There was no hustle, just a lame sting with hidden camera to entrap some faceless politicians into taking bribes. The wife, introduced as a stay at home recluse, turns out to be a loose stupid slut, and the quick montage of hustler’s backstory wasn’t remotely plausible. I claim no special knowledge. In this movie the old gangsters at the bar are charmed by the slut, but really, why would they be with twenty three olds by the dozen just a part of the life? The authorities were children, the drunks were obviously just pretending, and the hustle didn’t make any money. This movie is much nominated for awards, the director has been fawningly interviewed by Jon Steward, yet nothing in it faithfully reflects real life experience. Out of business and bereft of bankroll our dejected hustlers wind up dealing art, sitting in front of a collection bought in a used furniture store.
Dealing art is thus identified as the lowest hustle, the fallback of the defeated conman, an enterprise as pointless and shallow as this con-job of a movie. I don’t know about dealing art, but I do know about art. There are examples, even on TV, of characters believable as people doing plausible things, even in extreme situations, and it’s by comparison that this movie is revealed as just a hustle, awards notwithstanding. Isn’t it just that way with all art?
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