In a world teeming with cinema, “The Hustle” emerges as the cinematic equivalent of airline peanuts—light, slightly nutty, and promptly forgotten the moment you disembark. This Anne Hathaway and Rebel Wilson vehicle is best suited for those half-conscious flights to glamorous destinations, like the South of France, where one can nap in bliss while wondering how such a film landed in their viewing queue.
Make no mistake; “The Hustle” isn’t terrible—it’s more of an ethereal apparition, an excuse for Hathaway to parade in a dazzling array of clinging fabrics and faux accents, while Wilson tumbles and delivers dry quips with all the finesse of a confused kangaroo. Each actress seems to chase the mirth of their roles with all the enthusiasm of a cat discovering a laser pointer, but alas, they appear to be rehearsing in different productions entirely, resulting in a chemistry so lacking it’s almost a period piece.
Directed by Chris Addison, this flick is a reimagining of the 1988 classic “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels,” which was originally based on the 1964 comedy “Bedtime Story.” Let’s just say the unique twist here involves swapping the genders while largely neglecting to create anything fresh. Our plot unfolds as two con artists decide it’s far more financially lucrative to con each other first. Spoiler alert: because they’re con artists, trust is about as common as finding a unicorn in a traffic jam. They embark on a ludicrous competition to bilk a tech billionaire (played by Alex Sharp) out of $500,000—because why rob a piggy bank when you can go for a full bank heist?
In this opulent playpen of deception, Hathaway’s character, Josephine Chesterfield, rules the roost with style and the occasional police inspector (Ingrid Oliver) on her payroll—because nothing says elegant mischief like an under-the-table police deal. But then, enter Penny Rust, Wilson’s boisterous Aussie character, who arrives like a tornado in a china shop, suggesting she’s here to take notes on the high-life con business. She’s about as subtle as a brick through a window, but when she observes the wealth Josephine enjoys, she knows she’s hit the jackpot.
Now, let’s be real, the plot couldn’t be more flimsy if it were crafted out of holiday wrapping paper. The script, courtesy of Jac Schaeffer and the original brainiacs behind this fledgling franchise, is about as thrilling as watching paint dry. This isn’t your classic “Ocean’s” caper—there’s no tantalizing buildup of an intricate plot, just a series of haphazard scams tossed together like a Pinterest board gone wrong. We’re thrown into absurd setups faster than you can say “who’s the mark?” which serves more for laughs here and there than for coherent storytelling.
When Josephine and Penny engage in their ridiculous back-and-forth, there are chuckles to be had—like that time they cleverly changed the context of a hotel suite. Hilarious, right? However, their rivalry often plays out like a bag of leftover ideas mashed together rather than a finely-tuned symphony. The grand training montage Josephine concocts for Penny—where she prepares her for a life as an elite Navy SEAL rather than a con artist—proves that sometimes a chuckle isn’t worth the utter confusion that precedes it.
Perhaps the most colossal missed opportunity arises from the film’s commentary on gender roles. While the characters assert their schemes are a form of vengeance against the oppressive male-dominated world, their approach flounders in superficiality. They don’t reclaim silverware; they just dress up in female archetypes: Josephine as the seductress and Penny as the clumsily protective sister of a damsel in distress. This arguably provides more for fashion designer Emma Fryer to showcase Hathaway’s wardrobe than a solid critique on the state of womanhood.
In conclusion, Hathaway and Wilson bravely dive into this shallow pool of humor, making you wish they had been offered a script with actual depth. Their spirited performances almost convince you there’s gold hidden beneath the surface, but alas, it’s just costume jewelry designed to catch the light and distract you from the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s just another film set to drift into the void of forgettable cinema.
