Nor do we really see why cocaine electrified the nation or why the DEA was so zealous in pursuing Jung. When Jung is busted on his birthday, the main impression we get is of the government as party-poopers. Without a strong opponent, it’s hard to avoid the feeling of a passive voice: the movie’s focus is Jung, but all too often things seem to happen to him, rather than him directing the action. Jung gets lucky in having a cellmate who knows Escobar. Jung gets screwed over by Diego. Jung gets busted. It’s almost as though all Jung knows how to do is secure planes for importing drugs. This might be an accurate reflection of what actually happened in real life—as Jung says of himself in a voiceover, his ambition was greater than his talent—but it doesn’t necessarily make for good cinema.

So while Blow is strong enough to ward off those aforementioned cheap-shot headlines, and while its captivating depiction of the life of George Jung is a welcome corrective from caricatured stereotypes of drug smugglers, the whole of the movie comes across as less than the sum of its occasionally brilliant parts. The movie keeps flitting from location to location, chasing the next high (or low) of Jung’s life, never stopping to fully take in what it all means.