“American Hustle” is a movie so nice, I saw it twice. Two bright, flawed schemers, Irving (Christian Bale) and Sydney (Amy Adams), “meet cute” at a tacky late-70’s indoor pool party on Long Island. Sydney is a driven, insecure seeker who wants to be anyone except herself. Irving is jealous, and a consummate con man, but later shows us a small spark of character that partially redeems him. They are libidinous, love-struck and larcenous. They share a natural talent for spotting people’s weaknesses and exploiting them. When they first meet they also share an adulation of Duke Ellington’s unapologetically brash, over-the-top jazz, which is a metaphor for the way they want the world to see them, like a couple of ostracized high school kids with a secret language. In a “Goodfellas”-style voiceover, Irving describes his hopeless attraction to Sydney: Like me, she came from a place where her options were limited. Sometimes Irving’s internal dialogue becomes external, when he chides himself in a mirror for overreaching in his first attempt to impress Sydney. This protagonist-narrator approach works well because not only does David O. Russell (“Silver Linings Playbook”, “Three Kings”) honor Scorsese’s highly original directing style, but also piles on his own mad skills. This includes opening the story with something dramatic that happens later, and then starting again from the beginning and leading us forward to that crisis-laden moment, and beyond. By that time, we are all strapped in and the train is hurtling forward at max speed toward who-knows-what. Irving’s embarrassing comb-over and unabashed fleshy pot belly seem to serve as symbols of the myopia Irving has about himself. He is stooped almost to hunchback. Its said that Bale permanently injured his spine by going too “Method” in this role, remaining in that artificially bent-over position even when the cameras were not rolling. Irving is married, but not very. His wife, Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence), is a daffy joy as a dangerously bored suburban housewife. She is an undeniable force of nature, a beautiful human hurricane whose brain has no filter for her words and actions. In a great foreshadowing scene in a restaurant, she charms her dinner companions by pointing out how the appeal of her expensive nail polish stems from its slightly rotten odor, thrusting her hand under the mayor’s nose and urging him to sniff it, which he joyfully does. She spouts proto-“est” aphorisms like The power of intention, Irving! The power of intention! … Thank you!, and uses her aggressiveness to compensate for her tragic fragility. In probably the most heartbreaking scene in the movie, she tells her new (even more dangerous) boyfriend, I dont like change. … Sometimes I think Id rather die than change. But Irving really loves Rosalyn, or more accurately, he is addicted to her. Irving, the ultimate scammer himself, thinks of Rosalyn as … the princess of passive aggressive karate. She was better than any con artist I ever met. I was HER mark. No heroic Katniss here, “Hunger Games” fans. There is great tension among these three characters in a romantic triangle, which is a fine propulsive force that keeps interest strong about what will happen next. And then the stakes are raised higher when Richie, an overmatched FBI agent (Bradley Cooper), busts them and forces them to promote a government-sponsored scam to catch crooked elected officials (eventually six U.S. Congressman, one U.S. senator, and the mayor of a major U.S. city actually were caught taking bribes). At that point, it grows from a triangle to a quadrangle(?) among the four, and then Rosalyn, who by now Irving can no longer hope to control, jealously inserts herself into the elaborate con that has been cobbled together with unwanted complications by the vainglorious, idiotic Richie, and it looks like all hell is going to break loose. But it doesn’t, at least not yet. It just gets more complicated, until it has become like the Hindenburg in a lightning storm with Irving patching up leaking holes with duct tape. Eventually, in order to secure their own freedom, which they are very good at, Irving and Rosalyn put aside their relationship insecurities and con the FBI to save their own skins and to help the altruistic mayor. And they do it so expertly that they get away with it. In this story, the “bad guys” are smart; the “good guys” are dumb. Richie proves conclusively that you can’t fix stupid, especially when it’s combined with a hilarious narcissistic personality disorder. Richie is a world-class boob, and a schmuck to boot, who happens to be an FBI agent. This is based on a true story. I wonder how true … . He is only slightly less moronic than his boss, played by Louis CK. The “ice fishing story” that Richie’s boss begins telling Richie, but never quite finishes, is