Photo: Times of MaltaWhen I think on fictionalised historical dramas, Spike Jonze’s BlacKkKlansman springs to mind as the most recent poster child of the popular sub-genre. It told its true story with severe humour made funnier by modern hindsight yet, for all its factual accuracy (which it has in abundance), Jonze created a compelling film while using his bombastic style to enhance the already sound material. Every piece of the semi-biographical commentary works harmoniously, all conducted with a distinct and subsequently impactful focus on what the film should be. David O. Russell’s Amsterdam, however, is as far from that reality as possible, tripping the moment the starting gun goes and only ever falling further behind.
Post-World War 1, mutilated medical veteran Burt (Christian Bale) and his attorney friend, Harold (John David Washington), are commissioned to perform an autopsy on their former commanding officer as they suspect murder. But, when their employer is thrown quite comically under a car, the pair must clear their names as the police’s two-person suspect list refuses to grow any longer, uncovering an international conspiracy and rekindling friendships along the way.
The plot, while seemingly intriguing in a bitesize format, is the first noticeable blunder in this fresco of fiascos. Initially, it promises depth and quirky characters stylised with a Fitzgerald flair, but it doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to settle in: it is absolutely, undeniably, and ineffably dull. No matter how hard I would try, I could not care about the on-the-nose dialogue that won’t stop spoon-feeding me every insignificant detail, about these characters whose lives seem so manufactured and despondent, about these performances who, while played by talented actors, lacked even an ounce of chemistry nor direction.
The eccentric tone that Russell seems so adamant on forcing wobbles in and out of lucidity, resembling an off-putting and low-effort Wes Anderson knock off at its best and a straight to TV Disney Channel Original Movie at its worst; an un-flattering comparison as 2008’s Minutemen is more memorable than anything here. But for all its faults, the salt in the ever-growing wound is the wasted cast. Stacked as high as Everest, big names seem to be the only selling point worth mentioning. While few roles do catch the eye (namely De Niro as the one-dimensional war hero) Russell mismanages the bucket of acting gold, their Midas touch drowned by a bloated film, humourless jokes, and an inescapable air of goofiness.
When the theatre lights came on, I found myself simmering in my own disappointment and frustrations, the film quickly fading from my memory as it already began to congeal into a buried blur. I had no questions, no comments, only the blank mind of a secondary schooler after triple Physics. And then, inspired by the couple three rows ahead of me, a revelation: Amsterdam is a film made for young dates. A long list of actors to attract the average cinema enjoyer, vibrant but empty shots, a script that assumes the audience has a social media attention span, this is a film for those who want a dark room and no interruptions: the perfect film to be ignored.