The Hustle (2019)
(On Cable TV, February 2020) In theory, the idea of a gender-flipped remake of Dirty Rotten Scoundrel (or Bedtime Story even earlier) doesn’t seem like a terrible idea: The French Riviera as a backdrop, rich idiots getting conned out of their money by quick-witted protagonists, with twists and turns until the credits. But that’s presuming a competent version of such a remake, and one that doesn’t sabotage itself. For instance, the biggest problem with The Hustle is Rebel Wilson—but she’s not the only thing dragging it down. Her usual trashy persona is a strong repellent to creating any sense of affection for the protagonists, and it’s telling that her brand of humour aims much, much lower than her equivalents in the previous films. Meanwhile, Anne Hathaway could have been an interesting foil as a con artist with far better manners, but the problem is that she can’t sell a laugh, and that the script doesn’t write her character wittily enough to compensate. This hints at the overall poor state of the screenplay, which seems to be so satisfied with the idea of female retribution against men that it doesn’t develop any additional reason to be on the protagonists’ side (and then pits both women against each other, undermining whatever it was going for). Several dumb set-pieces further erode any attachment we should have with the heroines—indulging into the worst and basest comedy instincts of filmmakers who obviously can’t handle any kind of sophistication. The Hustle is just one continuous misfire, but one that repeatedly back-pats itself without having deserved any of its self-congratulation. Both Wilson and Hathaway can be effective in other contexts (Wilson being best used as a supporting character, for one thing), but that’s not the case here. At best, The Hustle is a fluffy comedy that you’ll forget the next day, but that presupposes a lot of indulgence along the way.