American Hustle

Martin Scorsese has his Goodfellas. David O. Russell answers with his Mediocre-fellas.

Set in a similarly colorful and equally absurd universe of seedy, over-dramatized miscreants, American Hustle relays the mostly-true details of the controversial ABSCAM case, admitting up front in a title card that only ?some of this actually happened.? Playing fast and loose with the facts isn?t the issue dogging Hustle, however. The picture can?t switch into a higher gear as Russell maneuvers this sluggish crime comedy through grotesque, cartoonish but pointless transitions as his black comedy searches for a laugh.

Decked out in the appropriately hideous attire of 1978, the FBI ? led by maverick, sociopathic agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper) ? stage an elaborate long con meant to ensnare numerous corrupt politicians, including an opportunistic New Jersey mayor (Jeremy Renner), a handful of greedy U.S. congressmen, and a crooked senator. To help him pull off this complicated scheme, DiMaso blackmails Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale) and Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams), low-level grifters who were getting ?fat? off of easily duped Jersey entrepreneurs.

Like most hastily hatched schemes, the plan is designed to be simple. What a boring movie that would make. DiMaso?s strategy eventually grows unwieldy, targeting those with broader political influence. In turn, the stakes also raise ? putting Rosenfeld and Prosser in boiling-hot water while also threatening the well being of numerous seemingly innocent bystanders (including Rosenfeld?s wife, played by Jennifer Lawrence).

The Goodfellas reference isn?t by accident. Russell employs his usual suspects, but digs deep into Scorsese?s trademark bag of tricks for Hustle, bending his distended story around filmmaking gimmicks we associate with the legendary director (but ones that, admittedly, do not belong to Scorsese, alone).

The biggest similarity has to be the picture?s over-reliance on narration, with Hustle characters talking ? and talking, and talking ? us through an unnecessarily convoluted script. Con games require exposition. The last thing a director wants to do in a bait-and-switch story is leave the audience in the dust. But Hustle, adopting the breathy tone of a 1940s noir, explains and explains until the unusual becomes mundane. And given the amount of ?unusual? on display here, that?s saying a lot.

Russell, in the process, does continue to establish his own film vocabulary. Hustle has as much in common with the blue-collar bombast of The Fighter as it does with Scorsese?s gaudy, dangerous Casino. The camera violently pans and scans, zooming in on a character?s hands, or tracking a briefcase filled with money as if it contains a bomb, ready to explode. As he has done in movies past, Russell laces a bed of recognizable period tunes behind his action. Yet even that?s a mixed bag. He makes good use of Elton John?s Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road, then nearly torpedoes Lawrence?s burgeoning career by asking her to sing Wings? Live and Let Die in a cringingly embarrassing scene. Hustle actually lacks that one memorable marriage of scene and song, a sequence that drills its way into the core of a moment the way Led Zeppelin?s What Is (And What Should Never Be) captured the heartbreaking confusion of Cooper?s vicious breakdown in last year?s Silver Linings Playbook. Then again, Hustle often seems to be chasing the deliberately messy structure that worked so well in Playbook but doesn?t gel here.

You end up noticing these glaring problems because Hustle ultimately doesn?t crackle with the energy needed to sell the con. The first hour passes by because it?s easy to stay busy criticizing the period-glam of Russell?s garish cast. The ?razzle dazzle,? as Lawrence?s suburban housewife describes it. The movie opens with an extended shot of a bloated Bale ? looking like iconic producer Robert Evans ? doctoring the disastrous hairpiece that rests atop his head like rescued road kill. From there, we?re practically dared by Russell to look away from Renner?s Frankie Vali coif, Adams? persistent side boob, Cooper?s greasy perm and Lawrence?s nail polish (which smells like an intoxicating blend of flowers and garbage).

But it?s all window dressing. The clothes, the hair, the accents, the ?science oven? ? they?re all distractions that are supposed to keep us entertained because, without them, Russell?s holding an empty box of half-truths, silly caricatures, and disappointing conclusions. The hustle ends up being on those who came to American Hustle seeking substance behind the flash.

