Cocaine is a Helluva Drug (#25: Blow)

Yes, it is, Rick James, yes it is.

#25: Blow

Blow is the true story of George Jung (no relation to Carl), the Massachusetts boy who brought Pablo Escobar's pure Colombian cocaine to our fair shores in the 1970's. Played by Johnny Depp in a succession of increasingly horrible blonde wigs, Jung lights out for Manhattan Beach, California in the late 60's with no particular plan of action; just knowing he does not want to be a sad-sack working class Joe like his dad (Ray Liotta). There, he meets Paul Reubens' Derek Foreal, the effusive owner of a hair salon for men. With Foreal's connections, Jung quickly becomes the king of pot in Manhattan Beach. From there, "Boston George" is only a short stint in federal prison with a Colombian cellmate away from (as he puts it) "a bachelor's in weed to a PHD in cocaine." Using a small fleet of private planes, Jung starts smuggling Escobar's coke to the US, making enormous amounts of money, landing a beautiful Colombian wife (Penelope Cruz), and a having a gorgeous daughter in the process. Of course, it all falls apart, as it always does.

There is an undoubted surface appeal to Blow. Director Ted Demme keeps things moves briskly, with a canny sense of the styles and moods of the decades in which the film takes place. There's also a smart refrain to the film's narration: Jung keeps describing his life in different periods of time as "perfect" - which begs the question of why the hell he didn't just stop there. Depp is in fine form, self-assured, ambitious, but vulnerable - he's good at showing a guy who is totally out of his element but wants to project complete control. And Reubens makes things interesting whenever he's on the screen.   

"Today's secret word is: benzoylmethylecgonine."

However, a second look reveals that the movie is more style than substance. And a lot of that style feels secondhand. The opening sequence showing Jung's childhood can't help but recall the beginning of GoodFellas (no doubt Liotta's presence doesn't help that impression). A later scene with a coked out Cruz flipping out in a fast-moving car also is reminiscent of the end of that flick. Of course, you can't see a movie about cocaine in the 70's/80's, especially one set in Florida for a good portion of its running time, without seeing shades of Scarface. Even the music feels cribbed. Compare:

With:

For the record, the song is "Rumble" by Link Wray. (Though I guess you can't really claim anyone "stole" from Tarantino, the master thief himself.)

So, while the movie is enjoyable, it all sort of feels like something you've seen done better before. Nor does it help that Jung - the supposed protagonist - really doesn't seem to possess any redeeming qualities, besides he says he loves his daughter a lot. We kept thinking: this guy is just clueless, self-deluded, overly-ambitious, and money-hungry. In fact, the film's saving grace could have been a bait and switch moment at the end, where you think he might get a redemptive moment, which is quickly (and rightfully) snatched away. That saving grace is undone, however, by immediately plastering a picture of George Jung's real face over the closing credits as some sort of hero.

Also dimming our enthusiasm of the movie was the knowledge that its director would die just a year after its release from a cocaine-induced heart attack. Ted Demme showed real promise with this film and the 1994 dark comedy The Ref. It's too bad.

FINAL VERDICT: Pitch it.

NEXT UP: Bottle Rocket.