The Hustler (1961)

The Hustler (1961) is a poolroom gambling culture sports drama hubris film noir con movie tragedy, about one man's prideful journey through the underworld of his own wasted talent, and the alcoholic and suicidal woman he befriends, for his own ends of course.

It's a classic of many sorts, for many reasons, and is incredibly forward looking in its tragic and existential biploar jazz and thumb-breakin' misery, set in the seediest halls and shabbiest rooms, in the ropiest towns in the loneliest states, finding a vortex of doom which swallows thew female character, played by Piper Laurie, whole.

The Hustler (1961) is one of those rare films that transcends its apparent subject matter—pool—and delves deep into the human condition. On the surface, it’s about a young, talented but self-destructive pool hustler, Fast Eddie Felson, who wants to prove himself as the best. 

But at its heart, it’s a story of misogyny which is unable to put the case across for any female point  of view at all, lowering the standards to below love interest, to suicidal interest, from a longish section in the middle of the film when the two loner losers attempt to play house.

A tabletop of character, ambition, and the consequences of living a life defined by raw talent and ego. The film is a sharp exploration of the flaws that make Eddie a loser, despite his undeniable skill, and his journey toward redemption is painful and poignant.

At the start, Eddie is a brash, arrogant drifter, hustling for a living but always feeling unfulfilled. He seeks not just money, but the fame and recognition of being the best in his game—an ambition that blinds him to the importance of character. 

He challenges Minnesota Fats, the reigning pool champion, and despite getting the upper hand initially, Eddie’s pride and self-destructive tendencies lead him to squander his winnings, ultimately losing the match. This is a crucial moment in the film, highlighting Eddie’s fatal flaw: he has the talent to be a winner, but lacks the discipline and emotional maturity to make the most of it.

The interaction between Eddie and the other characters deepens the film’s exploration of its themes. Bert Gordon, a manipulative gambler, sees Eddie’s potential but also his weakness. Gordon preys on Eddie’s vulnerabilities, offering him a chance at bigger games and higher stakes, but with a dangerous price. 

The relationship between Eddie and Sarah, a fragile alcoholic with dreams of something more, adds another layer of complexity to Eddie’s character. Though she loves him, she too is trapped in a cycle of self-destruction, unable to break free from her own demons. 

Sarah’s relationship with Eddie is a metaphor for his internal battle between ambition and the need for love and connection. It is a metaphor for how badly narratives were treating women and how much worse it was going to get. Nothing would possess anyone on set to tell any part of the story from her POV.

Paul Newman’s portrayal of Eddie is nothing short of brilliant. He captures the essence of a man consumed by his desire to be the best, yet unable to escape the emptiness that follows his victories. His performance is raw and vulnerable, showing Eddie’s internal conflict with stunning clarity. 

Jackie Gleason’s portrayal of Minnesota Fats, on the other hand, is a masterclass in likeable and liable subtlety. Gleason plays Fats as a man who has been at the top for so long that his calm demeanor hides the fear and loneliness that come with maintaining that position. 

The contrast between Eddie’s restless energy and Fats’ quiet control is one of the film’s most compelling dynamics.

But perhaps the most significant transformation in The Hustler is Eddie’s growth as a person. Through his relationship with Sarah and his confrontations with the cynical world around him, Eddie begins to realize that being a champion requires more than just skill.

It demands integrity, discipline, and self-awareness. His journey is painful, marked by moments of loss and regret, but it is ultimately one of redemption. In the end, Eddie learns the most important lesson: that true victory lies not in being the best, but in becoming a better person.

The Hustler is a film steeped in the gritty realism of its time. The stark black-and-white cinematography perfectly complements the film’s somber tone. The pool halls, dimly lit and filled with smoke, evoke a sense of desolation and decay, mirroring the emotional landscapes of its characters. 

The film’s score, a haunting jazzy composition by Kenyon Hopkins, adds to this sense of melancholy, underscoring the bleakness of the characters’ lives.

At its core, The Hustler is about the clash between talent and character. Eddie is a man with immense potential, yet he is his own worst enemy. His journey toward self-realization is slow and painful, but it is one that many viewers can relate to, as it speaks to the universal struggle to overcome our flaws and embrace the values that make us truly successful in life.

