Blow

2001, Movie, R, 119 mins

BLOW
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Seductive, funny, whip-smart and ultimately tragic, this fact-based movie about George Jung, a genial pot dealer who wound up almost single-handedly blanketing the United States with Colombian snow, doesn't have the epic ambitions of TRAFFIC. It's a classic rise-and-fall story, electrified by Johnny Depp's best work since DONNIE BRASCO. Born into a working-class Massachusetts family, Jung grows up adoring his industrious father Fred (Ray Liotta), whose materialistic shrew of a wife, Ermine (Rachel Griffiths), never fails to point out his inadequacies as a provider. After dad is forced to declare bankruptcy, little George discovers his inner Scarlett O'Hara, vowing that he'll never be poor again. Flash forward: Armed with little more than a high school diploma, Jung (Depp) heads West to find his fortune. He winds up on Venice Beach at the tail-end of the hedonistic '60s, grooving on an endless pot party freckled with beautiful, fun-loving girls who all seem to be stewardesses. In short order, Jung finds a foxy girlfriend (Franka Potente) and a calling: Funneling the sunshine state's grade-A pot to buzz-hungry East-coast college students. A born salesman with a flair for smuggling, George inevitably scores a ticket to the criminal networking party known as jail time, where he makes the connection that changes his life. Diego Delgado (Jordi Mollà) is in for car theft, but has friends in the fledgling Colombian cocaine trade who are looking for an entrée into the U.S. market. And from there it's one short step to making $60 million, marrying a vulgar Colombian bombshell (Penélope Cruz) and having a beautiful daughter — then pissing it all away. The trajectory is familiar and the moral might as well be spelled out in neon, but Ted Demme (working from David McKenna and Nick Cassavetes's script, based on the book by Bruce Porter) avoids the sanctimonious tone that undermines most cautionary tales. Jung ruins his life (and those of others), but you never wonder why he does what he does — it's all there in Depp's subtle, slippery performance (and he may be the only actor alive who actually looks great in a white leisure suit). Depp evokes a complicated tangle of emotions and motivations — naivete, ambition, delight at finding what he's good at, being caught up in the momentum of thrills the likes of which most people only dream — that makes you empathize with Jung, even if you deplore his actions. And the ending is a heartbreaker, pure and simple. leave a comment --Maitland McDonagh
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Blow
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