“Some of what follows actually happened,” the initial title card promises.
And how.
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| Our heroes — from left, Burt (Christian Bale), Valerie (Margot Robbie) and Harold (John David Woodman) — finally realize that Henry (Michael Shannon, far right) and Paul (Mike Myers) haven't been entirely candid with them. |
The impressive ensemble cast is highlighted by fascinating performances from leads Christian Bale (once again, almost unrecognizable), Margot Robbie and John David Washington.
Russell’s story hits the ground running and never lets up, its twisty plot unfolding against a slightly stylized tone that begins as mild burlesque, but soon turns increasingly, believably sinister.
And — let it be stated — there’s no question Russell also intends this as a strong cautionary parallel to our current times.
As philosopher George Santayana famously observed, Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.
The setting is 1933 in uptown New York, where WWI comrades Dr. Burt Berendsen (Bale) and attorney Harold Woodman (Washington) have become “fixers of last resort” for those down on their luck or low on money, and particularly for the many physically and emotionally shattered veterans who’ve been ignored by the U.S. government.
(Although granted so-called “bonus certificates” with a face value equal to each soldier’s promised payment with compounded interest, these scripts could not be redeemed until 1945 … which hardly helped unemployed individuals during the height of the U.S. Depression. In July 1932, President Hoover ordered the U.S. Army to clear the campsites of 43,000 desperate demonstrators who had gathered in Washington, D.C. The soldiers, along with their wives and children, were driven out, after which their shelters and belongings were burned.
(Sound familiar?)
Burt is quite the flamboyant kook, forever “inventing” restorative and pain-relieving medicines that won’t be available for decades — if ever — and cheerfully testing them on himself. His dilapidated office is filled with suffering veterans hoping to feel better — and in some severe cases look better — while Burt does everything to help cheer them up.
Bale’s performance is sublime, starting with the unreliable — and persuasively realistic — glass eye that constantly pops out of its socket: the result of a war injury. Burt is unkempt, unshaven, seemingly flustered and reckless … and yet possessed of acute intelligence and sharp perception.
Bale appears to be channeling Peter Falk’s Detective Columbo, with a superficially harmless and disarming manner that conceals razor-sharp awareness.
Washington’s Harold is the opposite: a well-spoken, nattily dressed gentleman — orange vest, sharp dark suit — with a voice of reason, smoothly able to pour oil on his best friend’s often troubled waters. Harold also is acutely aware of how he is perceived by white civilians — and particularly aggressive white police officers — and frequently relies on Washington’s genial smile to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
But it’s clear, via Washington’s gaze, that Harold regards such ignorant racists with total contempt.
Burt and Harold are summoned to an unusual task by a client unsatisfied with the official cause of her father’s death. This is no run-of-the-mill stiff; Burt is astonished to recognize the man as the highly decorated Gen. Bill Meekins (Ed Begley Jr.), under whom Burt and Harold served during the war.
This “unscheduled examination” is being conducted under borderline unethical circumstances. The body is left in the capable hands of autopsy nurse Irma St. Clair (Zoe Saldaña), who clearly has an unspoken bond with Burt.
Acknowledging their shared broken hearts, Irma confronts Burt with a wise observation: “Never confuse what you want, with what you need.”
All hell breaks loose shortly thereafter, prompting a lengthy flashback to 1918. It begins as a younger Burt is “pressured” into war service by his new bride (Andrea Riseborough, as Beatrice Vandenheuvel) and particularly by her wealthy father (Casey Biggs), who cannot stand the fact that his daughter has married a man who’s half Jewish.
Although proposing that Burt needs to “prove himself” in order to better fit into high society after returning as a war hero, the Vandenheuvels’ predatory gazes suggest they’d all be happier if he perished in battle.
Once in France, and thanks to the intervention of Gen. Meekins, Burt finds himself commanding the all-Black 369th New York Regiment, whose members include Harold and his friend Milton King (Chris Rock). They’re forced to join the French army, because their fellow Americans refuse to serve with non-white soldiers.
(This actually was the case with the famed Harlem Hell Fighters, a segregated regiment of Black and Puerto Rican soldiers sent to France.)
Burt and Harold are grievously injured, after which they’re cared for by a kind French nurse (Margot Robbie) with the curious habit of saving the shrapnel removed from their wounds. Turns out she isn’t French after all, but American; the three bond and become a triumvirate, sharing a pact to forever look out for each other.
Once Burt and Harold are sufficiently healed — the war having concluded — they head to Amsterdam, and a free-spirited, counter-culture-ish life of safety, bliss and love. But nirvana cannot last; Burt feels that he must return to New York, despite warnings from his two soul mates that this is a bad, bad idea.
And, as we return to current events in 1933, we recognize that subsequent events have indeed exacted a heavy toll on Burt.
As for what all this has to do with Gen. Meekins’ body, and the degree to which these characters find themselves confronted by additional factual historical events … well, that would be telling.
Russell’s deliciously beguiling story unfolds in an atmosphere of slightly heightened reality, with his characters often delivering mordant one-liners wholly at odds with the gravity of a given situation. Numerous additional characters further roil these tempestuous waters (and I don’t even want to introduce them, for fear of spoiling the fun of ongoing revelation).
Suffice to say, our three heroes find themselves mere threads in a much larger tapestry with increasingly sinister and highly unsettling implications. One can only admire Russell’s narrative moxie.
Production designer Judy Becker drew on the iconic period photographs by Vivian Maler and Arthur Fellig (Weegie), for her re-creation of 1930s New York: both in its depressed inner-city regions, and the insufferably opulent mansions of the Vandenheuvels and their ilk.
Costume designer Albert Wolsky does a particularly fine job with Robbie’s outfits, making her a fearless, formidable woman whose clothes reflect her defiant status as a “creative outsider.”
Composer Daniel Pemberton has plenty of experience with spy craft and noir-ish scores, having previously lent musical color to Motherless Brooklyn, television’s Slow Horses and the recently released See How They Run. His work here is by turns playful and charming, foreboding and unsettling.
Russell is a consummate filmmaker, whose attention to every detail made engaging hits of previous efforts that include The Fighter, Silver Linings Playbook and American Hustle. Due to the juxtaposition of its playful atmosphere and progressively nasty undercurrent, Amsterdam may be a harder sell … although its underlying message is crucial to our times.
I’m eager to watch it again, to catch nuances no doubt missed the first time.
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