American Hustle–A Review

As an amateur film critic, I shamefully admit that I am, till date, far less prolific than I ought to be.  However, having finally got around watching American Hustle post requests from several of my friends, I had to literally shut my laptop away in order to stifle my immediate and hugely reactionary regurgitations. More importantly, I wanted to most definitely ensure that it is a holistic review and I don’t end up reviewing the part for the whole as the proverbial elephant—there have been aberrations galore to this effect in the world of film criticism, and this film certainly did not merit one.

Now, half a day has elapsed since my viewing, and I should seemingly be able to reflect my words on stiller waters. Yet, I find that my take on the film remains pretty much what it had been yesterday.  To begin with, this is a hugely contextual film, the FBI ABSCAM sting operation in the late 70s and early 80s acting as a solid scaffold to the screenplay. Minus this context it would be difficult to place the film anywhere; unlike probably, a film like Rashomon—classically universal in its portrayal of lust, fear, death, anger, where even an important screenplay aspect, like the name of a character becomes a miniscule, irrelevant detail, absent and inconspicuous.  Here, the context of the late 70s US downtown New Jersey with its con artists-politicians-FBI-mafiosi crowd, is intricately weaved into the story. Taking one’s mind off the characters (a teeming multitude, almost) even for a nanosecond—their names, occupation, demographics, location, reason for existence—would leave one instantly clueless. Possibly, this very dependence on context would make this a relatively ‘niche’ film, appealing to a certain section of audience—presumably just those who are well -versed in the cultural and political subtext of a similar nature, or those with a gift of prolonged, minute concentration. Not the usual fare for audience who merely wish to be entertained.

Secondly, this is one complex screenplay, despite its linear mainframe of ‘trapped con artist resurrects himself by conning the one who trapped him’.  The complexity of the story doesn’t come from a multi-layered narrative but rather, as mentioned before, from its repertoire of major and minor characters, each one carefully rounded to perfection irrespective of the time occupied in the frame.  Speaking of content, I cannot help comparing the film to the Dilwara Jain Temples of Mt. Abu—every available inch of marble stacked with human, plant and animal motifs, each one intricate and complete down to the last detail, even, for example, the nails sculpted on the feet of a two inch dancing girl figurine—leaving the spectator in a vortex of aesthetic excess (I apologize for the momentary digression if it was one, but something tells me it wasn’t).

This almost maniacal focus on characterization turns out to be that which classically nourishes the film and also has the potential to destroy it; often the minor characters tend to give the protagonists a run for their money, and not all of it is always necessary.  It is difficult, for example, to keep oneself focussed on the main plot with such elongated ramifications as the subplot of Joslyn Rosenstein, spouse to Irving, the main con man leading the sting operation tactics. Or the ‘fishing story’ instances between FBI agent Richie DeMaso and his immediate boss Stoddard Thorsen, and, at appropriate times, his boss’s boss, Anthony Amado—not linked anyway to the main plot but equally engaging, if not more.  And I honestly DID NOT get the significance of Robert De Niro in the role of Victor Tellegio. Fifteen minutes of screen space with a sprinkling of Arabic to mutter—anybody could do it, really.

That said, now is the time to review the film for that ‘niche’ audience who the film has been made for, and I believe they would love it. Every bit of its whimsical roller-coaster-ride of a storyline with verbal (and at times, physical) punches, quips, darts, flying faster than in any Fight Club, its blackest-of-black comedy in places the least expected, its amazingly human touches to characterization for people who deserve it and people who do not, its brilliantly multi-faceted screenplay which, despite all the digressive burden, plies its way to the final denouement like an overloaded bus negotiating a series of hairpin bends on a mountain road—dangerous, yet infallibly sure.  When the last blow falls, it is driven home with a hammer and a nail on the head—a climax worthy of such whirlwind of a viewing experience, and one which after all the twists and turns the narrative does not lose track of.

Having said much earlier about the detailed characterization, the actors—both the lead and the supporting cast—literally astounded me with their histrionic innovation on screen. I could go on and on about Jennifer Lawrence in her performance as Joslyn Rosenstein, but would just stop at saying that her finesse is making Joslyn come alive with her paradoxical hazardous yet innocuous idiosyncrasies, is phenomenal.  Almost a same line of appreciation follows the performance of Amy Adams as Sidney Prosser, the American con artist with a British nom-de-guerre and an accent to boot. Bradley Cooper and Christian Bale provide solid and expected realistic performances as the ambition-crazed Richie De Maso and the trapped, comically pathetic yet devious conman Irving Rosenstein.  Louis C.K as Stoddard, Jeremy Renner as Carmine Polito, Alessandro Nivola as Anthony Amado, illuminate their limited screen space like brilliant flares.

The film is definitely not a one- time watch, since it is too big for that. Two, maybe three watches down the line, though, it grows on you, whereon it would stealthily remain as one which would tend to resurface at odd moments as that one pleasantly unexpected inspiration.  On my personal Hall of Fame, it would definitely go up, if not with a Bicycle Thief or a Cinema Paradiso or a Reservoir Dogs, then definitely with a Pulp Fiction or a Scarface, or even The Doors.

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