MasterChugs Theater: 'The Sting'

Way before Guy Ritchie's polished bad boy style and hugely complicated plot twists pulled in the punters, The Sting pioneered the genre. This long time stalwart of basic cable movie channel broadcasting remains an entertaining way to spend a couple of hours and, unlike Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, it's more about charisma than greed.

The plot is both incredibly simple and yet incredibly multi-layered; a story synopsis won't do it justice.

Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) is a young con man who was taught the ropes by his partner in crime, the legendary Luther Coleman (Robert Earl Jones). Luther longs to get out of the racket, so they pull one last big scam; however, this time they choose the wrong guy. Turns out that if you mess with "The Boss," Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw), you get put on his hit list with no mercy. Who would've guessed? After a crooked cop (Charles Durning) gets in on the action, things go even more awry.

Seeking payback, Hooker teams up with another great con man, the smooth but cynical Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Together, they recruit a motley gang of fellow crooks and accomplices (including Eileen Brennan and Ray Walston) to take down Lonnegan. An increasingly twisty, endlessly crafty series of scams, double-crosses and ingenious ruses ensue, all to the tune of "The Entertainer", the iconic piano rag by Scott Joplin. Payback could only be sweeter if it was done by a diabetic in a candy store.

The one problem with the movie? The Sting is not really about anything. It is an immensely enjoyable, impeccably produced bit of cinematic entertainment, but it doesn't add much to the sum of human consciousness. It might have had a bit more cultural relevance had it examined the racial and class tensions at more than a surface level.

That, in hindsight, leaves it a somewhat surprising choice by the Academy to beat out other, more "serious" front-runners for the 1973 Best Picture Oscar, including American Graffiti and The Exorcist. But whatever, because ultimately, awards are pretty silly in the first place. And why not just revel in the fine wine, even if it is made out of sour grapes? I've had so much fun revisiting The Sting again and again. There really is something to be said for any film that can hold up so well after three decades. It's truly timeless.

Critics of have said that the movie is all chemistry. Don't get it twisted, as that's a great thing. Indeed, the pure star wattage of Redford and Newman goes a long way in giving the film its heat. But such a simple statement does a disservice, not only to the rest of the A-list cast, but also to David Grant's expertly-crafted script and George Roy Hill's energetic direction. The Sting is so darn entertaining, not just because Redford and Newman flash their toothy grins, but because it works on every single level. Each scene pays off the one before, and sets up the next one, expertly. The writing, the music, the performances, the cinematography, the editing--not a single moment is anything less than elegant, refined and a sheer marvel.

Athletes sometimes describe a temporary state of heightened concentration as being "in the zone." It is a magical, mystical area that a performing athlete enters where the body, mind and spirit align perfectly. Everything is firing on all cylinders, enabling peak performance. The term is not used much to describe creative pursuits like movie-making, but perhaps it should. I'm referring here to those rare blessed moments when a film achieves a kind of perfection with such apparent ease that they, too, have a mystical, magical quality to them. Perhaps I'm overstating my case, but if ever a movie was "in the zone," it would be The Sting. One of the all-time greats, this film is just pretty darn wonderful.