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I wish my life was "based on a true story." That way, my plans, dreams, and motivations would always be seen in the best possible light, while my enemies would be exposed as the double-crossing, bottom-feeding scum that they are. My friends would take a back seat to my accomplishments, appearing on screen just long enough to validate my greatness. Finally, though my life might end with a whimper, mournful, maudlin string music would play in the background, provoking misty eyes and whispered cries of "if only I knew him better" from the audience.

Blow is, as the opening credits proudly proclaim, "based on a true story," though I have the feeling the operative word is 'story' rather than 'true.' It tells of the rise and (inevitable) fall of George Jung, the man who helped make cocaine the American drug of choice in the late '70s and early '80s. Starring Johnny Depp as the adult Jung, the movie traces his life from early childhood in a Boston suburb to his current home in a federal penitentiary.

The growing-up days of Jung, if the movie is to be believed, were a combination of idyllic Americana and disorienting poverty. His father (played by Ray Liotta, Hannibal) was a loving dad who unfortunately had trouble putting food on the table. In response, George's mother (played by Rachel Griffiths, Hilary and Jackie) routinely deserted the family, though she always returned to wreak emotional havoc.

Wanting no part of adult responsibility, George headed out to sunny California in 1968. There, he scored with the ladies (you would too if you looked like Johnny Depp) and became something of a celebrity on the beach. Back then, however, celebrity didn't pay the bills; so Jung and his friend Tuna (Ethan Suplee, Remember the Titans) turned to low-level drug dealing. They hooked up with a flashy hairdresser (Paul Reubens, Pee Wee's Big Adventure), and their marijuana operation took off as they sold pot coast-to-coast. George found the love of his life in Barbara (Franka Potente, Run Lola Run), and things couldn't get any better. 

This being a two-hour Hollywood movie, that means things must get worse, and so they do. In a double whammy, George learns that Barbara has incurable cancer at the same time he's ratted out to the cops by his MOM! Prison isn't that bad, though. In fact, "it was a crime school," as Depp's character puts it. Soon, he's out and, with the help of his old cellmate, is learning all about cocaine.

Here's where the film gets kinda murky. The film shows Jung meeting with famed Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar (looking like something out of Woody Allen's Bananas), and not long afterwards George is dealing cocaine like it's Florida orange juice. How did that happen? The movie doesn't tell us. Did Jung have to rub out any of his competition, or were they happy to tep aside for his raffish good looks? Did he have to subvert justice, bribe officials, or decimate entire neighborhoods? The movie glosses over all of those possibilities and instead just shows Jung stacking boxes and boxes of money while he tells us, "Everyone was doing it. I mean everyone."

It's around this time that Jung meets his second wife, Mirtha (Penelope Cruz, All the Pretty Horses) and then has an adorable daughter named Kristina. But just as it seems life can't get any better, George is double-crossed by his business partners and betrayed by his wife. I won't spoil the last half hour, but I will warn you that it involves Johnny Depp wearing some of the most hideous costumes ever worn by a leading man and a whole bunch of self-pity.

Blow is quite watchable while you're in the theater. Depp, who's shown himself to be an actor of striking range, is very convincing as George Jung. From the early post-adolescent beach days to the middle-aged paunch, he radiates star power, and his magnetism keeps your eyes glued to the screen. Reubens, as the outrageous, homosexual business partner, is surprisingly good, evoking a Southern California lifestyle that's believable. And thumbs up to Ray Liotta who turns in a fantastic performance as Jung's father. Never quite accepting his son's "profession" but always supporting him nonetheless, Liotta breathes life into the film in every scene he's in.

Director Ted Demme (Beautiful Girls) knows how important it is to move this picture along, so there's rarely a dull moment. The editing (by Kevin Tent, Election) is crisp, and the production design (by Michael Hanan, Ronin) is suitably glamorous.

The problems with Blow come when you stop to think about it. Then you realize that the movie is an enormous con job designed to make George Jung look like some sort of martyr. How convenient that his motives are never suspect, but all of the people around him are money-grubbing hanger-ons who only want to get high or, worse, take over his operation. How convenient that the last two times Jung was arrested he was just making one last score before getting out of the business--how unfair that he was caught. How convenient that his wife and mother are Medusas incarnate, caring only about their own reputations and willing to sacrifice George to keep them. How convenient that the perils of cocaine are never, in any way, dealt with; instead, Jung is presented as some sort of enlightened businessman, delivering a product that "everyone" wants. Jung, himself, tells it this way: "we have to come to the pool of self-reflection . . . and ask ourselves: was it the fact that I had the courage to be bad or why did millions of Americans not have the courage to be good?" George has courage; the rest of you saps are weak.

I don't demand that every drug movie be some sort of Nancy Reaganish, Don't Say No Affair, but Demme and his writers, in collusion with Jung, have produced a film that attempts to invert and subvert important notions of morality. The movie's conclusion, a mawkish plea that seems addressed directly to Jung's daughter, is only the final dollop of icing on this offensive cake. Demme wants us to feel sorry for George. I only feel sorry that so much money and effort was spent on this "true story." 

J. Robert Parks 4/7/2001

Blow is rated 'R' for lots of language and drug use, and fleeting nudity.