The following review is something I had previously written a few weeks ago, festering in a little red notebook I keep in my bag.  Every time I look back at my musings I cringe at some of my word choices and curse myself for not reigning in my peculiar vocabulary.  And then, with a sudden flurry of self prescribed loathing, I overlap my chicken scratchings with angry red marker stains and replace them with slightly less gaudy word choices until I reach my idea of a satisfactory compromise.  However, being the banner boy for indecisiveness, I cave in and eventually insert some indulgent quips, regardless of whether or not they add anything meaningful to my ramblings.  Nevertheless, with a sort of nail biting anxiousness, I invite you to comb over my findings and to toss any and all helpful criticism my way, so that I may eventually mull over your opinions and disregard them entirely, shortly after.  Enjoy.

      There is at least one movie in everyone's life that becomes ingrained in their minds, festering and gnawing at their previously inept knowledge of cinema.  For some, it can be boiled down to the effortless charm Mr. "Better With Age" George Clooney brings to his roles, wooing the female patrons of theaters worldwide.  Or, if your tastes embrace the rebellious at heart, the advent of the raunchy sex comedies of the early days might stir your interest, most notably the grandfather of this genre, "Animal House".  I, being a man who is expected to embrace anything with mind numbing explosions and gratuitous amounts of mammary flaunting, tend to indulge in films that embrace the slow burn of its protagonists and the moral quandaries they succumb to when I am in need of mental stimuli.  Ultimately, the one movie that I flock to in my time of solace is a little gem called "The Sting", a film that is spearheaded by a dynamic duo, consisting of Paul Newman and Robert Redford.  Re-enforced by George Roy Hill's spitfire direction and attention to period authenticity, this timeless piece of cinematic pie is the culprit in my spoiled tastes when regarding the flaccid industry that is now film.  I'm looking at you, Hollywood.
      I was an idiot when I was a kid.  Technically, that's a broad statement for anyone at that age, but it was especially true for me, considering that I overlooked this movie as another one of my mother's relentlessly boring VHS tapes, taking up my precious time to watch Space Jam for the millionth time.  Now, being a full grown arrogant and brash young adult, I have concluded that I want to be buried with this film.  I won't bother to summarize this movie, since that defeats the purpose of experiencing the effortless cadence in which this movie gallops along.  However, a little back round on the characters goes a long way in sparking any interest.  Essentially, Robert Redford plays a character named "hooker", an intelligent yet naive con man who is on a quest for revenge, using the only skill he has.  Being brash and fool hardy, he is forced to team up with the legend that is Paul Newman, also known as "Henry Gondorff", a fellow grifter that has taken on some of the biggest jobs in town, only to be reduced to a sliver of his former self after a grift gone bad.
     Even on paper, this coupling sounds like a match made in 35mm heaven, and it only gets better once these two bounce off each other.  It boggles my mind that their chemistry hasn't been harnessed in anything else, other than "Butch Cassidy", since their repertoire is what drives this flick.  In their first meeting Henry is a disheveled drunkard, much to the bemusement of Hooker.  One ice bath later, however, Henry is a clean shaven, steely blue eyed shadow of his former self.  Hooker sees this, and concedes to his expertise and knowledge, almost pleading to Henry to get back at his aggressor, a deliciously cold banker played by Robert Shaw.  Henry sees this vulnerability and caves in to his human side.  However, on closer inspection, I feel as though he is accomplishing a goal for himself that he missed when he was in his prime; a sense of purpose in his work.  Sure, he did it for the money, a perfectly serviceable reason, yet it didn't drive him like the fuel that drives Hooker.  Seeing this, Henry actually glimpses himself in Hooker, a man that is where Henry wants to be, age wise and philosophically.  I feel as though he is compelled to transpose himself onto Hooker, able to live out a strand of life he missed out on.  A second chance, in a sense.  Thinking along this line of reasoning, I find their chemistry almost self serving, since they are essentially talking to themselves, albeit Henry being more in tune to this odd prophecy than Hooker, a person who doesn't question the odd bond he has with this strangely similar man.
     Hooker, on the other hand, is unsure on a consistent basis throughout the movie, taken aback by the curve balls that come flying his way.  And yet, when it comes down to the wire, Hooker drags himself along, acting as the driving force for the audience.  He is a traditional piece of the puzzle, yet an essential one.  And, to top it off, it is shown regularly that his cunning attitude is what saves the con on multiple occasions.  Fortunately, the character is at an agreeable level of complexity for the admittedly limited range of Robert Redford.  Not to say that he is a dull actor, Far from it, in fact.  It's just that he is more favorable for his own time, when the complexities of today's Hollywood didn't put so much pressure on actor's to change themselves for our entertainment.  Method acting is a dream, for now.  Yet, it is exactly why I adore this movie.  The talent that litters this movie is completely at ease with embracing their individual egos.  They know they are stars.  They feel the eyes of the audience on them, hungry for more of their dominating presence on screen.  And they relish every second of it.
     The crew behind the film realized this when composing around this movie, so they made the logical choice of adding as little music as possible, save for a pretty little piano ditty that is strategically pinned at various points of the film, as well as other pieces with similar staying power.  By doing this, we get to soak in the tense air that envelops these characters, scene after scene.  One example is the hallmark of this film; a poker game on a speeding train.  Set up as a way to gauge the protagonist's mark and as a launching point for their big con, Paul Newman harness his own star power to crank up the collective heat.  Now, normally card games don't elicit much of a positive response from me, since they usually end up with me being a major sour puss and vowing to hit someone after losing the tenth hand.  But surround that table with expertly crafted sprinkles of humour and suggestive slivers of dread for the lead, and you have yourself one hell of a suspenseful game.  Sounds great, right?  Now imagine literally no trace of music, save the cacophony of train tracks and the rustling of cards, topped off with the obligatory train whistle at the more intsense facial closeups.  The sounds are so intoxicating that upon repeated viewings, the back round noise becomes the music itself, complimenting the aforementioned cadence of the actor's timing in dialogue.
     One last note to make before completely spoiling this gem is that the production value of this movie brings to mind the phrase, "Spared no expense".  I mean, the detailed clothing and set designs that litter this flick is just mind boggling, considering how detail to that extent usually reaches prices upwards of multiple billions of dollars in today's time.  The difference between then and now, however, is that the inorganic sets and clothing become the characters, while movies today put an unnecessary sheen on everything, as if to say that time period was an ideal period in our history.  This grievous error in replicating history is absent in this movie, where in the opening shot people and businesses are realistically shown in shambles while a privileged individual's polished shoes stroll defiantly down the dirty sidewalks, leaving a stingy residue in one's mouth.  What a way to set a fire underneath viewers and to get them involved in the film. 

     I'm terrible with wrapping up my point, so I'll just advise you to watch this movie and prepare to be spoiled.