Review of The Sting (1973) by Nick O — 18 Jul 2011

A hot punch of playing house and playing cards is only game enough to down the competition of the source code. Enter toxic assets, friends with benefits and the duo of Paul Newman and Robert Redford and there isn't much stopping "The Sting" from going blown-out zinger round every doubtful corner, quietly buckling deals beneath stones unturned. It's sort of like wearing a wire atop George Roy Hill's blazing saddle of greed and dark monopoly, and doing it with a stapled smile tongue in cheek.

There's Redford as the amateur grifter Johnny Hooker to front our eyes and ears in the line of fire, and boy is there hell to pay. Hooker's pal Luther (Robert Earl Jones) is ready to sacrifice his layoff from the far-reaching 1930s Chicago shark tank when soon as Hooker shows his back to gamble away a lottery rogue's eleven grand -- cash meant for white collar boss Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw) -- the accomplice's marked courier slays Luther and sends Hooker crying shame. Who better to pamper his guilt than Luther's contact number one Henry Gondorff (Newman), a con artist faulted by the public containment of a senator's good rep. To avenge Luther the two pair up to cut sideways a crap racing bet with Lonnegan.

One compliments the tete-a-tete of the other in a boil toward the end of a one-way street. Sore losers, Hill sits 'em in timeout for Redford and Newman to joke off the turkey authority's dual opposite. The original script from David S. Ward sets "The Sting" in vaudeville storybook chapters that give the movie's working system the feeling of an even more bounded run. It hits both sides of the law. Fiercely acted by a loaded cast and layback humor courtesy of Ward, the recipe to "The Sting" should roll with enjoyably predictable ease. It's the eminent glow of a stranger's grin that makes Hill's film such a diabolical treat. You can't call the hand because you don't know whose turn is up next.