Blow (2001) Johnny Depp; Penelope Cruz, Franka Potente, Rachel Griffiths, Ray Liotta, Paul Reubens, Jordi Molla, Max Perlich, Cliff Curtis, Ethan Suplee, Emma Roberts. Screenplay by David McKenna, Nick Cassavetes; based on the book, "Blow," by Bruce Porter. Directed by Ted Demme. 120 minutes. Rated R, 2.5 stars (out of five stars)
Review by Ed Johnson-Ott, NUVO Newsweekly www.nuvo.com Archive reviews at http://reviews.imdb.com/ReviewsBy?Edward+Johnson-Ott To receive reviews by e-mail at no charge, send subscription requests to ejohnsonott@prodigy.net or e-mail ejohnsonott-subscribe@onelist.com with the word "subscribe" in the subject line.
"Blow" is based on the real life experiences of George Jung, once one of the most successful illegal drug importers on the planet. Back in the late '60s and early '70s, the psychedelic youth brigade of America whiled away their free time peacefully with assorted hallucinogens and all the marijuana they could get their hands on. Then George entered the marketplace with incredible quantities of cocaine and the scene turned ugly.
In other words, George Jung was the kid who spoiled it for the rest of the class.
Jung claims responsibility for bringing in at least 85 percent of the cocaine that entered the United States during the late 1970s. Hmmmmm. It may be true, but then again, former vice-president Al Gore claims that the lead characters in "Love Story" were based on him and his wife, Tipper. And for what it's worth, I single-handedly popularized salt and vinegar potato chips in the Midwest.
Regardless, Jung is generally acknowledged as the key American behind the cocaine tsunami. After reading Brian Porter's decades-spanning rags-to-riches-to-rags biography about the Uber-dealer, director Ted Demme ("Monument Avenue") decided this was a story that must be presented on the big screen. Had "Scarface," "Goodfellas" and "Boogie Nights" never been made, he might have been right. But in the wake of those movies, "Blow" is unable to overcome a "been there, done that" feel. To be fair, there are perks to be had. Johnny Depp contributes a fine performance in the lead role, a few of the supporting players are decent and Demme offers some nice stylistic touches. Still, the production comes off as little more than a variation of a well-worn theme.
The story begins in George's 1950s childhood home in Massachusetts. His father Fred (Ray Liotta) is a plumber with a strong work ethic and an even stronger love of his boy, while his shrewish mother Ermine (Rachel Griffiths) seems more concerned with her standing in the neighborhood than with the well being of her family.
In 1968, George and his best friend Tuna (Ethan Suplee) move to a California beach town, where they discover the joys of girls and ganja. When their cash runs short, the boys decide that – get ready for this – they could make money by (a drum roll, please) selling marijuana! The film presents this as if it was the first time anyone came up with such a concept.
George's stewardess girlfriend Barbara (Franka Potente from "Run Lola Run") hooks him up with Derek (Paul Reubens), a sly hairdresser who enjoys freaking out newcomers with his effeminate mannerisms. Derek fronts the boys a bag of weed and, in short order, they establish a lively business with the college crowd back in Boston, manageable because of Barbara's ability to serve as courier.
Cut to 1970, where George and Barbara live large while operating out of Acapulco, until George gets popped in Chicago with over 600 pounds of the herb. He ends up serving time with Colombian Diego Delgado (Jordi Molla), who hooks him up with the Medellin drug cartel. Bada bing, bada boom, George becomes THE Colombian cocaine pipeline to the States.
Needless to say, there are complicating factors. Visits with the parents are dicey, as Mom has a nasty habit of calling the cops on her son. George creates ill will by wooing and eventually marrying Mirtha (Penelope Cruz), the squeeze of a Medellin big wheel. Finally, George's friends in the cartel are mighty interested in learning the name of his main connection on the West Coast.
While the film has a number of powerful scenes, the story arc is just as you would expect and, when the inevitable downfall begins, everything drags. Demmes tries to jazz things up by using camera gimmicks common to each decade of the story (faux home movies for the '50s, rainbow zippiness for the '60s, washed out colors and lots of zooms for the '70s, yadda, yadda, yadda). The visuals are moderately engaging, but not enough to overcome the overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
The same goes with the performances. Depp is very good and Liotta provides welcome support as the loving, nonjudgmental papa. Unfortunately, to denote the passage of time, both men must wear fake bellies that are, ahem, a bit less than convincing. Paul Reubens also does solid work, creating a sense of playful wickedness in his supporting role. The rest of the cast is comprised of the expected stereotypes, with Griffiths and Cruz consistently annoying as one-note harridans.
While "Blow" has a fair share of rewards, it is a decidedly minor movie. Still, many early reviews of the film have been positively gushing. Why? I can think of only one reason – when they saw the flick, them damn critics were all hopped up on coke.
© 2001 Ed Johnson-Ott
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