The film presents an unflinching view of its characters, showing their complexity and their humanity. It refuses to offer easy answers or a tidy resolution, making Eddie’s journey all the more poignant.

The performances in The Hustler are outstanding across the board. Paul Newman is at his best, playing a character who is as flawed as he is charismatic. His portrayal of Eddie is layered and nuanced, capturing both his bravado and his vulnerability. 

Jackie Gleason, typically known for his comedic roles, gives a surprising and powerful performance as Minnesota Fats, a man who has achieved greatness but at the cost of his own happiness. George C. Scott is chilling as Bert Gordon, a man who thrives on the misfortune of others, while Piper Laurie’s portrayal of Sarah, though understated, is emotionally impactful. Together, these actors bring the film’s grim, yet captivating, world to life.

The film’s influence extends beyond its immediate impact. The Hustler paved the way for future films about hustlers and anti-heroes, laying the groundwork for characters like Scorsese’s Goodfellas and the later Color of Money, where Newman would reprise his role as Eddie. 

The film’s exploration of the dark side of ambition and the price of success resonates just as strongly today as it did in 1961.

It's a movie also which shows the cruelty and unsafe nature of casual sex among the vulnerable, and how badly things are going wrong within the reality of American life, so what might work for Cary Grant or James Bond, is failing among the humans themselves, where sex is purely destructive and the ground of tragedy. 

The Hustler is much more than a film about pool. It’s a character study, a meditation on ambition, pride, and the cost of self-destruction. With its unforgettable performances, striking cinematography, and insightful exploration of human nature, it remains one of the greatest American films ever made. 

Fast Eddie Felson may be a flawed anti-hero, but his journey is one that ultimately shows the value of self-discovery, integrity, and redemption. The film is not just about winning—it’s about what it means to truly live.

In examining the culture of American poolrooms, one cannot avoid addressing the social problems intertwined with the practice of gambling. Pool, once viewed as a casual sport, is often dominated by betting, with various degrees of intensity and deception shaping the experience. 

The dynamics of betting in poolrooms have evolved significantly, leading to a variety of different types of games, ranging from low-stakes "sociable" games to high-stakes hustling matches, all of which rely on different forms of social engagement and manipulation.

In most public poolrooms, there exists a strong tradition of betting, even if the stakes are relatively small. This custom is particularly evident when a player invites another to “just play sociable,” which, more often than not, means playing for a small amount of money or at least for the time (the loser paying for the game). 

While many players claim they are simply playing for fun, the reality is that most regular pool players are drawn to the stakes, no matter how modest. The only exceptions are newer and less skilled players, who may resist this tradition, although they are typically drawn into the culture through a process of socialization.

The emphasis on fast action is another defining characteristic of pool gambling. While players may not always bet large sums, they favor quick, high-energy games where money changes hands rapidly. To facilitate this, the games themselves are often shortened versions of standard pool or billiards, such as "nine ball" or "one pocket," both of which allow for faster, more exciting gameplay. 

This creates an environment where gambling is not only permitted but is essential to the game's pace and intensity. Despite the ubiquitous presence of "No Gambling" signs in poolrooms, these rules are rarely enforced. 

The signs serve merely as a formality, often required by law or for the sake of appearances. In reality, gambling is an ingrained part of the poolroom culture, with proprietors turning a blind eye, knowing that gamblers are their most frequent and loyal customers.

While non-hustlers may engage in a variety of games, the key distinction lies in the role of hustlers—individuals who engage in gambling not just for the stakes but to manipulate outcomes in their favor. Hustling is a craft in itself, involving not just superior skill but also a range of deceptive techniques designed to mislead opponents, especially those unaware of the hustler’s true capabilities. 

There are different forms of games played in poolrooms, each involving different levels of deception. These include non-hustler versus non-hustler games, non-hustler versus hustler games, and hustler versus hustler games. 

In non-hustler versus non-hustler games, the stakes may be higher than in casual games, but the betting is still primarily between the two players. In hustler versus non-hustler games, the hustler leverages his superior skill, often employing various forms of deception to ensure a win. 

