It's difficult to know where to begin reviewing American Made, because each element inspires a similar reaction: it's all so average. That's arguably more offensive - and certainly more difficult to discuss - than an outright terrible film, because it makes placing your thoughts into words all the more challenging, for a lack of extremes available to you as a writer. It might sound like an annoying grumble to have but your middle-of-the-road, pedestrian cinematic servings are a pain in the ass to review.
Barry Seal's unbelievable life, even with the artistic liberties it is so quick to announce it has taken, doesn't make the screen translation effectively enough to be recommended, with an uninspired hash of tones ultimately providing a detriment to the film's own identity. It so desperately wants to evoke The Wolf of Wall Street but ends up closer in relation to the insufferable Gold and dreadful (in my eyes, only) The Big Short. As a matter of fact, this limp biopic proved something to me: my least favourite genre in the world is 'irritating American men doing illegal and morally questionable things for fame and/or fortune'. With the Leonardo DiCaprio-starring Wall Street the only exception, I am almost always guaranteed to hate anything indulging in this horrendous glamorisation of horrible people.