Movie review by Greg Carlson
David O. Russell continues to expand his interest in a kind of contemporary screwball comedy with “American Hustle,” a tremendously funny con that manages to simultaneously conjure “The Philadelphia Story” and “The Sting” by way of “Goodfellas.” As messy, ridiculous, and elaborate as the wild comb-over worn by Christian Bale’s scammer Irving Rosenfeld, “American Hustle” builds its roller coaster on the outlines of the FBI’s cockeyed Abscam scandal, a bizarre sting operation that mushroomed from the investigation of forgery and stolen art to the bribery and entrapment of public officials. The late 70s setting serves as a tip regarding Russell’s intentions, as actors slip into period costumes and hairstyles matched perfectly to the delirious soundtrack.
The “Some of this actually happened” title card that opens the movie works as both Russell’s winking, “don’t take this seriously” come-on to the viewer and the cautionary reminder that some folks really did wear towering pompadours like the one sprayed into place on the head of Camden, New Jersey mayor Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner). Polito’s mob-connected big wheel finds a kindred spirit in Irving. Both men have developed a drive and appetite for social connections and have convinced themselves that they only hustle, cheat, and swindle for benevolent and bighearted ends. Incredibly, their pathetic self-delusion somehow borders on the sympathetic.
With the recent announcement of the Academy Award honorees, Russell’s movie is the fifteenth in Oscar history to receive nominations in all four acting categories (none ever won all four), but more impressive is this: Russell is the only director to do it twice, let alone back to back. The principal quartet of Bale, Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence receives ample support from Renner, Louis CK, Shea Whigham, Elisabeth Rohm, Paul Herman, and an uncredited Robert De Niro, who steals a wonderful scene as a gangster with an unexpected talent for languages. Russell makes it clear that when the actors have fun, the audience will as well.
A few critics have observed that America’s Current Sweetheart Jennifer Lawrence might be too young to play Rosenfeld’s wife Rosalyn, but the effortlessly appealing star is a riot, using her character’s status as an unsatisfied, manipulative odalisque to catalyze action from “science oven” kitchen fires to loose-lipped betrayal. Cleaning house in every sense of the phrase, Lawrence is as dynamite gyrating to “Live and Let Die” as she is fearlessly looking for a good time with dangerous thugs while Irving and his girlfriend Sydney (Adams) look on in horror.
Even though the balding and paunchy Irving at first seems an unlikely Romeo, he assumes a place at the center of the movie’s pair of triangles. Married to Rosalyn but romancing kindred spirit Sydney Prosser, a gifted imposter who morphs into faux English noblewoman Lady Edith to dazzle suckers, Irving must play ball with impulsive, showboating G-man Richie DiMaso (Cooper) or face charges. Quickly, Russell starts shuffling the deck, leaving viewers to wonder just who’s zooming who as Lady Edith appears to entertain the affections of Richie. In one of the movie’s most stimulating scenes, Sydney and Richie move from the dance floor to a bathroom stall at a disco club. Choreographed to the one-two punch of Donna Summer and Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes, Sydney insists she doesn’t want anymore “fake shit,” but by that point, reality and fantasy are utterly indistinguishable from one another.