Night Patrol

The Blood on the Badge

I've watched enough David Ayer pictures to know the rhythm of an LAPD gang-unit thriller: sun-baked concrete, the rattle of chain-link fences, cops and corner kids exchanging the same exhausted threats. Ryan Prows feels that rhythm too. His new film, *Night Patrol*, leans into the sweaty, claustrophobic energy of projects like Colonial Courts, a spiritual cousin of *Harsh Times* or *End of Watch*. Then night falls, and suddenly the cops are baring metal fangs.



It’s an outrageous turn, yes. But I’m still not convinced it’s meant to be a joke. Prows (whose 2017 debut *Lowlife* also treated extreme exploitation with deadpan seriousness) uses the idea of an elite, all-white vampire police squad as more than a gimmick—it becomes a blunt visual for gentrification and the way state violence literally drains communities. The “B” in ACAB here could just as easily stand for bloodsuckers. Wazi (RJ Cyler), a young Crip, learns that the hard way when officers don’t just brutalize the block—they feed on it. Prows opens the story with Wazi in an interrogation room, a jagged black shard jutting from his side as blood trails down. Cyler doesn’t chew scenery; he plays the scene with the weary certainty of someone who always suspected the system would devour him, even if he never imagined it would bite like this.

Then there’s his brother Xavier (Jermaine Fowler), an eager cop hellbent on climbing the ladder. Fowler brings a tightly wound intensity—every scene with his partner Ethan shows how exhausting code-switching has become. And Ethan—well, that’s Justin Long, which might be the most inspired casting move in months.



We usually see Long playing the cornered victim in films like *Barbarian* or *Tusk*. He’s built a late-career brand around looking panicked. Here he flips the script. After Ethan gets recruited into the Night Patrol, Long bulks up and moves with an eerie calm. Watch how his posture shifts in the second act. The jittery energy is gone, replaced by the confident predatory pace of someone who knows the badge makes him untouchable. When he’s drenched in blood during a raid, the camera holds on his face, and the absence of his signature nervous ticks is unnerving.

Is the film flawless? No. It tries to juggle too much—Zulu mysticism, Crips vs. Bloods politics, family trauma, and practical effects that look like they came out of a 1980s Tom Savini workshop. Brian Eggert at Deep Focus Review praised its “enough innovative ideas to feel unique,” while also admitting the finale might jump the shark. He’s spot on. With four writers credited, the script occasionally feels like a few different movies elbowing for space. (The side story with CM Punk as a racist vampire sergeant and Dermot Mulroney as the overlord is entertaining but never fully explained).



Still, I can overlook a lot of structural sloppiness when a film feels this charged. When the rival crews finally see they’re not actually enemies and turn on the undead task force, the movie explodes into a messy, joyful riot of gore-fueled rebellion. Prows shoots the L.A. night with a grainy, tactile grit that keeps the fantastical stakes grounded in something tangible. It’s loud, furious, and gloriously jagged. Maybe that’s exactly how this story needed to be told.