DURING decades of social, economic and racial turmoil, the world's greatest superpower has consistently lost one hard-fought battle: the war to purge its streets of drugs.

In 1971, President Nixon declared: "America's public enemy number one, in the United States, is drugs."

At the time, it was estimated that one third of American troops fighting in Vietnam were experimenting with heroin and opium.

American Gangster recounts the true story of the rise and fall of Frank Lucas (Denzel Washington), who created a drugs empire in '70s New York, controlling a large portion of the city's heroin trade.

Aided and abetted by his five brothers, the so-called Country Boys, Frank successfully out-manouevred the ruling Italian mob, flooding Harlem with cheap, high-grade product emblazoned with the Blue Magic logo.

Rumoured to be raking in more than $1 million a day at the height of his reign, Frank famously smuggled his illegal wares into the country in the coffins of dead servicemen.

Ridley's Scott's bloated thriller pits the real-life organised crime boss against a New Jersey cop, Detective Richie Roberts (Russell Crowe), a hothead who is determined to clean up the streets and root out corrupt elements within his own narcotics division.

The unfolding game of cat and mouse should make for riveting cinema, especially with screenwriter Steven Zaillian (Schindler's List, Gangs of New York) pulling the characters' strings.

Like the evil drug that Frank peddles, the emotional high wears off far too quickly.

Director Scott excels during scenes of conflict and violence.

The climactic swoop on Frank's drug operation is brilliantly orchestrated mayhem, injecting a burst of much-needed adrenaline into an otherwise pedestrian thriller.

The 156-minute running time severely tests our patience; editor Pietro Scalia could happily take a scalpel to the middle hour.

Performances lack pizzazz.

Washington remains placid for much of the film, his kingpin refusing to show any feelings as Richie and the team edge closer to an arrest.

When he does finally crack, someone invariably gets singed by the heat of his rage.

"I ain't running from nobody," sneers Frank to one of his minions, arrogantly dismissing Richie's efforts to bring him down.

Even in a police interrogation room, the evidence weighted against him, Frank cockily boasts: "I took care of Harlem and Harlem's gonna take care of me."

Crowe brings quiet dignity to his lawmaker, who prizes honesty above everything else, and cheekily quips: "You know what we do here? We arrest bad guys."

A subplot involving Richie's courtroom battles with his wife for custody of his son is an unnecessary distraction.

Zaillian's script is light on detail - it's noticeable that we learn very little on a psychological or emotional level about either man.

Kept apart on screen for almost the entire film, Frank and Richie remain fascinating enigmas until the bitter end.

  • Empire and Odeon