Review: American Hustle

American Hustle
American Hustle does not fuck about setting out its stall. Its first glorious image is of a pudgy Christian Bale in a bathroom mirror, his face sheltering beneath a jacked-up haystack of atrocious seventies hair, methodically and painstakingly attempting to sculpt his ludicrous combover into a presentable form. It's immediately hilarious and tragic, and tells us that what we're about to watch is concerned with appearances, deceit, aspiration, unfathomable fashion choices and hair. Lots of hair.

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