Director: David O. Russell
In a flashback sequence early in Joy, the young Joy Mangano (Jennifer Lawrence as an adult) argues that she doesn’t need a prince, finalizing the opening title card sentiment that the film is, “inspired by the true stories of daring women.” In a family of matriarchs (the film is narrated by the grandmother (Diane Ladd)), Joy is what keeps the household moving and functional, caring for her television addict mother (Virginia Madsen), narcissist father (Robert De Niro), and even the ex-husband that lives in the basement (Edgar Ramirez). What comes next is straight from the pages of a fairytale, with Joy elevating herself above the family that brings her down by finding her own fame and fortune. That Joy plays as a Cinderella story is not among its flaws–in fact, it’s an interesting take on the surreal, glossy world of television informercials–but that director David O. Russell maintains an interest in his familiar dysfunctional family aesthetic is a significant hindrance. It’s a whole hour before the meat of the plot gets moving, and in that time little is revealed about the family beyond the one-note characterizations, with Lawrence herself being swallowed up by the overwrought domestic squabbles. On her own and confronting a big shot at QVC (played by a finely understated Bradley Cooper), the film begins to gain some momentum, even if its ultimately cut short by the tidy conclusion. After a string of successful messes, Joy is perhaps the least cohesive of all of Russell’s recent output–it is a parade of asynchronous tones, oddball soundtrack choices, and a screenplay that seems to be making it up as it goes along (and not in the good, improvisational way of The Silver Linings Playbook).
Director: David O. Russell
Director David O. Russell makes his agenda clear in the very first sequence of American Hustle in which he revels in the kitschy artistry of an outrageous combover sported by Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale). The likable con artist is putting on his mask–one of many cons in the picture–and even if the audience is in on the joke, they are bound to gawk at the transformation (of both the absurdity of the hair and the recognizable star’s surprising weight gain). This disguise is no different than FBI Agent Richie DiMaso’s (Bradley Cooper) carefully groomed perm and lover/partner Sydney Prosser’s (Amy Adams) English alter-ego, but what Russell is particularly interested in are the other types of disguises, such as the way that Mayor Carmine Polito’s (Jeremy Renner) good intentions hide the severity of his corruption from both the public and himself. Disguises are so key to the picture that not long after Rosenfeld perfects his combover, it is abruptly destroyed by a jealous DiMaso and Rosenfeld is left absolutely stiffened–full of rage but also of humiliation, left utterly vulnerable following his unveiling. Russell’s interest in transformation means that nearly all of the principal players are cast against type, which plays like a gimmick but is hugely enjoyable. The scene-stealer is Jennifer Lawrence doing her best Jean Harlow impression (an observation made by the New York Times’ Manohla Dargis, who insightfully draws comparisons between Russell’s recent body-of-work and the screwball comedies of old), but Adams’ hustler finally gives her a character that’s fully worthy of her remarkable talent.
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