Directed by Ridley Scott, and adapted by screenwriter Steven Zaillian from a New York magazine story entitled ''The Return of Superfly,'' American Gangster is meticulous and detailed, a drug-world epic that holds you from moment to moment, immersing you in the intricate and sleazy logistics of crime. Yet the movie isn't quite enthralling; it's more like the ghost version of a '70s classic. Scott nails the grit and clutter of the era — the bombed-out buildings, the litter and the rusty pay phones — and he structures the film almost pointillistically, with brief, heightened, coruscating scenes that flow into each other. American Gangster unfolds on parallel tracks, cutting back and forth between Frank Lucas' reign and the stubborn quest of Richie Roberts (Russell Crowe), a terse and scruffy last-honest-narcotics-cop-in-New York, to hunt him down. It's like The Godfather and The French Connection all mashed in a blender, along with a heavy helping of synthetic cocktail mix.
Washington might be playing a senator, or Malcolm X all over again; his performance is smooth, confident, and more than a little familiar. Even as a gangster, he doesn't transform — he doesn't release his inner thug. He's still every inch Denzel, all dour nobility.
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