‘Blow’ just doesn’t get the job done

Martin Scorcese’s “GoodFellas” and Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Boogie Nights” are considered masterpieces of contemporary cinema because they combine sweeping, decade-spanning life stories with an eye for technical detail and the ability to convince audiences that outrageous and often mysterious industries, such as organized crime and pornography, are, in fact, businesses that run as well-oiled machines. Ted Demme’s “Blow” runs along the same lines, but one can’t help but shrug off his efforts with a “been there, done that” feeling.

The film, which marks 30 years in the life of real-life drug runner George Jung, combines the exciting business-like nonchalance of illegal business that made “GoodFellas” with the bright lights, glitter and glitz that held “Boogie Nights” together; yet somehow manages to do justice to neither. “Blow,” while always interesting and alive with energy, is really nothing more than an overlong amalgam of those two settings, held together unstably with clichés and formula plotting.

Johnny Depp gives us a long-haired, blond beach bum in George Jung, who spends his childhood growing up under the difficulties of a standard, blue-collar suburban youth. He vows at a young age to never work in the same barely-getting-by monotony of the life his father has chosen, and in his twenties moves to California with $300 in his pocket and his best friend, Tuna (Ethan Suplee, “Mallrats”).

What begins as moving and distributing marijuana on California beaches transforms Jung’s life into 30 years of near-misses, crazy adventures, wild parties and finally an advancement into the inner circle of drug lord Pablo Escobar (Cliff Curtis, ?), where Jung resides at the inner circle of one of the hugest drug cartels in the history of the Western Hemisphere. Jung spends time in jail, picks up many new friends, stares blankly into space and watches his relationship with his parents fall apart, all of which is supplemented by shots of beautiful California beach life, lovely but dangerous Colombian drug compounds, elegant and wild house parties and deep dark prison sanctums.

It often seems that we see every single second of Jung’s life, that Ted Demme is so intent on being complete in his cross-examination of the man that we don’t get a moment’s rest and are forced to bounce from scene to scene, location to location, event to event, never allowed to fully reap the cinematic benefits from a single scene. “Blow” moves way too fast and is also way too long. It lacks substance, shape and has no idea when to pick up the pace and when to relax.

Depp is given an able, but somewhat flawed cast to play around with as Jung slowly rises to power and then, in the end, falls from cocaine-laced grace. The best include Franka Potente (“Run Lola Run”) as George’s first love, Barbara, a California beach bunny who has a tender gaze and is much more than the one-dimensional bimbo she appears to be. Then there’s the aforementioned Suplee, Curtis’ meaty Pablo Escobar, Rachel Griffiths (?) as Jung’s troubled but stalwart mother and finally good old Paul Reubens (better known as Pee Wee Herman) as the obnoxious and uber-flamboyant Derek Fereal, a rich and powerful California stylist who starts Jung down the path to corruption. But even Potente, Griffith and Reubens are obviously trying to make the best of underwritten roles.

Penelope Cruz (“All About My Mother”) takes a swan dive as Depp’s sexpot Colombian wife, Mirtha, who after appearing midway through the film is reduced to nothing more than a one-dimensional bitch. And even the reliable Ray Liotta, who may never return to his “GoodFellas” glory days, can’t save a clichÈd, by-the-book role as George’s father, Fred.

There’s something to be said about a formula done right, and “Blow” does keep viewer interest for the entire LONG ride, managing to eek out moments of humor and tenderness. Depp is convincing, and his increasing inner turmoil, which transforms him from strong, to confused, to troubled and finally mentally unstable, provides some semblance of a foundation for the film. But, locations and glitz aside, “Blow” goes on forever and never really manages to say anything profound about George Jung’s life and motivations. Do we admire him? No, not really. Do we feel sorry for him? Sort of, but it’s more the kind of pity one has for a ne’er do well who’s just trying to reclaim some sense of self-worth (Robert Downey Jr.’s current plight comes to mind).

Borrowing too much from its predecessors, Ted Demme’s film drags itself over the finish line, with an ending that attempts to tug at the heartstrings but doesn’t succeed because it feels tacked on and a desperate attempt to rescue the movie after it derails in the third quarter. “Blow,” while nice to look at and interesting, is much like Jung’s real life: grand ambitions only resulting in a string of disappointments.