American Gangster (2007) is, for all intents and purposes, Oscar
bait. It's the kind of two-hour plus epic studios like to parade
in the multiplexes just before the horse races (the New York Film
Critics; the L.A. Film Critics; the Golden whatsis; the Oscars),
in the hopes of garnering a statue or two (no such luck; the Academy
Award nominees have just been announced, the picture save for a
few minor categories largely ignored).
The movie was
inspired by "The Return of Superfly," a New York Magazine article
written by Mark Jacobson about Frank Lucas, a true-life heroin entrepreneur
turned police informant. Lucas rose from the ranks of Ellsworth
'Bumpy' Johnson's Harlem gang (briefly but memorably played here
by Clarence Williams III) as driver and enforcer; when Johnson dies
of a heart attack, Lucas takes over.
most interesting portion of the movie's story takes place after
Lucas inherits Johnson's gang. Studying the situation, Lucas realized
that he would never get ahead if he relied on Mafia distributors
for his heroin, so he went straight to the source - to South-east
Asia's 'Golden Triangle' - and bought directly from the suppliers.
He devised an ingenious way of smuggling them in (to quote from
Richard Maibaum and Tom Mankiewicz: "Alimentary, my dear Leiter
and sold them on the streets of Harlem as 'Blue Magic,' 98 per cent
pure heroin - so pure they sometimes caused dope addicts (used to
inferior powder) to overdose.
a fascinating parody of American capitalism - cut out the middleman,
be innovative, sell a quality product - or is it a parody? I can
think of a few billionaires - Bill Gates comes to mind - who adhere
to less lofty standards (Microsoft Windows, anyone?). Problem is,
Scott wants it to be more than that, wants a big screen biopic that
will include all the usual moments in a drug lord's life and still
come out strong for the American war on drugs.
What the material needs is a filmmaker with a sense of irony (a
rare and precious commodity in Hollywood, when you stop to think
about it); maybe the more mature Spike Lee we saw in Inside Man
(2006) and 25th Hour (2002), or a less frenetic Martin Scorsese
working on a sharply focused script, or even a still-breathing Robert
Altman (go ahead, wish for the moon).
Lucas' life is a - or should be - a black comedy about achieving
success in the illegal drug industry, emphasis on the word 'industry;'
instead we get The Godfather (1974) without the strong family dynamics
or sense of rooted identity.
As Denzel Washington
plays him, Lucas is basically an African-American Michael Corleone;
he's suave and restrained, capable of the occasional (and unconvincing)
burst of violence; about the deepest subtext one senses in his performance
is a hunger to at least be nominated for yet another golden doorstop
(as noted, no such luck).
Scott does best staging elaborate shots that last minutes
at a time, allowing you to drink in all the period detail
and atmosphere and production design, only this time the period
is New York in the '70s, possibly the one era Scott hasn't
a clue how to evoke properly.
article (and Jacobson's October 2007 interview of the man talking
with fellow gangster Nicky Barnes (played in the movie with lively
gusto by Cuba Gooding, Jr.)) reveals a more expansive, forceful
personality, one skillfully able to present himself as a hardworking
businessman with a bent but nevertheless still working set of principles.
Jacobson's Lucas is a bullshit artist extraordinaire, part candor
("Its not something Frank (Barnes) or I would tell any of
our children to get into"), part glamorizing spin ("A drug dealer
gonna live to his word. Im not talking about a junkie. Im
talking about a man like Frank Lucas or Nicky Barnes").
Lucas at the age of 77 and confined to a wheelchair shows more life,
energy and outsized humor than Washington ever does in the entire
picture; Gooding, on the other hand, captures enough of Barnes'
style to make an impression onscreen, but throws the picture off-balance
- generally not a good thing when the supporting performer out-acts
For this film
director Scott eschews his trademark burnt-orange, dustmote-drenched
lighting in favor of the kind of bright 'n gritty '70s-style cinematography
pioneered by Vilmos Zsigmond and Laszlo Kovacs. But the expert reproduction
of a long-ago look is disastrously employed, to photograph needles
plunging into scarred arms, babies crying helplessly beside their
dead, overdosed parents - images that would seem heavy-handed in
an anti-drug TV commercial, much less this movie.
When the picture goes into action, it's standard-issue handheld
footage, cut chop-suey style for extra oomph; Scott's been making
films for - what, thirty years? - and he still doesn't seem to know
the first thing about shooting a coherent action sequence. He does
best staging elaborate shots that last minutes at a time, allowing
you to drink in all the period detail and atmosphere and production
design, only this time the period is New York in the '70s, possibly
the one era Scott hasn't a clue how to evoke properly.
Cuba Gooding Jr.
The movie suffers
even more when put against the near-miraculous achievement of James
Gray's We Own The Night
(2007) which came out around the same time, set in the same period
(actually the '80s - but with many of the detritus and accoutrements
of the previous decade).
Gray has more than filmmaking talent, he has a distinct sensibility,
one that likes to take a step back and apprehend its characters
- usually standing against a door frame or striding down a hallway
- while they introduce themselves to us with tiny gestures or brief
but revealing expressions.
His handheld footage needs no apologies - when during a surprise
ambush he gives us Joaquin Phoenix's panicked appraisal of the dashboard
and windshield of the car he's driving (plus glimpses of the pair
of cars (one of them driven by his father, the other by hired assassins)
racing beside him), he's showing us a world suddenly spun out of
control, showing us chaos in full bloom, and Phoenix's utter helplessness
in the face of it.
It's amazing, really, how a great film like We Own The Night can
be completely ignored in this year's horse races, while something
like American Gangster is able to pick up a few Guild awards, some
technical Oscars, even a few Golden Globes (nominations, all). Well,
maybe not so amazing - it's Hollywood, after all, the land that's
been refracted through the looking-glass so many times you're not
sure what direction is what, or what constitutes reality, anymore.
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First published in Businessworld, 01.25.08.