Originally published in the Sunday Times, 2 March 2014
American Hustle is a sprawling con-caper, electric with the mania of its principal cast. Set at the anxious close of the 1970s, it recreates the sartorial flagrance of its period with sleazy savoir faire: tilting toupées, pumpkin three-pieces and slashed-up dresses which have Amy Adams’ teardrop cleavage on display for much of the film. Adams plays Sydney Prosser, who in one of the film’s multiply-narrated voiceovers tells us, “My dream was to become anything other than what I was.” Awakened to the contradictory heart of American capitalism, she starts up a sultry affair with con artist, Irving Rosenfeld – impossibly charismatic in spite of his slouchy pot belly, gaudy medallions and quilt of curly chest hair (Christian Bale in another act of metamorphosis). The romantic double-crossers join forces thrillingly, using Prosser’s alter-ego, English aristocrat Lady Edith Greensly, to flog forged artworks and bogus loans to clients seduced by her British pageantry.
Hustle is based loosely – “some of this actually happened”, it slyly quips – on the FBI Abscam scandal, a sting using decoy sheikhs and more than a touch of entrapment, to ensnare a clutch of corrupt politicians. Soon enough, Rosenfeld and Prosser are hostage to agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), who wants to channel their grifter skills for his elaborate operation. An isosceles love triangle pits this frayed threesome against each other. Hustle is charming and overlong, its plot unfurling in a labyrinth of romantic espionage. It’s a film about the hysterical theatre of the con merchant, and bold performances are the soul of its attraction. Bale, Adams and Jennifer Lawrence – as Rosenfeld’s young tigress of a wife – play out their personalities with the energy of a jazz freestyle, a jam-session of talents at their improvisational best. From drunken evenings in smoke-plumed Atlantic City lounges, to the conspiratorial bedrooms of lavish hotels – in bursts of magenta, vermillion and paisley - these characters effervesce with wild ego.
Hustle has a nobler spiritual ancestor in Scorsese’s Goodfellas, and moments succumb to a slurry drawl that would benefit from a tighter script. As Rosenfeld’s half-genuine heart starts to corrupt the sting, especially his brotherly friendship with target, Mayor Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner), the narrative gets tangled in a knot of counter-deceptions. But despite the occasional jaunt into monotony, director David O. Russell (The Fighter, Silver Linings Playbook) has given his cast a brightly-realised backdrop in which to play out their comic hustle.