David O. Russell hovers at the top of my list of favorite directors. He captures the messy collision of self-interests that for him defines America. In American Hustle, he whips up a black comedy based on ABSCAM, the late-’70s FBI sting that centered on a bogus sheik and led to the bribery convictions of sundry U.S. politicians. But he doesn’t tell the real ABSCAM story; he adapts it to fit his theme, which is that most of us are busy re-inventing ourselves and conning one another.
Christian Bale plays Irving Rosenfeld, a master flimflam artist who steals from people desperate for bank loans. He and his lover and fellow swindler Sydney, played by Amy Adams, eventually get snared, but the FBI agent in charge, Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), offers a way out of the net: Help him catch a bunch of bigger fish and they’ll go free.
It sounds like a routine plot, but you’ve never seen it in clothes and hairstyles this garish. Bale’s Irving has the most outlandish combover in history: thin strands and wayward puffs glued down and topped with a small, ugly rug. A burgundy three-piece suit and aviator shades completes the hideous effect. Cooper’s Richie is a thin-skinned hothead with tight little curls. He and Irving spend much of the movie spraying testosterone at each other and competing for Sydney, who affects a bad English accent to fool Richie — whom she likes but doesn’t trust.
American Hustle is loud and big. Russell out-Scorseses Scorsese with hyperbolic technique: whip-pans, whooshes, slo-mo, and tacky but great ’70s chart-toppers. He winds his actors up and lets them loose. Bale is outrageously skeevy; Adams uses her blue eyes like stilettos. They put everything they have into scene after scene. The movie is like a slot machine that never stops spitting quarters.