Much of what makes Hustlers powerful is that its perspective stays true to the landscape of the strip club. The strippers are the stars, elevated on-stage. The bright lights, the glamour, the bills, the eyes of the audience are theirs.
Looking out from the pole onto the dark floor and into the bright lights, the young to middle-aged white men who frequent the club are a morally (but not financially) bankrupt libidinous mass of Wall Street bankers, whose ill-gotten capital represents a means of financial independence for the strippers. (Usher being the only exception).
Ramona wants most to provide for her daughter, and Dorothy for her grandmother, but soon the taste of high-end consumption consumes them. And when they realize that they can circumvent the sleaze of the bankers by drugging them and running large tabs on their credit cards, Ramona and Dorothy seem equal parts Robin Hood and Tony Montana.
But Hustlers is not a gleeful crime movie where the rich get their just desserts. It’s the story of real strong but flawed people making the most out of a broken amoral hierarchy that values capital above all else and rewards ruthlessness and greed.