Blow

Say, here’s a newsflash: Dealing drugs is a dirty, dangerous business, one in which your friends can become your enemies, and people sometimes get killed. While it is possible to make a lot of money, it is also possible to die a messy death at the wrong end of a large pistol. And another thing: doing drugs isn’t such a hot idea either. They can mess you up physically and spoil your judgment. Worst of all, they can make you sloppy as you pursue your chosen profession of dealing drugs. If this was all that “Blow,” the new Ted Demme picture starring Johnny Depp, had in mind when created, then it’s treading some well-worn ground. Remember, we live in a post-“Scarface,” post-“Traffic” (not to mention “Traffik”) world. We know all about drugs. We know more than we probably want to know about buying, selling, transporting, and even making drugs. Just say no? I don’t think so. It’s more like just say know. Having said all that, what “Blow” really seems to be after is a character study of one George Jung, a man who in the sixties and seventies apparently played an integral role in the burgeoning cocaine trade in the United States.

A graphic at the very beginning of the picture proudly proclaims that it is based upon a true story. If so, it is a reminder that truth is not always stranger, or more interesting, than fiction. George, as portrayed by Depp, is the kind of good natured, underachieving layabout who always seems to wind up in over his head. Born in Massachusetts to a hard-working dad (Liotta, who, in a burst of poetic closure, played the George character in “Goodfellas”) and a mother who is one giant chip with a shoulder walking around under it, George decides early on that he doesn’t want to wind up like his folks, arguing about money, trapped in the middle class. Therefore, he does the only logical thing: he moves to California (Manhattan Beach, to be specific, and how could I not appreciate a movie that takes place--even in part--in Manhattan Beach?). Once there, he stumbles into dealing pot, and for the next thirty minutes or so, “Blow” makes dealing pot seem like the most carefree, fun-filled, lighthearted (not to mention lucrative) enterprise a young man (or woman) could dream of. Heck, it made me want to head down to the beach with a handful of baggies.

Maybe it once was so, and maybe it’s just my imagination, but things seem, well, uglier now, and I doubt that the weight of public opinion in 2001 will be inclined to look fondly upon such activities, no matter how well bundled in nostalgia. The rest, of course, is DEA history. George serves time, gets out, and moves up the ladder to cocaine, hooking up with none other than Pablo Escobar himself, before entering the death spiral that is all but preordained from the beginning of the movie. This may be perverse, but just once I would like to see a movie about drug dealers in which the main character winds up rich, happy, healthy, and safe. I suppose there wouldn’t be enough juice in a story like that, though, and it might send the wrong message. We wouldn’t want the movies to develop a reputation for promulgating the wrong sorts of values, now would we? I am a big fan of Johnny Depp, but this has got to be his worst role.

In fact, if anyone else but Depp were playing George, “Blow” would probably be unwatchable. Depp affects a Boston accent that is never in the least convincing, and spends the vast majority of the picture behind a variety of increasingly unattractive tinted eyewear. His hair changes more than he does, moving from pageboy to Prince Valiant to shag to strung out, in keeping with the changing times. Unfortunately, period piece or not, we can’t learn that much about a person, let alone an era, from his hair. The picture is populated with any number of hangers-on and side characters, including Derek (Paul Reubens, who just about walks away with the picture), a flamboyant hairdresser and George’s connection. Penelope Cruz shows up about two thirds of the way through the picture as a sexy Colombian who steals George’s heart, marries him, and then devolves into a coke addled, homicidal harridan. She does a good enough job, I suppose, but it’s not her most, shall we say, attractive outing. “Blow” recreates its era effectively, and director Ted Demme swirls the material around convincingly enough. He stages his scenes well and manages to invest them with some energy and interest.

However, he does fall back a few times on some rather dated montage techniques, and in the end, he cannot raise the material to a level that matters. The script, by McKenna and Cassavetes, is taken from a book by Bruce Porter. Porter may have been looking at a larger sociological canvas in his work (I haven’t read it) but George Jung as a metaphor is a very limited resource. Furthermore, there is no acknowledgement of the very real pain that the drug trade inflicts upon people at every level socioeconomic level, though especially those in the underclass. I do not expect every drug movie to be a morality play, but “Blow” views every single event from exactly one perspective: how does it help or hurt George. In the end, it seems we are supposed to feel sorry for him--a well meaning guy who never hurt anyone, a fun-loving man who was no more than a victim of his own ambitions, and who got sold out in a brutal business--just because he misses his daughter. Sob. A closing graphic advises us that the real George won’t be getting out until 2015. Sorry, but I’m having a hard time caring. (4/24/2001)