The ‘based on a true story’ we so often see at the beginning of a film has been a recurring Bête Noire of mine for some considerable time. I have argued before that the licence it gives to film-makers is open to the widest interpretation. It is a specious use of language. It allows writer and director to re-frame events, dissemble, misrepresent people, and, if challenged on points of veracity, hide behind the fact that it was never claimed to be a truthful recall.

The Butler was one of the biggest culprits in 2013. This film was based on THE true story rather than A true story – whatever the difference of the definite article might imply. The only problem was that most of the major events portrayed in the life of Cecil Gaines never happened – his mother’s rape; his father’s murder; his son in the Black Panthers; his son killed on active service in Vietnam. All poppycock.

So David O. Russell’s wonderful American Hustle had me on-side from the outset with its tongue in cheek advice at the film’s beginning that ‘Some of this actually happened’.

Set in the 1970s, Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale) is a con man skilled at depriving the needy from cash they can ill afford to lose. Not wishing to restrict his activities to the lower socio-economic demograph, he sells forged art works to the well-heeled as a lucrative sideline. Joining him in these activities is the seductive erstwhile stripper, Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams), who poses as a royalty-connected member of the British aristocracy to give the operation some class. Their ill-gotten trade is broken by federal agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper) who then turns the couple in order to ensnare corrupt politicians on the take whom he wishes to expose and incarcerate in furtherance of his career. DiMaso’s inordinate ambition is hampered only by his lack of tactical nous as he has to rely ever more on the wily Rosenfeld.

 American Hustle is a grand success at nearly every level.

The ensemble cast appears to be without a weakness: Christian Bale, with a heavy paunch and comical comb-over, always suggests that he is far more in control then he is letting on; Amy Adams, about whom I was scathing  as the demure Lois Lane in Man of Steel, is pitch perfect as the cleavage-showing Siren oozing sex appeal – her ability to separate salivating men from their dollars was all too believable; Bradley Cooper with another comical hairstyle, this time a tight-knit perm, clearly enjoyed his role as the obsessive and flawed FBI man; Jeremy Renner as the well-meaning Mayor, Carmine Polito, (collateral damage in Cooper’s crusade) came across as an oily  and cheesy lounge singer as a reminder of an era before professional spin doctors homogenised the political class; Jennifer Lawrence as Bale’s trailer trash and manipulative wife, aware of the lien she holds over her estranged husband, gave a fantastic performance of tragic comedy. An uncredited cameo from Robert De Niro exuding septuagenarian menace was the cake icing.

Direction from David O. Russell was consistently fast-paced with no lulls in its 138 minutes and without ever being confusing. The cinematography and editing were first rate.

It would be nit-picking to mention that the excellent 70s soundtrack was occasionally just a little overblown.

But what raises American Hustle well over the bar is its screenplay from David O. Russell and Eric Warren Singer. Humorous throughout, the film has several laugh out loud moments while also delivering both dramatic impact and thought provoking concepts. As Christian Bale becomes ever more ambivalent about what he is being forced to do, he very deftly leads the audience to share his growing but tacit realisation that sometimes an end can very much justify the means. That the film is bound to have a final twist is never in doubt. If, when it comes, it is not totally innovative or surprising, quite frankly – who cares?

The producers of American Hustle can start hiring the limos for Oscar night.

4.5 stars

Tim Meade