Smooth as a Con Artist

WordMaster

              Christian Bale squints at himself in the mirror, pasting a lump of hair onto his bare scalp with gel. We watch for what feels like five minutes as he tries to smooth it out, his dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration, a pair of rose-tinted glasses perched on his nose, in a desperate, ultimately futile attempt to hide his hideous combover. It’s a brilliant beginning to a movie obsessed with visual details. Throughout the whole thing, there’s not a single tie, earring, shade, painting or hair out of place; they all seem to meld together in an intoxicating collage of ‘70s euphoria, the bright, faintly oily cinematography courtesy of Linus Sandgren juxtaposed with a feverish, pitch-perfect dreamscape of a soundtrack that features artists as diverse as Duke Ellington and the Bee Gees.

              The plot that unfolds isn’t particularly revelatory – it’s basically a heist flick meets an Informant!-style conspiracy comedy with a dash of romance sprinkled in. But as he did with his previous two outings (underdog sports drama The Fighter and mental illness rom-com Silver Linings Playbook), newly Oscar-friendly director David O. Russell takes a traditional narrative and instills it with his own flair, his sense of bubbling energy and chaos that simmers just beneath the surface, turning it into something that feels acutely personal and distinctive. Much like the Coen brothers, he has demonstrated a remarkable ability to bounce between a variety of genres without losing touch with his unique voice. Even though his recent movies have toned down much of the idiosyncratic absurdity that defined his early work, they’re still undeniably his. American Hustle proves to be a fine showcase for Russell’s strengths, from his keen ear for the rhythm of speech and conversation (shown in the film’s witty yet naturalistic dialogue, which zips and pops off the screen like firecrackers) to his affection for the nuances of human eccentricity.

              It helps that, once again, he has assembled a formidable cast that includes Oscar winners as well as under-appreciated TV and character actors. In the manner of true ensembles, no one individual stands above the rest; each of them plays his or her part to a tee, visibly relishing the lively, spontaneous atmosphere but never seeking to monopolize the spotlight. Bale gives perhaps the subtlest performance of the bunch, inhabiting small-time con artist Irving Rosenfeld with refreshing effortlessness. Gone is the Method intensity that has defined much of his career, and in its place is a vaguely sleazy charm (the man does know how to rock a cigar and suspenders) that gradually dissolves to expose the desperate, quietly insecure man underneath. Anchored by the (relatively) subdued Bale, the rest of the cast is free to be as colorful as they please. Amy Adams channels her Master side as Sydney Prosser, Irving’s ambitious, manipulative partner-in-crime, yet another superlative turn from one of Hollywood’s most beguiling and versatile actresses. Sporting a tan and hair that looks more apt for a poodle than a human being, Bradley Cooper proves that Silver Linings Playbook was no fluke. At times manic nearly to the point of caricature, he nonetheless makes you feel something resembling sympathy for his smug, excitable FBI agent despite the character’s rather despicable behavior. In smaller roles, Jennifer Lawrence, Jeremy Renner and even Louis C.K. (somehow the straight man here) steal scenes with aplomb.

              So well-oiled the entire operation is, never hitting a false step or wandering down a superfluous detour, that you can almost forgive someone for dismissing it as pure escapism. After toiling for a decade on well-received but little-seen indie projects, most notably satirical Gulf War caper Three Kings, Russell suddenly broke onto the mainstream filmmaking scene in 2010 with The Fighter, and since then, his efforts have been decidedly lighthearted and character-centric, emphasizing acting above all else. It’s no wonder he’s able to draw out such vibrant performances from his casts, revealing new, thrilling sides to actors like Amy Adams and Bradley Cooper who had previously been pigeon-holed into good-girl and pretty-boy douchebag roles, respectively. Although wildly dissimilar at first glance, Fighter, Playbook and Hustle share one significant common thread: their collective desire to explore and ultimately embrace the messiness of humanity. Whether it’s the rough working-class Lowell clan in The Fighter or the quirky, dysfunctional Pittsburg family of Silver Linings Playbook, Russell treats his characters with steadfast compassion, neither taunting nor denigrating them for their flaws, however considerable they might be, but rather simply allowing them to exist as they are.

              In a way, American Hustle feels like Russell’s eff-you to his critics, the increasingly vocal group of people who resent his transition from obscure indies to Oscar-winning crowd-pleasers, complaining that he has sold out and sacrificed artistic integrity in favor of bland popularity. Those people would note that the second word in the movie’s title used to be something profane, suggesting an indictment of the American Dream and capitalist consumer culture much more scathing and hard-hitting than the jaunty romp we ended up getting. They fail to realize, however, that their worldview – the notion that cynicism is inherently meaningful or authentic – is precisely what American Hustle aims to criticize. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that Carmine Polito, the corrupt yet well-meaning mayor portrayed by Jeremy Renner, is arguably the film’s most likable/trustworthy character, a pointed subversion of popular attitudes toward politicians and authority figures in general. In a society that promotes anger, irony and bitterness, it takes a certain boldness to say with unapologetic sincerity that love matters, people can change and redemption is possible, to give your story a happy ending. Although it may not be as inventive and defiantly unconventional as Three Kings, American Hustle contains an underlying wisdom and generosity that the other movie lacked. As the director matured as a person, so has his filmmaking, and having undergone a radical reinvention of his own, it makes sense that Russell would want that for his protagonists. Cynicism, it turns out, is just another con, an adaptation developed by humans as a way of shielding themselves from truth. People believe what they want to believe.

Links:

http://moviepilot.com/movies/381856-american-hustle/images