The real-life story of James “Whitey” Bulger, the South Boston crime boss who acted as a protected FBI informant for years until the arrangement imploded, is one of the most bizarre, once-in-a-lifetime stories you’re likely to hear. Black Mass, directed by Scott Cooper (Crazy Heart, Out of the Furnace) and starring Johnny Depp as the murderous Mr. Bulger, isn’t quite as rarified; Depp acts harder and better than he has in many years, but other than his performance, the film isn’t anything special. Cooper and writers Mark Mallouk and Jez Butterworth use familiar tropes from the mob-movie lexicon to make the story palatable to wide audiences, and in doing so strip the story of all its strangeness.

Aside from that minor tragedy, the film actually works very well. Goodfellas and The Departed are great movies, so the fact that Cooper so blatantly borrows from them isn’t so much offensive as it is uninspired, and at the end of the day, he’s crafted an effective movie. We follow Bulger’s rise from general small-time crime lord to over-powered, FBI-protected kingpin and, eventually, man on the run. Catapulting him from low-level extortion and drug deals to Southie (and beyond) dominance is a deal he strikes with an old childhood friend, John Connolly (Joel Edgerton), who now works for the FBI. As long as Whitey helps the feds take down other, bigger crime organizations, he and his gang will be free to run amok and expand their empire, given he doesn’t kill anyone in doing so (good luck with that). Making things even stickier, his brother, Billy (Benedict Cumberbatch, struggling with an awful Boston accent), is one of the most prominent politicians in the state.

The true-crime story revolves around Bulger and the demons that tormented him and compel him to become the thing he hates most—a snitch, a rat, a sell-out. Arguably the biggest contributing factor is the tragic death of his young son, whose mother (Dakota Johnson) never looks at Bulger the same again. With his family crumbling around him, his humanity begins to twist and melt away until he’s nothing more than a merciless overlord with a thirst for vengeful dominance.

Depp’s performance is gravitational, drawing everything in from us to the other actors. All converges on the blue-eyed, murderous bastard, and Depp more than bears the load with his best on-screen effort in who knows how long. He’s a damn good actor, and god knows we needed a reminder of that. He plays Bulger as a terrifying, calculating, unpredictable killer who always seems one step ahead of everyone, including us. His poker face is impenetrable, and we’re left breathlessly anticipating when he’ll strike next and dispatch of his next victim with his gruesome handiwork. Depp’s make-up walks the line between frightening and distracting, but he more often than not nudges the effect to the side of the former.

Tension rises as Connolly scrambles to protect Bulger and keep the deal intact, weaseling his way out of tight spots (like when Bulger is the prime suspect in a high-profile out-of-state murder) and wiping sweat off of his brow with every close call. Edgerton’s Napoleonic braggadocio is very funny, lending a frantic comedic flavor to an otherwise deathly affair. The rest of the FBI and Southie gang crews are filled out by a stacked line-up of actors, from Kevin Bacon and Corey Stoll as Connolly’s skeptical superiors, to Jesse Plemons, Peter Sarsgaard, and W. Earl Brown as Bulger’s colorful, heavy-fisted underlings.

What threatens to yank us away from the tight grip of Depp’s performance is the material, which is never wholly original and is downright second-rate when it practices mob-movie mimicry. One moment sees Bulger breaking bread with Connolly and one of his FBI partners, John Morris (David Harbour). Bulger asks John to give up the family-secret recipe for the delicious marinade he bathed their steaks in and, in a mild panic, John lets him in on the secret ingredients. The mood turns icy cold when Bulger asks how he could ever trust someone who would divulge a family secret so easily. Nobody’s laughing, and the room is filled with nervous energy. It’s Joe Pesci’s “Do I amuse you?” speech in Goodfellas, but only half as effective. It’s almost as if Cooper felt he needed to outfit Bulger with mob clichés in order for the movie to work. A more idiosyncratic approach may have allowed Depp to reach greater heights.

It’s a kick to see a technically sound and visually disciplined director like Jon Watts apply his skills to a story as straightforward and undecorated as Cop Car. It’s about two ten-year-old boys—Harrison (Hays Wellford) and Travis (James Freedson-Jackson)—who find an abandoned police cruiser in a wide open field and decide to take it for a joy ride. It turns out to be the biggest mistake EVER, as the officer who left the car unattended (Kevin Bacon) did so under some very shady, very illegal circumstances. He needs his car back, and he doesn’t care how he gets it. Boyhood naiveté (“stupidity” may fit the bill a little better) has been a primary source of big trouble since the dawn of mankind, but the bloody mess these little fuckers fall into takes it to another level.

Watching Cop Car is a piece of cake (that is if you aren’t cursed with a weak stomach). It’s a taut, propulsive midnight flick that puts its characters through the ringer without getting a speck of dirt on the audience’s hands. Morality is a virtual non-factor in Watts’ world, and one-dimensional as his characters are, their motivations are identifiable. The boys, well, they see the world as their oyster, only that oyster is actually an aggravated crab ready to snip their little fingers off with its claws. They’re out of their depth—when we meet them they’ve run away from home, stomping through a quiet field, chomping on a Slim Jim they’ve decided they have to “ration” to survive the wilderness. The first thing they do when they happen upon the cop car, they throw a rock at it as if it were a sleeping giant and then deduce that they can’t flee the scene because their fingerprints are on the rock, which could incriminate them and land them in the slammer. Before you know it, the little hellions are speeding across the barren landscape and futzing around with the heavy armaments they find in the back seat.

Kevin Bacon holds up the other end of the story as his Sheriff Kretzer frantically searches for his car while simultaneously keeping his fellow boys in blue in the dark about the whole mishap. He’s a no-nonsense cowboy with a silver tongue and a big fat ego, and Bacon plays the role just right. His performance and everything else in the movie fit snugly into the genre movie category, but there’s a maturity and restraint to he and Watts’ work that keeps everything grounded. Cop Car‘s driven by a simple idea and doesn’t do much to make you think, but it’s a whole lot more artful than your typical midnight movie. A few unexpected plot developments keep the action spicy, and none more so than the surprise the boys find in Kretzer’s trunk.

Watts is all class when it comes to moving and placing his camera, photographing the sprawling landscapes beautifully while planting well thought-out bits of information in the frame when he needs to nudge the story forward or give us timeline clues (the chronology doubles back on itself early on to show the initial car theft from Kretzer’s perspective). The story’s as simple and old-school as it gets, which affords Watts a ton of elbow space to show off his command of the craft. It would have been nice, though, if he’d have been a little more exuberant in his style. When the story spirals out of control near the end and things get out-of-this-world intense, you’d think Watts would film the insanity with a bit of flair. Instead, he does his job, does it well, but doesn’t let loose when the script does.

There isn’t much to Cop Car, but that’s a good thing in this case. It’s a completely fulfilling entertainment experience, and while it won’t give you much to take home with you, it’ll make sure you have a good time while you’re in its company.