Review: “12 O’Clock Boys”

A wheelie can be both dangerous and life affirming.

At the start of the documentary 12 O’Clock Boys, we hear in voiceover (presumably at a city council meeting) a man ranting about the “little bastards” that ride dirt bikes up and down the streets of Baltimore. With righteous anger, he proclaims that he doesn’t care “if one of them dies.” Soon after, one of these “bastards” puts on a black mask, after proclaiming that he rides as a release. I can see why.

Three years in the life of an adolescent named Pug are chronicled in a very all-access manner. He, his brothers and mother live in a particularly downtrodden and dangerous neighborhood. It’s a very tense setting; police sirens blare in the background always, paranoia over surveillance is everywhere and the real threat of death by any means is a daily feeling. Despite this, Pug enjoys where he lives. For one thing, there is “no flooding or hurricanes.” While he doesn’t mention New Orleans, it’s hard for me (and probably other audience members) to not make the connection between Pug’s setting, the events of Katrina and the racial intensity that binds them both.

Secondly, he likes where he lives because of the 12 O’Clock Boys. This dirt bike riding group go up and down the city streets, popping wheelies (sometimes at the 12 o’clock angle) and making noise, all en masse. The clique of young African American males represent a level of freedom, power and pride that Pug respects, inspiring him to practice his own riding skills in hopes of one day joining them. However, his mother Coco sees danger for him. The riders are singled out by police, often very unfairly being lumped in with criminal gangs. For years, a rift has widened. The 12 O’Clock Boys have taken their riding and turned it into a sort of civil disobedience and well organized activism. By a thief or by the police, the odds that Pug will be harmed on the street are great.

The filmmakers have crafted a piece of cinema that acts more like a living essay than a slice of life. And it’s an essay with no easy or final answer. Sequences of peace like a bird flying above a dirt bike practice are immediately transitioned and juxtaposed with a police helicopter, showing the constantly present and intrusive anger and censorship the officials represent. The end segment with Pug where he considers a possibly violent and life defining act is brought to life through a fantasy reenactment and calmly punctuated with “sounds like something I’d do.”

12 O’Clock Boys has the confidence of a college student to ask a question and the honesty of a professor to admit he has no clear answer. The ranting racist in the beginning makes the argument in favor of the riders an easy one. It’s because of people like him, with ignorant notions and stereotypes, that give the boys reason to ride. They’re loud, proud and in numbers. Of course the neighboring youth look up to them.

Pug is a kid wise beyond his years, but still susceptible to his surroundings. He knows this, but doesn’t know what he’ll do — except ride. The clarity he seeks can be found on the bike that may or may not bring him pain. He’ll be labeled by racists and sought by the cops, but will he find himself? As he states, we all “fall before we get nice.”

5 / 5