Adapting a true story to the screen is always an ambitious endeavor. Truth might be stranger than fiction, but rarely is it as entertaining. Despite the redeeming qualities of Lean on Me, Fire in the Sky, and The Hurricane, non-fiction films invariably lack the creative element for which movie goers fiend. With Blow, all of that might change. When he agreed to direct the screen adaptation of Bruce Porter’s 1993 book, Ted Demme was handed a non-fiction story that had Hollywood written all over it.

Blow chronicles the life of George Jung (Johnny Depp), son of a plumbing father (Ray Liotta) and a cash-starved, housewife mother (Rachel Griffiths) who grows up in a blue-collar suburb of Boston. After his fair share of economic and familial strife, Jung opts to leave the Northeast for the sunny beaches and scantily clad women of Southern California. Once there, he and his big-boned buddy, Tuna (Ethan Suplee), enter the lucrative world of marijuana sales by partnering with his newfound girlfriend, Barbara (Franka Potente), and the flamboyantly gay Derek (Paul Reubens). After his introduction to the drug scene, things for George rise, fall, rise, fall, rise, and fall again as he makes his way through four decades of dealing drugs and stacking chips.

On the whole, Blow is downright fun to watch. It’s a very Boogie Nights-ish romp through foreign, yet somehow identifiable, scenarios. None of us can relate to what it’s like to smuggle millions of dollars worth of cocaine into the country, but when we see the spectacularly average George Jung do it against a backdrop of perfectly fitted rock tunes, it feels surprisingly natural. Visually, the film succeeds in disorienting when necessary, sensualizing when the script calls for it, and conveying emotion when it’s needed. Demme, catching his first big break since the thematically opposite Beautiful Girls and Who’s The Man, dips his directorial brush into the film’s canvas masterfully, and backs off when the actors can handle a scene on their own. His use of montage to depict drug binges and sex scenes is a fresh adaptation of tired scenarios.

Though Blow probably won’t cash in come next year’s Oscars, there are a few gems among the film’s cast. George Jung is certainly not Depp’s most demanding role, but he succeeds in portraying a fresh young man with nothing to lose just as well as he does an embattled, pathetic father going for one last drug run. I’ve always appreciated the fact that Depp is one of the few Hollywood pretty boys who are willing to tarnish good looks for the demands of a role. A kinder, gentler Ray Liotta shines as George’s father, and Jordi Mollá turns in a solid performance as George’s partner in the coke game, Diego Delgado.

Underneath the veneer of weed, coke, and sex lies the true meat of Blow. In an attempt to add a little sentimentality to the rock n’ roll, drug/gangster genre, Demme’s movie focuses on the various interpersonal relationships George develops during his climb to notoriety. Blow at times feels like a two-hour video for the song "Cat’s in the Cradle," as George sees his father only at spaced intervals. The chemistry between Depp and Liotta is surprisingly effective, and the pathetically gripping finale of their relationship is enough to make the toughest guy phone home to talk to Pops. Jordi Mollá’s character Diego is strong enough to stand next to Depp through much of the movie without being overshadowed, and the two interact like true partners in crime. Finally, George’s relationship with his sensational wife (Penélope Cruz) and their daughter adds another element of drama to an already emotionally charged film.

Ultimately, the success of the film hinges on whether or not its emotions reach the viewer. Without the inertia of its emotional side, Blow offers nothing new or especially interesting. Really, how many times can an audience see John Q. Average rise to riches, become overwhelmed, and lose control of his life because of wealth?

Which is exactly why it’s so frustrating to see Depp so calm and collected during many of the movie’s emotional moments. There’s an obvious lack of affect in Blow, and George suffers through the loss of friends, fiancées, and partners with little or no visible torment. Maybe it’s due to the fact that the movie spans four decades that few of George’s relationships are given more than a few minutes of screen time, or maybe it’s based on the emotional nature of George Jung himself. Either way, it seems that a film that tries so intently to have an emotional side should allow for more emotions from the main protagonist himself. It’s like screenwriters David McKenna and Nick Cassavetes had "Fuck it" set on cut and paste when they composed the script.

Personally, I didn’t connect with Depp’s character. There is definitely a pathos associated with George’s being led from one unfortunate situation to the next by an unseen hand. But at the same time, the sheer number of bad decisions he makes is mind boggling. I just couldn’t feel sorry for a guy who blows it as many times as he does. Maybe the doctor on call said it best after George overindulges in a cocaine binge and he tells him, "I have no moral interest in what you do or don’t do." Without the emotional side carrying it, Blow ends up exactly how you’d expect. You know George can’t have a happy ending because movies about drug dealers never do.

Blow certainly doesn’t suck, so it’s not a total misnomer. But it’s hard to say whether or not it succeeds in pulling a viewer into its clichéd economic and familial struggles. If you can relate to George Jung, and feel compassionate about his relationship with his father and daughter, odds are you’ll be struck by the film’s sentimental side and find it endearing and moving. If not, then it’s just another entertaining, yet utterly predictable film.