The Grifters: "Three on the Grift"

Festival magazine
April 5 – May 30, 1991

3 on the Grift By Noah Cowan

“Hey buddy! Did you drop these dice? Can you change this twenty for me? You’re a good guy—how about some cards? Low stakes. Come on—how much could you possibly lose?” On the grift. You have to be part magician, but without the bunnies; part actor, but no stage; part psychologist, but without the textbooks. But mostly you gotta have a damned fine head for business. Grifter: a combination of drifter and con man. The residue of American capitalism. You make money by drinking a beer, losing at the racetrack and selling land you do not own. If the used car salesman is the epitome of the American Way, then the grifter should be president. But being a grifter is not easy. Sometimes people get mad when you take their money. Sometimes you get belted. Sometimes you get killed. The cops are none too friendly either. But they can be avoided. Or bought. You can’t have a family, really, or even a serious girlfriend. Attachments mean retirement. A grifter’s got to move. But you do get neat cars, fine clothes and hair, a sixth sense for danger and the joy of conning anyone you choose—except for another grifter. Membership fee is $100.00. Payable in cash immediately. Thank you and good night. Sucker!

Written and largely ignored in the 50s and 60s, Jim Thompson’s crime novels have recently become a mother lode for French and American filmmakers. Thompson’s work, simply told yet morally complex, has proven to be fertile ground for directors as diverse as Bertrand Tavernier and James Foley. They are attracted to his dark vision of humanity, a world populated by unsavoury characters involved in seedy criminal activities and sexual intrigue. The Grifters, directed by Stephen Frears, is no exception. And, unlike the lowlife of Foley’s After Dark My Sweet, who seemed either crazy or confused, the grifters are menacing in their outward normalcy. They walk among us, looking and acting like respectable people. Except they steal, living off our weaknesses and psychoses.

Despite the temptations, Thompson and Frears do not make them anti-hero superhumans. Indeed, schooled in the arts of psychological manipulation, the grifters simply cannot avoid bringing their business practices home. Their stunted and selfish emotional lives leave them with a profound contempt for the human race, utterly unable to love or make friends. Complex and closed characters like these do not usually prompt great per- performances. But the work of Angelica Huston, John Cusack and Annette Bening is nothing less than astonishing. Huston—who has yet to appear in a bad film—is Lilly, the grifter made good. Or sort of good. Instead of conning people on the street, she fixes racetrack odds for a Baltimore bookie. She carries herself with a certain pathetic dignity, while clearly retaining the pain of her past. But when confronted, Lilly responds with an air of menace, intermixed with deadly vanity, that makes your kneecaps sweat in fear. Cusack plays her estranged son, Roy. He pretends to have a job selling matchbooks, as a cover for his failure to escape the grift. Cusack brilliantly projects the pain of the individual in conflict with himself, all the while maintaining a self-conscious veneer of cool. The Grifters certainly confirms Cusack’s transition from teen exploitation star to serious adult performer. Finally there is Annette Bening. She plays Roy’s girlfriend. The dumb blonde with an agenda all her own. Bening’s work must stand as one of the most sophisticated screen interpretations of the last few years. She effortlessly manages to juggle the deviousness of the world-weary hooker with the bubble-headed pathos of a gangster’s moll. She is at once believable and a figure of surreal fantasy. But it is something else which ultimately makes The Grifters such a fascinating viewing experience. Like David Mamet’s House of Games, and Scorsese’s GoodFellas, we are shown how the magic works behind the scenes. We learn how people are ripped off professionally. We hear how people leading a life of crime talk to one another. How they approach their “marks,” what tricks will fool people and what tricks don’t fly. We feel we have been let into the secret society, and tasted the forbidden fruit of the underworld. Hey you. Yeah you. You heard the man. Go to the show. But first let me buy you a beer. Hey. While we’re waiting for the show to begin, why not a quick game of cards? How about a little wager? No way. No high stakes—you look too sharp.