The Hairstyles and Costumes
Setting a film in the late-'70s/early-'80s is to current-day filmmakers what setting a film in the 1960s was to filmmakers in the '90s (follow me?). That is to say, it's a blank check for production-design excess, purposefully tacky costumes, and laughably gaudy hairstyles. Last year, Argo blew their budget on so many wide collars and fake mustaches that they ran out of shirts for Ben Affleck. Hustle has taken this kind of period excess and shot it out of a cannon. Every scene heralds something garish and (intentionally) tacky. The hair alone, from Cooper's tight home perm to Bale's Trump-ian combover to Renner and Lawrence engaging in a bouffant arms race that will surely bury us all, is worth a deep dive of its own. But by the time Amy Adams struts through some dry ice with a crimped wig made from 12,000 discarded Ginger Spice dolls from 1997, the impact has dulled somewhat.
Baseline Believability
Russell's world is all surface. All artiface. It's surely intentional, this movie about scammers should naturally have some degree of facade to it. But even if these people aren't supposed to have rich inner lives, you still have to believe them in order to follow them along through their desperate little schemes. But there wasn't a second I spent watching American Hustle where I wasn't acutely aware I was looking at five very well-paid actors playing dress-up. Actually, that's not entirely true ...
The Performances
Amy Adams is straight-up terrific. She's handed the character that makes the least sense in the film—magazine-writer Sydney, who longs to break free of her mundane world, shack up with married gross person Irving Rosenfeld (Bale), and don an affected English accent in order to lure people into loan-shark scams. Why is she doing this? Oh, you know. Self-actualization or the American dream or something. The point is: WOW, look at how low-cut her dress is! Despite this leaf-in-a-breeze of a character, Adams nails her down, getting to the heart of her desperation and delivering the only character who feels like a lived-in person. Even done up in ostentatious curlers and given reams of redundant dialogue wherein she has to explain every blessed facet of her emotions, she still manages to hold onto some inner secrets. Something she can't say out loud, no matter how much Russell prods her to. Previous to Hustle, Adams had done the best work of her career in Russell's The Fighter, and if this talking wig of a movie does nothing else, it has at least proved that the Adams/Russell combo is the one I'd most like to see continue to flourish.
Nobody else can match Adams's level here. Bradley Cooper comes close, cocky and opportunistic as he is as an FBI agent whose ambition serves the save function as Ray Liotta's coke habit does in Goodfellas (a movie Russell borrows from heavily). Jeremy Renner is also solid, but his character is drawn with almost no dimension on the page. He's the victim in all this, an innocent lamb of a politician whose true concern for his community makes bastards of those who might take him down.