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“Gambit” takes the
1960s Michael Caine Brit caper of the same name –- which I have only seen
sections –- and casts Colin Firth and Alan Rickman in roles tailor made for each
man’s screen persona. Firth is the charmer. Rickman is the asshole. Firth’s plan:
Sell a fake Monet to Rickman’s media tycoon, and get rich. We have Joel and
Ethan Coen given screenwriter credit. Don’t believe that PR move. Whatever version
they wrote died long ago. Nor should you believe the flimsy animated credits
opener that wants us to think “Pink Panther,” but delivers nothing of the sort.
Believe nothing about this romp. The main gag has Firth’s hero as a delusional
con artist who sees ideas play out perfectly in his mind before reality kicks
in. He attracts disaster. A wink at Firth’s unending charisma? No. Director
Michael Hoffman pulls the worst gotch’ya ender in history, negating the
entire movie. Worst bit: Cameron Diaz channels Jesse from “Toy Story” as a cowgirl at the center of the wonky plot. She’s intolerable.
D-
Director David O.
Russell (“Silver Linings Playbook”) opens his great 1970s-set conman comedy/drama
“American Hustle” with the tagline, “Some of this actually happened,” which
means we’re in for a blast of hellacious fun. Screw the facts. Entertain us. We
open on a fat, slouching Christian Bale as he plasters a comb-over job atop his
head until –- in his eyes -- he’s the suave lady-killer of his youth. It’s a
laugh riot, a self-con from a sad sack unaware he’s done. Bale is Irving
Rosenfeld, a NYC loan shark suffocating inside a mafia-heavy squeeze alongside his
con-artist partner/mistress (Amy Adams), his metal-in-the-microwave wife
(Jennifer Lawrence), a loon FBI agent (Bradley Cooper) with a bad perm, and a
Jersey mayor (Jeremy Renner) who’s far too trusting and nice. That’s the gist.
“Hustle” is too much a blast to spill more. Channeling early Scorsese with a wink-wink gleam, Russell nails the Me Decade with its big clothes, jewelry,
and cars, with everyone wanting the gold ring promised to them by TV,
and constantly checking their hair, even after a beat down. The acting is
bonkers good, with Louis C.K. stealing thunder as an FBI boss obsessing a childhood
ice fishing story. That man amazes. A
Note: I saw this while ill and on medicine, missing sections, so grain of salt...
Sam Raimi’s prequel
has an impossible task: Stand not after, but before the perfect “Wizard of Oz,” one of the greatest films produced by Hollywood. Dolled up in 3D
and the best CGI computers can buy, borrow, and steal, “Oz: the Great and
Powerful” has no chance. But it’s not a bad film. There’s a childlike playfulness to it, and stacked beside his very unchildlike “Spring Breakers,” oddly fascinating. James
Franco again plays against three women as a con artist who’s been bullshitting himself
so long, he believes his own schtick. His Oscar is swept away by a tornado to the
land that bears his nickname, and there he meets three sisters and witches
(Michelle Williams, Mila Kunis, and Rachel Weisz) who believe him to be some
kind of prophet. You know from “Wizard” how it all shakes out, and this echoes
the same beats -– traveling companions, munchkins, and witch battle. Franco
gives a weird, sly take as with “Breakers.” Maybe too sly. Kunis is great and
terrible. But wasn’t Judy Garland? Great and powerful? No. The heart of “Oz” beats far too cynical, whereas the 1939 film roared beautifully and proud. But it entertains. B