a running gag that creates tension, exposes character and makes you laugh at just the right intervals. Very clever. CK is really good, too. I liked him in “Blue Jasmine” last year (I’m seeing more comedians in good movies lately). And of course the attorney general, their boss, has a soufflé’ for a brain. I think what makes them seem so funny is that they think they’re so much smarter than they actually are, like in a Coen brothers movie. Irving, Sydney, Rosalyn and Richie are the heart of the movie. Despite their nefarious natures, their marshmallow ethics, their Olympian rationalizations of their own behavior, you have to like them, law-keepers and perpetrators alike, because they truly think they deserve the American Dream and they have worked hard to achieve it. These people and their behavior and customs feel really authentic, which makes you care about them. They arent perfect – far from perfect – very flawed – like people we know. I like the way the pull of their personalities draws other people into their orbits. Some are benign and others are sad and tragic, like the surprisingly good Jeremy Renner (The Hurt Locker, The Avengers, The Bourne Legacy), who plays Carmine, the bighearted, hapless mayor of Camden. When Richie meets Carmine to draw him into the con, he tells him so convincingly, “The world is not black and white, like you say — its extremely grey., and the mayor is hooked. Later, when the mayor becomes Irving’s friend instead of his mark, significantly, Irving tells him, I never had a friend like you before.” I mean after all, the mayor gave Irving a newfangled microwave oven, the science oven (you’ll see what I mean). I like the directorial alchemy of music tracks that welds euphoric recall from old songs perfectly with events unfolding in the story. Despite the terrific music there are fine quiet moments, too, usually between only two people, that are perfectly paced, framed, scripted and edited so compellingly that you cannot look away. The atmosphere of this movie seems so true, with the thumping disco beat, strobe lights, sweat, crowds, clothes, hair, and more than anything, the abundance of Attitude. There is good authenticity and adherence to detail (e.g., what is it with FBI agent and cops and their gold Rolexes? I mean, it’s true, but how do they afford them?) It takes place back when women read Cosmo and apparently every bra had been burned. Americans rocked outrageous wine-colored polyester suits, thick patterned ties with double Windsor knots and long shirt collars, bell bottoms, buckle shoes, appalling comb-overs and Jheri-curl. I was around then, and now I feel so ashamed. It reminds me that, as tacky as it seems now, at least the 70’s had its own kind of glamor, and it feels now as if we lack that in our everyday lives. Again, quite an homage to Martin Scorsese. Example: Richie is at home with his mother (yes, he still lives with his Italian mother and sister). The cramped kitchen is bathed in chiaroscuro lighting, as Gordon Willis pioneered in “The Godfather”. Richie’s hair is bound in countless little blue plastic curlers. Medium shot on Richie, and the phone rings; the camera zooms in on his startled reaction; speed-pan left, to the phone on the wall, and zoom to close-up; Richie’s hand lurches into frame and snatches the phone off the receiver. And then there is the requisite operatically staged scene in the cozy Italian restaurant. The mayor, his family, his friends, and the city’s political hoi polio are celebrating their good fortune. We see the value of relationships, friendship, community, human connection. And then we see behind the scenes what helps to hold it all together (or did back then): the next scene is a meeting with mob boss Victor Tellegio (Robert De Niro, uncredited), in a terrific turn as a scary, powerful man who the FBI should never take for granted. Another Scorsese-like touch: the Bee Gees’ How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?” transitions us between highly dramatic scenes and compresses time with a beautiful tracking shot from behind as the mayor and his wife ascend the steps to the stage and enter an auditorium to announce the bounty they have secured for the citizens of Camden, and we are happy for him and his family as they appear to climb onto the launch pad of their dreams. Another example: bold and beautiful camerawork when Richie is likewise convinced of his victory, and charges recklessly toward the camera until it appears to almost hit him in the nose, so much so that I jumped in my seat. I have never seen a shot like that. Irving leaves us with parting thoughts, again in voiceover, You can fool yourself for just so long. Your next reincarnation, you better have your feet on the ground.
Posted on: Fri, 07 Feb 2014 08:01:52 +0000
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