REVIEW - AMERICAN HUSTLE

American Hustle thrives on the coarsest fundamentals of drama, a loose, wayward lark very much consistent with the tone that its co-writer and director, David O. Russell, has cultivated in recent years. He's playing dress-up here, and what he has pulled together here amounts to little more than a big-budget am-dram project, albeit an extremely enjoyable one. Who would have thought that a filmmaker once of such ambition and audacity would have mellowed into such a master of the middle-brow? The collapse of a previous feature and the lure of awards nominations can do that to a person. It's the fine details which trip him up, and in fact even the not-so-fine details: scenes ramble on for far too long, lighting compositions are occasionally very shoddy, narrative focus is erratic, and detrimentally so. There are intermittent signs that the inventive director that once was remains even now, but the lack of control over so many points of so much vitality to the success of a film suggests either someone who (incorrectly) presumes that they are developing a new, creative cinematic style or someone who is very ignorant. Is there reason for this ignorance? Possibly, since the blinding glare of the sequin-and-velvet-clad A-listers hogging the screen is enough to divert the audience's attention, at least to some extent. Amy Adams, whose wobbly British accent must surely be intentionally bad, is the humblest of the principals, and also the best. Christian Bale would once again like everyone to know that he is ACTING, but then he is very good at it. Bradley Cooper has at long last been entrusted a good role for which he is a good fit. Jennifer Lawrence steals her scenes, since they shouldn't really be hers - what fun she has, and what fun we have watching her have fun, but her character and David O. Russell's treatment of her is a nuisance to the film as a whole.