Confidence (2003)

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James Foley isn’t a bad director, but he’s isn’t really a good one, either. He’s made some dumb thrillers (Fear, The Chamber), one awful comedy (Who’s That Girl?), and series of neo noirs (At Close Range, The Corruptor, and After Dark, My Sweet) that have been interesting, but never really gelled.

Foley received the most laurels for his film adaptation of David Mamet’s play Glengarry Glen Ross, an ensemble drama about a group of shady salesmen pulling a telephone scam. So it’s no surprise that Foley returns to this world of scheming slimeballs in his project,

Confidence Unlike Glengarry, Confidence is a buoyant caper flick about a semi dapper grifter named Jake Vig (Edward Burns) whose latest scam nets him $150,000 before blowing up in his face. Turns out the cash belongs to an underworld boss called “The King” (Dustin Hoffman). But unlike Robert Shaw’s hulking crime lord in The Sting, who looked as though he would crush a waiter’s skull if his tea arrived tepid, The King is a mousy, jittery fellow, like a Rain Man with a talent for extortion instead of math.

To make amends, Jake pitches King an even bigger scam, in which he’ll assemble a crew to take down Morgan Price (Robert Forster), a creepy Mob banker. He enlists two fellow flim flam artists Gordo (the ubiquitous Paul Giamatti) and Miles (Brian Van Holt) and a smoldering petty thief tured femme fatale (Rachel Weisz) to help him pull the job off. But King wants assurances, so he sends along his hulking flunky Lupus (Franky G.) to make sure things go smoothly. He has a right to be concerned, since an unkempt FBI agent (Andy Garcia) and two dirty cops (Donal Logue and Luis Guzman) are planning on taking Jake down.

Even though Doug Jung’s script has one central flaw if Jake got in so much trouble for stealing King’s money, wouldn’t he balk at swiping a Mafia bankroll? Confidence has enough crosses and double crosses to keep audiences engaged. The rat a tat dialogue and Foley’s fleet direction keeps the atmosphere bubbling, and the acting ensemble is solid all around. Burns is a convincing crook, and it’s nice to see him ditch the stale loveable lunk act he’s been recycling since 1995’s The Brothers McMullen. Indie stalwarts Logue and Guzman are as funny as ever, and Weisz provides the requisite sensuality.

The big surprise is Garcia, who is all but unrecognizable underneath a grimy beard and rumpled suit. Far from his previous dapper roles, it’s as though he’s channeling Columbo on bad hygiene day. That shouldn’t be surprising, since just about everything in Confidence is borrowed. Jung incorporates elements of The Sting, Mamet’s House of Games and the works of Tarantino (who himself looted the French New Wave and 1970s B-movies).

Like most carbon copies, though, it isn’t as good as the originals, falling into the second tier of caper flicks alongside Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead, Mamet’s Heist, and Argentinia’s Nine Queens (the Yankee remake of which is already in the works). But just because something’s derivative, doesn’t mean it isn’t entertaining, Confidence may be a rerun, but it’s a rerun worth watching.

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