Review of New York, New York (1977) by Brad G — 05 May 2013
The film lost me 15 minutes into the runtime. As Scorsese orchestrates a fantastic crane shot across a V-J Day celebration, and Robert De Niro practically sexually assaults his way into Liza Minelli's heart, a poisonous idea scratched into my brain - New York, New York is Martin Scorsese's 1941.
A thought that's good for a chuckle, and not even that accurate. After all, Steven Spielberg's 1941 is a righteous disaster filled with a colorful array of confused cinematic icons stumbling about a spectacularly unfunny screenplay.
1941 is so damn odd, it's interesting. A train wreck worthy of your best gawk. Martin Scorsese's New York, New York like 1941 is trying to ape a time & a genre & failing miserably to excite.
But 1941 doesn't have the parade. It's a somber saga. Robert De Niro's sexfiend manages to score some tender moments with Minnelli cuz her character is too dang shy to fend off his attack.
The next thing we know they're in a relationship, falling bassackwards into a big band career and a marriage doomed from that first moment of Hate At First Sight. The rest of this too damn long story is filled with typical Hollywood Couple jealously.
When Minnelli hits the big time & De Niro slips, neither their marriage nor their child could soothe the ambition. Maybe if this film was actually a musical than I could handle the banal romance, but what little Glenn Miller cool slips into the film is not enough to keep your mind from wandering or the zzzzzs from setting in.
A real dull bore. VF.
This review of New York, New York (1977) was written by Brad G on 05 May 2013.
New York, New York has generally received positive reviews.
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