The most intense form of hustling, however, occurs when two hustlers face off, each knowing the other’s mettle and seeking to outplay not just their opponent but also the spectators who may be betting on the match.

Hustlers, contrary to popular belief, do not always prefer high-stakes games. The ideal situation for a hustler is one where the game is set up in such a way that victory is practically guaranteed. This is often achieved through deception—what is known in the poolroom as the "short con." Deception in pool involves feigning poor performance, deliberately missing shots, or underplaying skill in order to create the illusion of an even match.

Such deception is made easier by the nature of pool and billiards, where the difference between success and failure can be minuscule. A hustler can deliberately miss a shot while still appearing to play at full capacity. This deliberate underperformance makes it hard for the opponent to discern the hustler's true skill level, allowing the hustler to manipulate the outcome in his favor.

The hustler’s methods are not limited to feigned mistakes; they also involve psychological manipulation. By making the game appear closer than it is, the hustler lures the opponent into betting more, often doubling down or raising the stakes. 

The hustler may even play in such a way that the opponent wins an occasional game, ensuring that they remain engaged and continue to gamble. The hustler knows that the real money is made over a series of games, where the opponent is lured deeper into the gamble, eventually being left at a disadvantage.

One of the primary tools in the hustler's arsenal is his ability to manipulate the social environment. Whether through exploiting spectators or ensuring that the opponent remains unaware of the hustler's true abilities, the hustler’s skill is not just in playing the game but in managing how others perceive him. 

This requires not just technical skill but a certain level of charisma and control over the social setting. A good hustler must be able to work the room, managing his reputation, manipulating his image, and knowing exactly when to show his true skill.

Hustlers often work in pairs or groups, known as "backing." A backer is someone who provides the stake money for a hustler, taking a percentage of the winnings. However, the relationship between hustler and backer is not one of pure trust; the hustler must be able to convince the backer that the game is a safe bet. 

This can involve setting up a match in which the hustler is all but guaranteed to win, or it can involve convincing the backer that even a tough game is worth the risk. The backer, too, must be aware of the risks, as there is always the possibility that the hustler may “dump” a game—a term for deliberately losing a game in order to deceive spectators and manipulate betting.

Dumping, while a form of deception, is considered a more serious breach of the unspoken rules of the poolroom. It involves losing a game on purpose, not to an opponent, but to the spectators who have placed side bets. 

This is done in order to manipulate the odds and create a situation in which the hustler can later win larger sums of money. Dumping is a delicate operation, as it carries significant risks. If discovered, it can ruin a hustler's reputation and cost him valuable opportunities. As a result, hustlers carefully choose when to engage in dumping, balancing the potential rewards with the risks of being exposed.

In the world of pool hustling, everything is about perception. The hustler’s ability to maintain a certain image—of being a weaker player, of playing only for small stakes—is essential to his success. He must create an illusion of fairness, of a game that could go either way, while secretly maintaining control over the outcome. 

This manipulation of perception is what separates the good hustler from the merely skilled player.

The hustler's life is built on these intricate webs of deception, and his success relies as much on social manipulation as it does on playing ability. Whether it’s through managing the terms of the match, manipulating the audience, or engaging in more serious forms of deception such as dumping, the hustler’s craft is a continuous process of conning and re-conning. 

It is this unique combination of skill, deception, and social manipulation that defines the world of poolroom gambling, making it not just a sport but a complex social ritual steeped in competition, risk, and reward.

The Hollywood blacklist was not merely a professional impediment; it was an act of annihilation. It destroyed careers, ruptured lives, and left the cultural landscape of American cinema in a state of tumultuous disarray.

 

The repercussions of this systematic persecution extended far beyond the immediate industry; it drove individuals into exile, despair, and, in some cases, premature death. The creative trajectory of an entire generation was irreversibly altered, leaving behind only the ghosts of unrealized projects and the persistent speculation of what might have been. 

