The movie follows George from his childhood in Boston, where his caring father (Ray Liotta) never made enough money to suit his mother's (Rachel Griffiths) tastes. The strife that ensued made George vow to make a better life for himself.
George moves to California as a young adult, and quickly finds his calling trafficking marijuana — first on the beach, and later across the country. He winds up in prison, where he and his Colombian cellmate devise a plan to smuggle coke into the United States. "I went in with a bachelor of marijuana, and came out with a doctorate in cocaine," narrates George, smugly.
Working under notorious cartel king Pablo Escobar, George uses his Hollywood connection — hairstylist Derek Foreal (Paul Reubens) — to expand the coke market by introducing it to celebrities. He becomes insanely rich, marries the beautiful Mirtha (Penelope Cruz) and has a daughter. He then begins the greed-fed spiral that lands him in prison for life.
This would mean something if the film was structured to compel the viewer to sympathize with the characters in any real way. The movie rushes frenetically toward a climax that never comes. The first two-thirds are extremely fast-paced, moving from scene to scene with barely a segue and representing large portions of what we can only assume is the missing character development with quick, strobe-like snapshots — George's entire courtship with Mirtha is done this way. They meet, they kiss, they apparently get into bondage (though it's hard to tell) and the next thing we know, they're married. In this way, the movie rushes past issues that could give us needed insight into George's character. His addiction to and rehab from cocaine merits less than five minutes of screen time.
It's after George's daughter is born that the film's momentum is halted. Here is where we are supposed to start identifying with George, because he loves his daughter. We know this because he says it over and over, drilling it into our heads because the whole movie hinges on it. But it isn't enough to save the movie, no matter how frequently and blatantly the father/daughter relationship is exploited for its easy emotional payoff.
Blow is so fragmented that it seems to have been made in pieces by different directors and then pasted together. It starts out as a comedy, becomes a cooler-than-cool thug-fest and then morphs into a sentimental morality tale. Cheap attempts at unity include the twice-repeated foreshadowing gimmick "We were young, rich, and in love. It was perfect," as well as the re-enactment of a scene from George's childhood, with himself in the role of his father (oooh!).
There's nothing wrong with the acting in Blow, and in fact, those who are allowed to stay on the screen for longer than 15 minutes (this does not include Cruz) do a fine job, with Liotta and Reubens turning in terrific performances. Depp could have been great with a better script — seeing him in this true story of a man who gets in over his head in the world of crime recalls his work in the much better Donnie Brasco.
When we come to the end of Blow, we realize what the filmmakers had in mind: a heartfelt tragedy, a sentimental five-hanky weeper and a valuable lesson for the kids. But all George ever wanted was tons of money; he broke the law to get it, and ended up losing. Where is the tragedy? A dream deferred can be a good thing, if it was a shallow, ignoble one in the first place.
What is the lesson we are supposed to take away from this movie? That money is not important, says George. But at the time he comes to this brilliant epiphany, it's only been half an hour since we were gasping with awe at his overflowing wealth. Ultimately, Blow's lesson for film students and thoughtful movie-goers alike is that you can't just grow a soul at the very end and expect everything to be OK.
— Lindsay Robertson (lindsay@lindsayism.com)
