Well, the Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences voters—i.e. the people who hand out those tiny little golden
men everyone seems to be talking about today—have had their say. Here is my
response.
Intro
I love movies. I have loved movies all my life. I grew up on them. When I was eight years old, I managed to convince myself I would make movies when I grew up. Now I am in the process of getting a degree in Film Studies. I write about film more than ever before, partly because I have to for my classes, mostly because I enjoy it, because I have something to write about. Sometimes it helps me understand the film better; sometimes it helps me understand myself better.I created this blog as a place to showcase my work, and also as an incentive to keep writing reviews, analyses, and essays over breaks, when there’s no one here to grade me.I have tried many times, and failed, to explain in a coherent manner why it is that I love films. Here is my best—and most coherent—guess.
Showing posts with label American Hustle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American Hustle. Show all posts
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Sunday, December 29, 2013
American Hustle (2013)
I was going to start my review by saying American Hustle is the best Scorsese movie since Goodfellas, no matter
that it wasn’t actually directed by Martin Scorsese. But American Hustle is made by movie maverick David O. Russell,
now one of Hollywood’s biggest and most reliable A-list filmmakers, and the
film is truly and uniquely his, as much I Heart Huckabees as
it is Casino. Like its main
characters, this almost rudely, insistently entertaining movie has tremendous
confidence and sparkling showmanship, spinning its twisted Horatio Alger yarn
with all the skill of a seasoned swindler.
Russell doesn’t just flirt with disaster—as he did in Silver
Linings Playbook—but courts it openly. Almost continuously over its 135
minutes, the director seems to embrace complete entropy (if not anarchy) and an
exaggerated human circus approach, only to pull a long con of his own, one
performed with enough control and elegance to have you hooked. If the result,
more flimflammery flair than finesse, seems like a bit of a narrative mess, it’s
a rich, marvelous mess in which the narrative is not what mattered to begin
with.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)