The void left by the blacklisted artists is immeasurable, yet their resilience and capacity for reinvention yielded significant works that stand as both testimony to their suffering and their triumph. Among these are Joseph Losey’s The Servant (1963) and Jules Dassin’s Rififi (1955), masterpieces forged in exile. Some writers, working in secrecy and selling their scripts under assumed names, managed to contribute to the cinematic canon despite their blacklisting—such as Carl Foreman and Michael Wilson, whose The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) won an Academy Award they could only claim posthumously. 

Others, like Abraham Polonsky, resurfaced in later years with unexpected and fiercely political works, as evidenced by Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here (1969). Yet one name that stands apart as an embodiment of resilience, tenacity, and artistic integrity is Walter Bernstein.

Bernstein’s death, at 101, marked the passing of an unparalleled chronicler of 20th-century American cinema and politics. His life spanned the blacklist era and beyond, and his insights into that tumultuous period were as rich as they were incisive. 

To invoke the African proverb: his passing was akin to a library burning down. His firsthand experience of history, from the rise of McCarthyism to the political shifts of the 21st century, made him a living repository of cultural memory. He witnessed the ascendance of Trump at 97, but lived to see his successor take office at 101. This span of lived history underscores his position as an enduring figure whose engagement with political struggle never wavered.

Classic film noir slow flashing neon street sign through the blinds in The Hustler (1961)

Bernstein was not merely a victim of the blacklist; he was its historian, its interpreter, and, perhaps, its most compelling cinematic chronicler. His script for The Front (1976), directed by Martin Ritt, remains one of the most penetrating accounts of Hollywood’s anti-communist purge. But to reduce Bernstein’s legacy to the blacklist alone would be an injustice. 

Bert Gordon: I don't think there's a pool player alive shoots better pool than I saw you shoot the other night at Ames. You got talent.

Fast Eddie: So I got talent. So what beat me?

Bert Gordon: Character.

His political convictions shaped his career far more profoundly than the blacklist ever did. His radicalism was not a reaction to persecution but a defining principle of his life. He was, first and foremost, a political thinker, a writer whose work reflected an unwavering commitment to social justice.

The Hustler is that film, this is the hook: Fast Eddie Felson, a talented pool player with potential but lacking the character to succeed at high-stakes games. After losing to legendary player Minnesota Fats, Eddie hustles in seedy pool halls, but his arrogance and self-destructive nature lead to his downfall. Eddie’s journey is about overcoming failure, but at a steep price. 

He meets Sarah, an alcoholic who represents a possible escape from his chaotic life, but their relationship is doomed as Eddie focuses solely on his ambition. The film explores why some people succeed and others fail, emphasizing character over raw talent. Eddie’s rematch with Fats is less about winning and more about Eddie’s growth, shaped by harsh lessons from manipulative figures like Bert Gordon.

Paul Newman in The Hustler (1961)

It should be said that compared to the cinema of the 1940s and even the 1950s, there are some quite boring periods in The Hustler (1961) but this is state of the art philosophical expression, and annoyingly, the script's issue with women at play.

Robert Rossen had a chip on his shoulder, trying to prove something. His past, especially with Hollywood, was a real mess. Born in the gutter of New York’s Lower East Side to broke Russian-Jewish immigrants, Rossen knew the score. As a kid, he hustled pool and pinochle just to eat. But that didn’t stop him from hitting college and diving into left-wing theater during the Depression. Like a lot of rebels back then, he joined the Communist Party, trying to stick it to the man.

Rossen slid into Hollywood as a writer, knocking out screenplays for Warner Bros. He was all about tough guys in tough places, the gritty reality of gangsters and corrupt politicians. But when the war came, he rallied Hollywood to fight the Nazis. After the war, things went south. He ended up on the picket line, striking with Warner’s workers, and that sealed the deal—his time with the studio was over.

Then came the HUAC hearings. Rossen was hauled in front of the committee, asked to name names about his Communist ties. At first, he stayed quiet, but when they called him back in '51, he cracked, betraying 57 others to save his career. The Hustler came after that, a reflection of his guilt—selling out for fame. In the end, Eddie’s victory over Minnesota Fats wasn’t just a win; it was Rossen’s way of showing that, at last, Eddie found something more important than winning: character.

