’s outer world white folks are steering clear of Black protestors. There is also a palpable anger felt by Mercer and Antoine that the film understands. And Liotta, in his final completed film, is a plus presence. You just wish all of those elements came together in a movie that had the ability to lean on its human components and find drama in their relationships rather than pushing them aside for lackluster set pieces in a conventional social picture.