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Review: “American Gangster”
By kyle | November 1, 2007
SAY HELLO TO MY LEETLE M.B.A.
Kyle Smith Review of “American Gangster”
160 minutes/R (graphic violence, nudity, profanity, drug abuse)
Like an automatic weapon that fires economic principles–this movie has any many bullet points as bullets–Ridley Scott’s “American Gangster” is lethally effective. Many have tried to be the black “Scarface;” this one succeeds. Elegantly paced, visually dazzling and guided by a cynically witty take on American capitalism,it’s the first film this year that has a serious chance at an Oscar nomination for Best Picture.
Denzel Washington plays a real-life Harlem drug kingpin who, inspired by the outsourcing and distribution-channel prowess summarized at a TV store (”Sony this, Toshiba that”), puts solid business tactics to use in bringing a higher grade of heroin to the street, at a lower price than anyone’s ever seen. But don’t worry: he also shoots people. Though it’s the 70s, he doesn’t see the point of dressing in pimp finery. Why attract attention? He dresses like the chairman of IBM (if the chairman had any style), and the cops who follow the drug trade don’t even know who he is.
Not that they care; they’re all on the take, except for one snuffling hounddog over in Jersey (Russell Crowe, doing a slightly overchewed New York accent but otherwise superb). Crowe’s Det. Richie Robinson is the kind of cop who, when he finds a car with a trunk full of money, actually turns it in. For this he gets the reward of laughter from other cops; this is the “Serpico” era, when a detective’s most dangerous habit is honesty. Other, dirtier cops have every incentive to get him out of their way so he can never give them up.
As he was in “Cinderella Man,” Crowe, one of our most consistently compelling stars, is perfect for the role of a beaten-down bastard. Even Richie’s wife (Carla Gugino) can’t stand him. Washington, meanwhile, cruises through the role with a cool, smart grandeur, a dapper devil you don’t want to mess with. This is the best part he’s had in years.
As Washington’s Frank Lucas talks about quality control and branding, the movie cleverly puts off telling us exactly how he has managed to beat the competition–but when it does, it’s scary, disgusting, ironic and brilliantly twisted. Everything that was going on in the world then–Nixon keeps popping up in the background–ties together with a big bloody bow.
But Richie is just as clever: though the money he uses for information keeps winding up in the hands of his crooked rival detective (a coarse and mangy Josh Brolin–also excellent), he figures out who rules the streets by staking out the crime world’s version of the Ascot races–a Muhammad Ali fight–and guesses how important the fans are based on their seat assignments. Talked into it by his woman, Frank unwisely dresses to impress the street, which costs him. Young gangstas in the audience will be taking careful notes: maybe bling will disappear from the ambitious dealer’s wardrobe in favor of Ralph Lauren tailoring. “The loudest one in the room,” says Frank, “is the weakest one in the room.”
Not that the movie is quiet; there are busted deals, gruesome murders, and visits to the back room where the drugs are processed–by girls, because they’re more trustworthy, although not so trustworthy that they can be allowed to wear clothes while they’re working. That would give them a place to hide stolen merchandise.
Freewheelingly nasty, harshly unsentimental and darkly satirical for over two hours, the movie takes a third-act turn that’s even wilder than what’s come before–but this, too, is part of the strange true story of Frank and Richie. There could be a whole other movie in the finale, but director Scott, fearing a three-hour running time, pares things down to a summary. If we’re lucky there will be another hour that turns up on DVD.
“American Gangster” leans one too many times on a button marked Please Notice Parallels with Legitimate Business Dealings–it isn’t necessary for Frank to announce, “I ain’t running from nobody. This is America”–but most of the time, thanks in large part to Steve Zaillian’s script, it’s as quick and sharp as a switchblade. When Frank’s sainted little mother, who is happily unaware of where his riches come from, asks to talk to him for a minute, we expect to hear her complain that the TV is too loud or tell him to bundle up if he’s going out. Instead she comes up with this gem: “You don’t shoot a cop. Even I know that.” Sure beats “Eat your veggies” for motherly wisdom.
October 18th, 2007 at 8:26 pm
[...] I’ve put a link to this article here [...]
October 30th, 2007 at 11:51 pm
What about the new Documentary on Nicky Barnes, aka “Mr Untouchable”?
October 31st, 2007 at 9:39 am
I haven’t seen it. Barnes, as played by Cuba Gooding (!), is a minor figure in American Gangster who gets schooled in the importance of branding by Frank Lucas but the documentary makes it look like Barnes was the important figure while Frank Lucas was merely in the background somewhere.
December 12th, 2007 at 9:55 pm
[...] American Gangster. [...]