Amsterdam Parent Guide

After meeting during the Great War, Burt (Christian Bale) and Harold (John David Washington) become fast friends and vow to look out for one another. Twelve years later, they’ve kept their word. Burt, a doctor, is developing treatments for other injured and disfigured veterans, and Harold, now a lawyer, represents those who would otherwise lack access to legal services – but a new client is about to turn their lives upside down.

Harold is being retained by Elizabeth Meekins (Taylor Swift), the daughter of Bill Meekins (Ed Begley Jr.) the General who formed their regiment. General Meekins is dead, and Elizabeth doesn’t believe it was accidental. She wants Burt to perform an autopsy – but while they’re waiting for the results, Elizabeth is shoved in front of a car by a mysterious stranger (Timothy Olyphant) and Burt and Harold are blamed for her death. Now the friends find themselves trying to solve a murder, dodge the police, and avoid being killed by the real culprits. As they are drawn deeper into a bizarre conspiracy which will threaten the foundations of American democracy, the men will be reunited with a long-lost friend – if they can stay alive that long, that is.

The cast list for this movie reads like a director’s dream Rolodex – Christian Bale, John David Washington, Margot Robbie, Anya Taylor-Joy, Rami Malek, Robert De Niro, Chris Rock, Zoe Saldana, Michael Shannon… it’s a long list. I shudder to imagine the size of the casting budget, but it’s pretty much worth it. The best parts of this film are the performances from actors who are clearly having fun with the story and each other.

Casting aside, Amsterdam is a very, very mixed bag. An intriguing premise and remarkable actors are offset by an inconsistent script and some unusual editing. I think this production is trying to be a more grounded Wes Anderson movie. That’s not the best idea, resulting in tonal shifts from comedic melodrama to some extremely dark ideas without the buffer of Anderson’s whimsy – and boy, do you need that buffer. Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel gets away with a lot on whimsy alone.

On the other hand, this is a remarkably soft R-rating, with sex and profanity coming in at PG-13 levels. There’s some pharmaceutical experimentation, but it is legitimately done to treat extreme medical conditions. When you’re trying to help veterans with nerve pain, I don’t think Burt’s cocktails of morphine, cocaine, and whatever else he’s got in there are much removed from what doctors are prescribing now. The only justification for the R-rating I can see is the violence. Nothing particularly gruesome happens to any of the living characters on-screen, but they are briefly seen with some particularly nasty injuries, and a very graphic autopsy is shown in one instance. Perhaps more objectionable is the director, David O. Russell, who, apart from his reputation as a mercurial and violent man on set, has admitted to sexually assaulting his 19-year-old niece. You can decide for yourself whether or not two hours of fun casting and a timely plot are worth paying any share of your admission to such a guy.