Bernstein’s trajectory, like that of many blacklisted writers, began in journalism before transitioning into cinema. A dedicated cinephile long before he became a filmmaker, he wrote movie reviews for The Dartmouth before taking up a post as a correspondent for Yank, the U.S. Army publication. 

This role took him across Iran, Palestine, Egypt, North Africa, Sicily, and Yugoslavia, culminating in an extraordinary trek through Nazi-occupied territory to secure the first Western interview with Marshal Tito. 

His ability to navigate politically volatile landscapes, both literal and metaphorical, shaped his writing. His contributions to The New Yorker over two decades ranged from trenchant journalism to evocative short fiction, encapsulating his dexterity across literary forms.

Bernstein’s entry into Hollywood came at the behest of progressive filmmaker Robert Rossen, best known for Body and Soul (1947) and The Hustler (1961). Bernstein was contracted for ten weeks and ended up staying for six months, contributing to All the King’s Men (1949) and Kiss the Blood Off My Hands (1948). 

Fast Eddie: Maybe I'm not such a high-class piece of property right now. And a 25% slice of something big is better than a 100% slice of nothing.

However, he soon returned to New York, where he wrote for live television dramas, a fertile ground for emerging talents like Sidney Lumet, John Frankenheimer, Cloris Leachman, and Rod Steiger. It was here that the blacklist caught up with him. CBS, appreciative of his work but wary of controversy, relied on intermediaries—fronts—to submit Bernstein’s scripts under different names. 

Alongside fellow blacklisted writers like Abe Polonsky and Arnie Manoff, Bernstein became adept at navigating these clandestine arrangements.

It was during this period that Bernstein’s path intersected with Howard Rodman Sr., a writer with whom he shared a mutual political engagement. Through Rodman, Bernstein continued working in television, despite the blacklist, producing scripts for You Are There, the historical reenactment series hosted by Walter Cronkite. 

Yet the process of using fronts proved creatively and psychologically taxing. In a mordant passage from his memoir Inside Out, Bernstein recounts the existential torment of having to write down to the standard of his fronts, whose reputations, paradoxically, benefited from association with blacklisted writers.

By the early 1960s, the blacklist was eroding, and Bernstein’s name began reappearing in credits. He wrote for The Magnificent Seven (1960), though uncredited, and adapted Fail Safe (1964) for Sidney Lumet. His collaborations with director Martin Ritt became defining features of his late career, including Paris Blues (1961) and the incendiary labor drama The Molly Maguires (1970). 

In the 1970s, Bernstein’s work displayed a remarkable versatility. He penned Semi-Tough (1977), a satire of American masculinity, and co-wrote Yanks (1979), an elegiac WWII romance directed by John Schlesinger. He even directed Little Miss Marker (1980), a remake of the Damon Runyon classic.

Throughout his career, Bernstein remained deeply engaged with political discourse. His contributions to Film Quarterly, his advocacy for social justice, and his mentorship at institutions like Columbia University and NYU reflected a commitment to cultivating future generations of politically engaged storytellers. 

[last lines]

Fast Eddie: Fat man, you shoot a great game of pool.

Minnesota Fats: So do you, Fast Eddie.

His involvement in the Writers Guild of America East, even in his eighties, brought him into contact with figures like Budd Schulberg, a former mentor who had named names before HUAC. Bernstein, despite his unwavering opposition to informers, extended a quiet act of decency by ensuring Schulberg’s safe passage home after a meeting. This moment of grace encapsulated Bernstein’s complex stance toward the legacy of the blacklist—unsparing in his critique, yet humane in his judgment.

Walter Bernstein’s death was not merely the passing of an individual but the extinguishing of a vital link to a defining era of American cultural and political history. His legacy, however, remains intact: in his films, in his journalism, and in his role as a mentor. 

He lived through history and shaped it in return, proving that the voices of the blacklisted could never be fully silenced. His final years, spent adapting The Front into a television series, symbolized his full-circle moment—an artist once silenced now reasserting the narrative on his own terms. 

The Hustler (1961)

Alternate Titles: Sin of Angels, Stroke of Luck | Release Date: 26 September 1961 | 

Duration (in mins): 133