Don’t be fooled by the glossy promotional campaign of Amsterdam. Sure, on paper this seems a dazzling pick perfect for fall, boasting big stars like Christian Bale, Margot Robbie, John David Washington, Rami Malek, Robert De Niro, and Taylor Swift. Its trailer and character posters possess a zippy energy, while a « based on a true story » hook makes its tale of intriguing characters, conspiracy, and murder seem all the more alluring. However, David O. Russell’s latest is a dour disappointment. Behind the high energy and flashy cast, there’s a shocking lack of emotional depth — like a performer giving us jazz hands paired with a vacant stare.
Inspired by the 1933 Business Plot, Amsterdam centers on a trio of American bohemians who met while serving overseas in World War I. Two were soldiers; one was a nurse. All three were drawn together by a desire to find the beauty in the ugliness around them. But once the war is over, new battles must be fought on the home front.
For Dr. Burt Berendsen (Bale) and attorney Harold Woodman (Washington), this means watching out for the swiftly forgotten veterans who carry both mental and physical wounds. It’s this shared cause that draws them into a mystery where they’re framed for murder. During a haphazard quest to clear their names, they reconnect with former military nurse Valerie Voze (Robbie), whose quirks make her a pariah in her high society milieu. Reunited and ready for the fray, the three will collide with outrageous allies, fiendish foes, political intrigue, and the dark side of American capitalism.
David O. Russell had a great idea with Amsterdam.
Written and directed by Russell, Amsterdam is promising in its conceit. These three characters are all full of love and intellect, and each shares not only a common passion for humanity but also a form of oppression that undermines them at every turn.
Berendsen’s Jewish heritage is regarded with sneers or pity by the wealthy WASPy circles in which his wife (a sharply smug Andrea Riseborough) flits. Whether dealing with the military, police, or rich white folks, Woodman faces blatant anti-Black racism, while Voze is written off as a hysterical woman because of her creativity and compassion for those outside her lofty socio-economic class. This setup allows Russell to explore how the rampant marginalization of people because of their faith, race, and gender flies in the face of the ideals of the American dream, creating increased adversity instead of opportunity.
Beyond that, Russel makes a savvy move by translating the tale of a would-be political coup (timely!) with the whodunnit genre, which has seen renewed excitement since Rian Johnson’s sensational Knives Out. Like whodunnits of late (See How They Run, Bodies Bodies Bodies, and The Glass Onion), Amsterdam delivers a complicated mystery, colorful characters, a slathering of social commentary, and an eccentric detective (or three) at its center. However, where Amsterdam falls flat is in a lack of conviction that makes the film’s core message feel a feigned call to action.
Christian Bale goes hard in Amsterdam.
Following The Fighter and American Hustle, this is Bale’s third collaboration with Russell. And as he does in everything from his Oscar-winning turn in The Fighter to his recent debut as an MCU baddie in Thor: Love and Thunder, Bale chucks himself ferociously into his work. Here, he is physically emaciated, balancing rapid-fire banter with broad comedic mugging and pratfalls, such as one scene which he chases a skittering glass eye. If this is a three-ring circus, Bale is gamely playing not only the ringmaster but also a capering clown. A force of nature, Bale can often be the best part of a movie, good or bad, and in this bad movie, he is the best, delivering dialogue and comedic stunts with a full-bodied commitment that brings Berendsen to vivid life.
For his part, Washington is given far less to do as the underwritten straight man to Bale’s stooge. Sure, he’s debonair. But if he gets a punchline, none are memorable or perhaps memorably landed as Bale’s. Still, Washington sparks a pleasing chemistry with Robbie, which makes a thread of romance initially promising. But forced to the backseat of this story, their flirtation feels ultimately flimsy, undercutting the film’s finale.
As for Robbie, she speaks French, sings spiritedly, stumbles about for laughs, and plays a beguiling version of a dizzy but divine socialite. Her Valerie feels the a clear imitation of the kind of screwball comedy heroine that Katharine Hepburn made a trope decades ago.
Adding to the atmosphere of audaciousness and attitude are Chris Rock as a wise-cracking veteran, Anya Taylor-Joy as a snarling snob, Timothy Olyphant as a marred menace, Zoe Saldana as a charming coroner, Alessandro Nivola as a jumpy cop, and Robert De Niro as a national hero who’ll suffer no fools. There’s more, plenty more — Michael Shannon! Mike Myers! Taylor Swift! But for all these heralded performers and all the effort, energy, and screen presence they bring, Amsterdam is astonishingly inert.
David O. Russell’s execution kills Amsterdam.
As impossible as it might be to imagine from these descriptions of a wild whodunnit based on a true story studded with stars, this movie is boring. The suffocating, sepia-rich color palette mirrors the look of old photographs; it’s possible that this aesthetic choice makes the film subconsciously feel dated in a bad way. Then there’s the chaotic pacing of the film, which is steadily disjointed and jarring in the way it pinballs between locations, with uneven bursts of action. Perhaps it’s the runtime, which at two hours and 14 minutes feels punishing. Russell’s script tediously tiptoes around grim elements like Nazism and eugenics, as if their existence in 1933 America will play as some big reveal.
Are these the cause of Amsterdam‘s inexplicable listlessness? Or are they symptoms of a much bigger problem, which is that Russell doesn’t believe what he’s preaching?
Throughout the journey of its central trio, Amsterdam makes the case that art and love will be our salvation from the manmade evils of this world, be they war, corruption, bigotry, greed, or conspiracy. The performances, keyed to a tune that’s reminiscent of the screwball comedies of early Hollywood, aim to channel that bouncy energy into enthusiasm toward this message. But they can’t save Amsterdam from itself; ultimately the movie feels shallow, like a preacher who has lost faith and is just going through the motions. Personally, I was shocked to feel so unmoved from its emotional beats; I should be an easy mark for such a message. Russell is preaching to the choir! And yet, Amsterdam left me feeling empty rather than inspired.
Behind the star power, frenzied plotting, and fast-paced banter, there’s just no there there. So, in the end, Amsterdam is chiefly amazing in how underwhelming it is.
Amsterdam opens in theaters Oct. 7.
