Harvey Keitel has a way of looking at people that makes you feel like you’ve already been convicted of something. In the City of Industry 1997 release, he leans into that intensity with a quiet, simmering rage that honestly defines the entire movie. It’s a film that doesn’t care if you like it. It isn't trying to be your friend or win an Oscar for "Best Feel-Good Story of the Year." Instead, it’s a gritty, sun-bleached heist gone wrong that captures a specific flavor of late-90s Los Angeles cynicism.
Most people who stumble across this film today do so because they’re hunting for lost gems of the neo-noir genre. It’s a tough watch. It’s mean. But it’s also incredibly precise. Directed by John Irvin and written by Ken Solarz, the movie follows Roy Egan (Keitel), a retired thief who gets pulled back into the life by his brother Lee (Timothy Hutton) for "one last job." We've heard that setup a million times, right? But City of Industry 1997 takes that trope and drags it through the dirt until it's unrecognizable.
The Heist That Wasn't Supposed to Bleed
The setup is a jewelry store robbery in Palm Springs. It’s calculated. It’s professional. Besides the Egan brothers, the crew includes Skip Kovich (Stephen Dorff), a younger, twitchy getaway driver who basically radiates "bad idea" from his first second on screen. Dorff plays Skip with a kind of sociopathic entitlement that makes your skin crawl. He’s the wildcard that every heist movie needs, but he isn't a "cool" wildcard. He’s just a predator.
When things go south—and they go south with a sickening crunch—Skip decides he doesn’t want to split the take. He executes Lee and the other accomplice, Jorge, leaving Roy for dead. What follows isn't a high-speed chase or a series of clever riddles. It’s a slow-burn revenge mission. Roy Egan is a man of few words, and Keitel plays him like a force of nature. He doesn't scream. He doesn't vent. He just moves forward until the debt is paid.
The actual "City of Industry" isn't just a title. It’s a real place in Los Angeles County, a strangely desolate industrial suburb that feels like it was designed by a committee of people who hate nature. The film uses this backdrop to reinforce the emptiness of the characters' lives. There are no heroes here. Even Roy, our protagonist, is a career criminal who has probably ruined dozens of lives before the opening credits even rolled.
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Why Critics Didn't "Get It" at First
When the film hit theaters in March 1997, the reviews were... mixed, to put it lightly. Roger Ebert gave it two stars, calling it "well-made" but ultimately "unpleasant." He wasn't wrong. It is unpleasant. But that’s sort of the point. In the post-Tarantino landscape of the late 90s, everyone expected crime movies to have snappy dialogue, pop culture references, and a certain "wink-wink" irony.
City of Industry 1997 refused to wink.
It’s a hard-boiled throwback to the 1970s style of filmmaking—think The Friends of Eddie Coyle or Get Carter. There is a scene where Roy has to track down Skip’s girlfriend, Rachel (played by Famke Janssen), and the interaction is cold and transactional. Janssen is great here, playing a woman who knows exactly what kind of world she lives in and isn't looking for a savior. She’s just trying to survive the fallout of Skip's idiocy.
- The Cinematography: Thomas Burstyn uses a harsh, high-contrast palette. The L.A. sun doesn't look warm; it looks like a spotlight in an interrogation room.
- The Pacing: It’s deliberate. Some might call it slow, but it builds a sense of dread that pays off in the final act.
- The Violence: It’s brief and ugly. No stylized "gun-fu" here. Just the messy reality of what happens when desperate people use weapons.
Stephen Dorff and the Art of the Unlikable Villain
Honestly, we need to talk about Stephen Dorff. In 1997, he was being positioned as a heartthrob, but he leaned hard into the role of Skip Kovich. Skip is a monster. He is a narcissist who thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room while being demonstrably the dumbest. It’s a brave performance because there is zero attempt to make the audience empathize with him.
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He kills Lee Egan not out of necessity, but out of greed and a complete lack of a moral compass. When Roy starts hunting him, Skip’s descent into paranoia is satisfying to watch because the movie has established him as such a bottom-feeder. You want Roy to catch him, not because Roy is "the good guy," but because Skip is a glitch in the criminal system that needs to be erased.
The contrast between Keitel’s stillness and Dorff’s kinetic, nervous energy is what keeps the second half of the movie alive. Keitel is the old guard—professional, quiet, disciplined. Dorff is the new generation—loud, sloppy, and short-sighted. It’s a clash of philosophies as much as a physical confrontation.
The Realism of the Underworld
One thing City of Industry 1997 gets right is the mundane nature of crime. Most movies make the "underworld" look like a neon-lit nightclub. Here, it’s motels, diners, and dusty parking lots. Roy doesn't use high-tech gadgets to find Skip. He uses basic legwork. He talks to people. He waits. He watches.
The film captures the 1990s L.A. aesthetic perfectly, before the city was "cleaned up" or gentrified to the degree it is now. You can almost smell the exhaust fumes and the stale coffee. It’s a world where a thousand-dollar watch is worth killing for, and a brother's life is worth even less.
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Where to Find It and How to Watch
Finding a high-quality version of City of Industry 1997 can be a bit of a chore. It hasn't received the "Criterion Treatment" yet, though many fans argue it deserves a 4K restoration. Most streaming platforms have it intermittently, but it often ends up on the "free with ads" services like Tubi or Pluto TV.
If you're going to watch it, do yourself a favor: don't expect Heat. Heat is an opera. City of Industry 1997 is a punk rock song played at a dive bar at 2 AM. It’s shorter, meaner, and it leaves a bruise.
What You Can Learn from Roy Egan’s Revenge
Watching this film today provides a weirdly practical look at "consequences." While it's a fictional thriller, the internal logic of the characters offers some grim insights into professional conduct—even in the criminal world.
- Professionalism isn't just for the office. Roy survives because he has a code. Skip dies because he doesn't. In any field, if you burn your partners to get a bigger slice of the pie, you're just setting a timer on your own downfall.
- Silence is a weapon. Keitel’s character proves that you don't need to explain yourself to everyone. The less people know about your next move, the more power you have.
- The "One Last Job" is a lie. It’s never just one last job. The film serves as a cautionary tale about the inability to leave a toxic environment once you’ve let it define who you are.
The movie ends on a note that feels earned. It isn't a "happy" ending, but it’s a completed one. Roy Egan walks away, but you get the sense he’s walking into a vacuum. He’s finished the task, but the cost was everything he had left. It’s a quintessential 90s ending—bleak, honest, and remarkably consistent with everything that came before it.
If you’re a fan of Harvey Keitel’s work in Bad Lieutenant or Reservoir Dogs, this is essential viewing. It’s a reminder of a time when movies were allowed to be "unpleasant" as long as they were truthful to their characters. In a world of sanitized, PG-13 action flicks, the raw, unfiltered grit of this 1997 classic is a breath of very smoggy, very L.A. air.
Actionable Next Steps:
- Check your local library or digital storefronts for the physical DVD if you want the best bit-rate, as streaming versions are often compressed.
- Watch it as a double feature with The Limey (1999) to see two different, brilliant takes on the "older criminal seeking revenge" subgenre.
- Pay attention to the background locations; many of the industrial spots in the City of Industry have changed significantly since 1997, making the film a time capsule of L.A.'s industrial history.