IMDb #250 Review: The Hustler (1961)

Source: Wikipedia

America, the 1960s, when men were men and women were objects. When people drank like fish and smoked like napalmed Vietnamese fishermen. When slick tricksters with ridiculous monikers like “Fast Eddy” and “Minnesota Fats” dominated the pool table and relieved morons of their money.

The game goes thus. The hustler ambles into a pool joint, all smiles and jokes and naivete. Eyeing the felt table, he invites dummies barflies to a game. The bets start small, because a dollar meant something then.

The hustler keeps losing but keeps raising the bets. The marks winners play along. Stakes dangerously high, right on cue, the hustler trounces the other players suckers. Things go well, they fork over the cash. Things go south, they break his thumbs.

Paul Newman plays a pool hustler, who goes from the top of the rat heap to the bottom to clawing his way back up. Midway through life’s journey, he falls prey to two primary predators of professional liars: better liars and big men with big fists.

On the road to recovery, he shacks up with a lovely alcoholic alias Sarah (real name: Sarah).

Sleazy, skeevy, and cynical, this one dragged. I wanted to sink the metaphorical eight-ball and get it over with. The character growth of a “born loser” should feel inspiring; this tastes bitter like spoiled whiskey. The ending sticks in your throat like you swallowed the bottle whole.

Recommended for charm school rejects, unprofessional gamblers, and nerds who can distinguish pool, billiards, and snooker.

135 minutes.