(Written by Intern, Miranda Zampogna)
A hundred grand jackpot, a sailboat, and two tropical vacations—was this the record-breaking win of a heroic American champion, or the plunder of a low-life, cheating crook? Director Samir Oliveros and co-writer Maggie Briggs keep one guessing, while delivering a vibrant, exciting dramatization of Michael Larson’s legendary 1984 game show coup. Reimagining Press Your Luck’s biggest scandal of all time, this thriller uncovers the infamous CBS broadcast’s flaw that saw a glimpse of opportunity. From retro filters to the pulsing, multicolored set, Oliveros hosts a feast for the eyes, immersing the audience in the garish glamour of this daytime debacle. Gambling on perception, The Luckiest Man In America is worth the spin.
With a captivating intensity, the never-disappointing Paul Walter Hauser stars as Michael, a scheming, down-on-his-luck ice cream truck driver and repairman. His initial impersonation of another contestant to gain entry is almost immediately unveiled, yet his pretense of an oddball stooge charms producer Bill Carruthers (David Strathairn), who offers him a second chance despite suspicions from casting director, Chuck (Shamier Anderson). In tightly framed, inquiring glances, Michael nervously bumbles onto the sound stage, guided by Sylvia (Maisie Williams), a heedless stagehand. She inadvertently helps him break a few rules, as Michael endeavors to call his daughter on her birthday. As the live-audience taping commences, intermittently in a square aspect ratio, reflexivity creates a jarring peculiarity. Even so, the mesmerizing whirring lights and charismatic host Peter Tomarken (Walton Goggins), engross.
An ominous hum and quick intercuts effectively build tension. The Big Board centerpiece, with its flashing neon panels, becomes a character in itself, embodying the capricious nature of fortune. Larson’s obsessive study of the board’s limited patterns, captured in tight shots of his calculating eyes, creates a palpable sense of anticipation. The Whammies, those devilish red mascots threatening losses of turns and bankruptcy, add a touch of surreal menace, recalling the gambit’s inherent risk. Gaining inspiration, the production design cleverly utilizes their red and yellow scheme to evoke mischief.
Meanwhile, this exploitation causes chaos in the control room as producers scramble to understand his winning streak, spinning who truly reaped the whammy’s reward. After a pivotal turn into a thriller, the studio gallery becomes divided, with some staff believing he is cheating and others acknowledging his inculpable cleverness as they watch his every move through their video wall. These voyeurs become the audience’s stand-in, mirroring a shared state of cognitive dissonance. The motif of the VHS screen develops a metatexual layer, as it is revealed that Larson strategized based on tapes of past airings, just as spectators are examining this artificial recording for patterns in his odd demeanor. Unraveling the mystery of whether Michael is earnestly playing becomes a diverting game in itself.
A subplot focused on Chuck is what transforms this into a gripping suspense. He uncovers this shifty player’s ruse, revealing his con artist past and a troubled personal life, including a restraining order and an estranged wife (Haley Bennett). Escalating tension, the production team’s positions are at risk, leading to attempts at sabotaging each other and Michael. They manipulate his nerves and limit his airtime, trying to throw him, eventually culminating in a low blow to his psyche. Amid turmoil, their target continues, and the producers’ allegiances and impunity needlessly convolute.
Hauser delivers a sincere performance of, ironically, the only time his real-life counterpart ever made an honest dollar. Oscillating between suspicion and sympathy, he sneakily keeps the initial question of hero or crook open-ended. An impressive supporting cast, including an unconventionally cordial Johnny Knoxville cameo, boosts dramatic chops, overshadowing weaker character arcs. While Oliveros evokes an engrossing epoché, the emotional stakes regarding Larson’s family feel underdeveloped. Brief snippets of his wife and daughter are intended to humanize him, but undermine a strong personal connection. A climactic phone call home, intended to be a devastating moment of personal loss, mostly falls flat, with only Hauser’s heartfelt performance earning pity.
Intriguingly, the poetic ending is shown from the perspective of his ultimate victim, his wife, but the freeze-frame on her tears and fade out to red is inconclusive. Hayley Bennett, who usually captivates, has barely any screen time to flesh out her character. Therefore, this decision, while canny, leaves her with an impossible task that results in a loss. Final moments, meant to hint at some real-life truth, where Larson never reformed, dying as a fugitive from the law, fail to balance a dichotomy otherwise masterfully crafted throughout. Overall, the third act aims for ambiguity, forfeiting a few loose ends. By disingenuously masking the real-life misdeeds of the protagonist and exploiting the audience’s vulnerabilities for underdogs, it is evident Oliveros chooses the latter, painting Larson as a hero, and inevitably makes viewers his mark.
Despite a few shortcomings, The Luckiest Man In America remains thematically compelling and visually arresting. Successfully, it captures the 80s’ eccentricities, never going full kitsch, and sustains the intoxicating allure of the American dream. Paul Walter Hauser and Walton Goggins, currently on their own boffo winning streak, continue to be bankable prizes, where fans will be delighted with this addition to their filmographies. While the payoff may be somewhat lacking, the sheer confidence and flair of Oliveros’s direction make for a memorable theatrical experience.
Don’t pass on The Luckiest Man In America; take a spin in theaters, Friday, April 4th.
