REVIEW: AMSTERDAM. Love. Art. And Following the Right God Home.

Near the end of David O. Russell's epic period mystery thriller/dramedy, Amsterdam, Christian Bale's disabled (he lost an eye in World War I), war veteran doctor, Burt Berendsen breaks the fourth wall (sort of) and waxes rhapsodic about love, art, the people we meet - how meeting those people might break our hearts - and how all of that is necessary to really live life. All of that, of course, is based on choice, not need.

Berendsen's existential paean to what makes life worth living (echoes of Woody Allen?) is part of writer/director's Russell's mish-mosh of film genres: war story, mystery, thriller, comedy, romance, ripe with crazy subplots, political intrigue, and cinematic symbolism. No large theme goes untouched here: the meaning of life, the horrors of war, the injustices of racism, the lust for power, the value of friendship. Think Casablanca meets Jules and Jim with a with a touch of The Thin Man thrown in. It is a wild, funny, poignant, if sometimes uneven, ride.

About a week after Amsterdam's theatrical release, several news outlets reported that the film had tanked at the box office: a meager $6.5 million in ticket sales during its inaugural weekend amid accusations of "poor marketing." Twitter was ablaze with all sorts of reasons for the flop. Everything from Russell's decision to employ an all-star cast (increasing production cost) to allegations that he abused his transgender niece (a reported "turn-off" to younger fans). Yahoo! news even went so far as to say that "older adults" are less and less likely to venture out into theaters post-pandemic, suggesting that Marvel Comic franchises may be the last standing options available on the big screen. Here's hoping NOT on that assertion. But that's a blog for another time.

Suffice to say that Amsterdam is far better than many critics have claimed and, arguably, not quite as endearing or amusing as Russell's previous box office darlings: Silver Linings Playbook and American Hustle. Too bad. It's not for lack of a superlative cast, led by the Bale (a Russell favorite) and including John David Washington, Margot Robbie, Rami Malek, Chris Rock, Anya Taylor-Joy, Robert De Niro, Ed Begley, Jr., featuring cameos by Mike Myers, Michael Shannon and (I'm not joking) Taylor Swift, nor devoid of period accuracy: Set in the interwar 1930s, the production value is first-rate. And the writing is terrific, though it does require the viewer to pay attention and listen.

Much of the plot and unraveling of the mystery (the murder of Ed Begley's General Bill Meekins) is moved forward through dialogue and, given the film's many twists, red herrings, characters and subplots, cell phone checks and texting are out of the question. And leaving the theater for a popcorn or soda refresh will likely result in missing an important piece of information. Unlike the current crop of box office blockbusters which rely heavily on visual effects, Amsterdam is all about expository dialogue which, in this case, is quick, efficient and sometimes even poetic.

The film's unfortunately quick exit from theaters - I saw it during its third week of release and the multiplex I visited had reduced it to one showing - will likely mean little or no recognition during awards season, which is a pity. The many fine performances here - from Bale's sad-but-hopeful, disheveled, disfigured doctor (he holds his head in just the right way to illustrate his reliance on one eye) to Robbie's Valerie Voze, a rich girl-turned artiste (a volunteer nurse overseas, she turns shrapnel into art) to De Niro's sometimes histrionic politician (he seems to be channeling Al Pacino's angry urgency) are all terrific. And Washington - the film's moral compass - has just the right balance of activist and romantic. His transformation, told in flashback, from insubordinate black soldier to Columbia-educated lawyer Harold Woodman is understated and powerful. Too, his relationship with the bohemian Robbie, the catalyst for his transformation, is heartfelt and genuine.

If Russell is to be faulted for anything, it may be trying to stuff too many messages in a film already stuffed with history, intrigue, characters and plot twists. He takes on everything from racism in the military to ongoing threats to democracy to the taboo of interracial relationships to the inequities of life. Trumpian fascism is fully lambasted here, though I won't spoil it by identifying the characters who embrace it. Not all loose ends are tied up at the end and some may be left wondering how the initial set-up of the mystery connects to its ultimate resolution.

In the end, love (or the hope of finding it) conquers all - if you didn't anticipate that after the first three chords that are introduced in the first frame - and the things that do make life matter are love and art. If you think, Russell's final conclusion about life simplistic nor glib, it is neither. It is powerful and poignant.

But... given the unlikelihood that Amsterdam will be a hot ticket during awards season, I highly recommend dashing to a theater while you can to see this fabulously-told tale of love and art and war and intrigue. You won't regret it. In fact, you might be reinvigorated with the possibility that cinema can move you to think about life, about possibilities, about finding joy and purpose. And, if you don't see it in a theater, check it out when streaming is available. It is well-worth the time, even if the small screen might diminish the big-story aspects of this complex story.

So, why Amsterdam? The movie's title city represents a place of healing for Burt and Harold and Valerie after the war, but then becomes a place they can't return to as World War II beckons, kind of a temporary Shangri-La. Through all the trio has been through, the possibility of returning to the place where they discovered the meaning of life is no longer an option. They still bear the scars of life, both physically and emotionally. But in a good way. They've realized how to follow the right God home.