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American Reunion

Try to imagine this. It?s 1999. Jim?s dad (Eugene Levy) catches his sexually curious son (Jason Biggs) raping an apple pie. Instead of disposing of the dessert, though, he places the molested pastry in a time capsule. The vault is sealed and buried in the yard, where the rotting slice grows stale, sticky and revoltingly indigestible.

Thirteen years later, the capsule is opened. The pungent stench of moldy fruit and crusty ejaculation is enough to make you want to vomit. What?s left of the soiled pie is scraped out of its filthy container, placed on a plate, and served to susceptible patrons as something edible.

If you hadn?t already guessed, the rancid pie remnants in the above analogy are meant to represent American Reunion. And Universal is handing you a virtual fork, daring you to scoop a mouthful of this wretched ?comedy? and choke it down. Please, God, tell me you?re not going to waste your time and ? more important ? money on prepubescent jerk-off humor that reeks of comedic flopsweat and gender-insensitive sexual frustration.

And yet, I honestly expected something better. What an idiot that makes me. Even though the American Pie brand has since devolved into a straight-to-video crap factory cranking out tepid sequels meant to titillate teenage boys (and keep Levy employed), I chose to believe that the producers wouldn?t bother dragging the series back into theaters unless it had something relevant to say about getting older and finding our way as post-graduate thirtysomethings who are wrestling with careers, children and aging parents. Nope. Reunion ends up being everything I prayed it wouldn?t be: Lazy, stupid, recycled, immature, predictable, unfunny ... a pathetic attempt by a dead franchise to scrape the bottom of an already filthy barrel and squeeze a few more dollars from audience members seeking clich?d nostalgia. The only thing that differentiates it from the aforementioned DVD sequels is that the original cast members from the 1999 installment all had time on their professional schedules to participate. Given their non-existent acting abilities, though, it?s easy to understand why they?re hardly in demand.

The story involves the Pie kids returning home to Michigan for their 13th high school reunion. (An unlucky number for them, and for us.) Each arrives with a unique emotional problem, all of which are resolved in stupefyingly boring fashion. The central conflict involves ?old? married couple Jim (Biggs) and Michelle (Alyson Hannigan), whose relationship is in a rut. Neither can stop masturbating, yet sex with each other sounds about as appealing as sitting through American Pie Presents: The Book of Love.

Jim blames their sexual frigidity on the couple?s young son, though never fear ? directors Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg jettison the child for long stretches of Reunion, prompting this parent to wonder why Jim and Michelle are never with their kid, or interested where he might be. Jim, in fact, hardly ever touches his child, if he even touches him at all. Maybe it?s because I?m a dad, but I tend to pay attention to stuff like that. The filmmakers should, as well, if they?re going to bother introducing a child into the equation. It would be remarkable, if only Reunion was one of those movies that concerned itself with details. It doesn?t.

Tell me, what is the point of American Reunion? As a comedy, it dwells on five unsatisfied man-children who despise their present, fear their future, and long for a past that wasn?t very enjoyable in the first place. You?d never celebrate the Pie movies for their sophisticated insights into the human condition or their inspired physical comedy. Yet even the one choreographed bit in the middle of Reunion, which finds Jim sneaking his naked teenage neighbor back into her suburban bedroom, is a tired exercise in sitcom chicanery.

Sloppy direction and pedantic screenwriting almost could be excused if Reunion had something to offer beyond sex-crazed punchlines that stopped being funny before American Wedding. Who?s still laughing as Scott?s unfiltered frat brat Stiffler pines for an oral-happy girlfriend he disgustingly dismisses as ?the mouth that got away?? But as the movie?s attempts at recreating its tailgating youth scattered haphazardly like buckshot, I felt sad for anyone who behaves like the frozen-in-time idiots of the Pie universe ? and for anyone who thinks spending time with these movies is entertaining.

?Maybe in high school it was funny. Now it?s just a felony,? one character reflects. He?s exactly right. ?

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