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Back to
Manhattan? Seems more like full speed ahead.
By Christian De Matteo
My good buddy
Cedric, who many of you know from his wonderfully
accurate commentary on last year's Oscars, told me I
absolutely had to watch this movie he'd seen. He
told me that a friend of his had been involved in it,
and that it was funny as hell. So insistent was
he, that he practically nailed me down to a time to watch
it.
So, last weekend, before continuing
our Lost, Season One marathon, attempting to
catch up on what is actually a terrific series, Cedric,
Heather (my girlfriend) and I popped Back to
Manhattan in the old DVD player. Heather had
been having a particularly bad day... actually
weekend... actually week. Some rather serious
things had hit the fan and the poor girl was a good
might depressed. As the opening credits rolled, I
knew she was paying very little attention to the movie,
and hoped that maybe, just maybe it would be good enough
to bring her a little out of her funk.
Well, hot-diggity-damn, did it ever.
In less than ten minutes of screen time, a man applying
anti-itching cream to a rather sensitive area in a
convertible parked on a busy street had her laughing so
hard she couldn't catch her breath. At least, I
think that's what she was doing, because I was laughing
in much the same way. And so was Cedric. And
so did my father when I passed the DVD on to him the
next day.
Back to Manhattan, a tiny
budget independent movie directed by Rob Reilly, is one
of the best surprises I've had in a long time. You
all know that I am film obsessed, but I often find
myself steering clear of very independent cinema,
because for every gem you discover you have to sift
through piles of pretentious crap. Being a
Columbia School of the Arts graduate myself, I've
frankly had more than my share of pretentious crap.
In fact, I'm a bit gunshy.
Back to Manhattan, however, is not one of those
gems. It's a damn diamond. Watching the
movie, it's more than apparent that Rob Reilly has truly
got the director's eye; the scenes are well-framed, well
lit, well-blocked and perfectly set-up. On top of
that, Reilly also has the gift of gab: Reilly is
responsible also for the story and screenplay.
Going in, I was concerned that the movie's leads would
play like low-budget spoofs of Scorcese's Goodfella
types. Again, my misgivings proved unfounded as
his script was peopled with smart, likable, real
characters. While two of his mainstays, and the
subjects of the sequel Mr. Reilly's working on, Paulie
and Frankie are goomba-gangster types, they never
veer so much into parody that they lose their reality.
Not only are they believable and individual in the
spectrum of movie mobsters, but they are very honestly
likable. The chemistry between Paul Dunleavy and
Eddie Sicoli is natural and truly engaging. When
the two aren't casually haunting the screen, I found
myself missing them. Much of this is and should be
credited to two excellent performances, but also to the
meticulous eye and intensity of the director.
Watching the extras in the DVD, it's clear that Mr.
Reilly is a bit of a perfectionist, and, viewing his
film of a $18,000 budget, I'd say it pays off.
Of course, there are naturally
unavoidable issues that go into low-budget filmmaking,
and Reilly, despite his obvious expertise can't avoid
them all. Some moments suffer from monetary
issues, like when a car crash has to be heard instead of
witnessed and not every actor manages to be of the
quality of Dunleavy and Siccoli. Somehow, though,
that which is lacking is very slight compared to the
gold that Reilly seemingly pulled out of thin air (for
lack of a more vulgar expression) and the majority of
his actors, most notably Michael MacKewice, Justin
Allen, Carly Robins, and my buddy Cedric's friend Lou
Farragher, who is certainly convincing as a threatening
presence, do an admirable job. I can't, of course,
forget one of the most endearing characters in the film
Richard Warner, only having a bit of screen-time in the
film but really making himself shine in it.
From gags like the extremely tall girl
Frankie gets stuck with to the fantastic black couple
our hero pawns his boring list of sites to see on, to
the end shot of Frankie and Paulie, Back to Manhattan is
a pleasure of a film, not only to simply watch, but for
that feeling that you're watching a writer/director on
his way up. A gag to keep an eye out for, and one
of my favorite moments which also happens to be a bit of
a Star Wars riff, is a great run around a corner into a
full gang. Add this together with the dog crap
Frankie's stepped on, and a very funny sequence ensues.
The ultimate pay-off, however, is a long shot of
Frankie's shoe in the half-closed window of their car as
they drive into Manhattan, airing out the offending
odor. Keep a quick eye on Rob
Reilly. And that's gonna need to be a quick eye,
because, in the humble opinion of this reviewer, Mr.
Reilly won't be making $18,000 movies for much longer.
Watch those zeroes keep piling up. |
