Site created 12/15/97.		page created: 1/8/03 Say it Isn't So, Mr. DeNiro! No Method and No Madness Makes Bobby a Very Dull Boy Bob Banka - Main Page "Are you talkin' to me?" When I heard those words the first time as spoken by Robert DeNiro in Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver, I was spellbound - riveted to the screen by a young actor with such raw power, I couldn't divert my eyes for a moment. Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver "Are you talkin' to me?" When I heard Mr. DeNiro say them again, this time in Des McAnuff's The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, a feature co-produced by the actor, I finally had to admit to myself; the raw power was now cooked - basted and wasted. Stick a fork in him. DeNiro's done. Or so it seems... As Fearless Leader in The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle My obsessive interest in film traces back to a particular evening, quite some time ago, when I surfed to the HBO channel and stumbled across a movie called The Deer Hunter. I'd never heard of Robert DeNiro or Michael Cimino. Up to that point, I'd never really settled in to watch a "serious" drama of such length. I was an adolescent with a HEAVY agenda, and my plans left little time for television, and even less time for talky pictures like The Deer Hunter. But this film grabbed hold of me. Not with action, gore, or tits and ass over-the-top humor. What seized me in a vice-like grip was the astounding performance by Robert DeNiro. It was powerful - believable. Dialogue rarely told us what his character, Michael, was thinking, but his deep sense of loss and helplessness came through - somehow. DeNiro's portrayal was subdued - near expressionless. Michaels's feelings were shielded by a sturdy, calm exterior - that of a proud, willful, working class American male. He's a rock. At least, that's what pals were permitted to see. As Michael in The Deer Hunter However, during quieter moments, when Michael was alone, there was something different. He's a man tortured by wartime experience. He's a young soldier, racked with guilt, who failed to bring friends home alive and whole. Michael had always been the local hero - the guy folks looked up to, respected and adored, but he's failed to live up to his own expectations for himself. DeNiro conveys all of this and more in near silence. Occasionally, an expression or glare is offered up to others - friends, a girl, or a fellow vet, which doesn't betray his thinking - his state of mind. But we know what's behind the façade, since we've had time alone with Michael. There are moments when unbridled emotions rise to the surface and erupt - as when Michael forces Stan into a bout of Russian roulette. In The Deer Hunter, as in many of DeNiro's earlier performances, he demonstrated an ability to balance emotional extremes - like rage and determined, sharp aggression, with moments of calm that generate sympathy, as well as dread. DeNiro is excellent at conveying his character's anguish and guilt. In The Deer Hunter he uses expression and body language, but few words to evoke the emotional state of a tragic character. Until that evening, when I was first transported and engrossed by The Deer Hunter, no film and no actor had ever had a significant effect on me. Movies were only light entertainment - a quick escape, or "tune-out" for an adolescent. Most dedicated film lovers can cite the picture that first turned them on to movies as art. For me, it was The Deer Hunter, and I owe that very precious moment of discovery to Robert DeNiro. This is why I'm so disappointed with the turn the actor's career has taken these past years. Perhaps he's not hungry anymore. Perhaps the effort required to take on and prep for more challenging, difficult roles has become too much for him (...he's not a young buck anymore). Perhaps his duties as producer (Tribeca Films) sap too much of his energy. Maybe he needs to hitch his efforts to more visionary directors again (Mr. Scorsese, perhaps). Whatever the reason, Robert DeNiro is becoming a rather dull, living-on-former-glories actor. This is not to say he's become a poor actor. I'm certain he's retained every ounce of his considerable talent. He simply fails to astonish the way he used to. He doesn't seek out and accept challenges. It's difficult to believe he's not getting the offers he used to field. However, my guess is that in the past dozen years or so, they've tapered off to but a trickle compared to the flood he used to enjoy during his salad days. Consider some of the performances from early in Robert DeNiro's career: Johnny Boy Chavello, in Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets Vito Corleone, in Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather, Part II Travis Bickle, in Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver Michael, in Michael Cimino's The Deer Hunter Jake LaMotta, in Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull Rupert Pupkin, in Martin Scorsese's The King of Comedy As Jake LaMotta in Raging Bull Each of these roles offered specific challenges for the young actor. For example, as Vito Corleone, DeNiro had to meld a believable Italian accent to his English, as well as speak the language during a number of scenes. He also had the daunting task of becoming a younger version of the character made famous by Marlon Brando - that is, DeNiro had to take on gestures and speech that would convince us he was the younger version of a, by then, very familiar character. As Vito Corleone in The Godfather, Part II As Travis Bickle, DeNiro had to live in the skin a man constricted - a city dweller, slowly imploding and finally exploding to unleash an orgy of blood. We had to believe this man was deteriorating under the stress and strain - the alienation and loneliness cultivated on the filthy streets of The Big Apple. As Jake LaMotta, DeNiro had to build up the impressive physique of a middleweight champion boxer. He had to convince while hurling devastating blows in the ring. He had to exhibit traits of a tragically obsessive, brutal, self-hating man. DeNiro layered on some sixty pounds by eating his way through European restaurants so he could not only look like the aging, out of shape LaMotta, but also feel what it was like to carry the weight, be depressed by the weight, and lose self-respect because of the weight piled atop the honed, muscular frame of a champion fighter. As Rupert Pupkin, DeNiro had to convince us that a talent-less, completely unlikable putz was somehow worthy of our sympathy. By film's end, we were to side with him the same way we pulled for Travis in Taxi Driver. Though both Bickle and Pupkin were clearly unstable, alienated individual, driven to murder or kidnapping, for some reason we wanted them to succeed, not come to harm. As Rupert Pupkin in The King of Comedy In all cases, DeNiro was thoroughly convincing. This is a staggering body of work - an entire career's worth of compelling, masterful performances, all given over a mere ten year period. Who could fail to be impressed by such a talent? During this period, as I viewed his work in the theater or at home, I never caught DeNiro acting. I saw the characters only. Few artists of DeNiro's generation, or since, have managed this - even when playing far less challenging roles. Al Pacino certainly. Also, Dustin Hoffman, perhaps Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep. Today, we're blesses with Edward Norton and Julianne Moore. However, after this earlier decade in DeNiro's career, edges began to dull and his work became familiar - less remarkable. He delved into comedy, and took on a number of minor, supporting roles. Robert DeNiro - the New York City method actor who dazzled us with his ability to dwell in the skin of characters via intensive, all consuming modes of preparation, began taking parts that most competent actors of his generation could manage with equal believability. Consider DeNiro's star turns, co-star turns and near cameos... Mendoza in Roland Joffe's The Mission Frank Raftis in Ulu Grosbard's Falling in Love Harry Tuttle in Terry Gilliam's Brazil Louis Cyphre (...Lucifer!) in Alan Parker's Angel Heart Al Capone in Brian DePalma's The Untouchables Jack Walsh in Martin Brest's Midnight Run Ned in Neil Jordan's We're No Angels Stanley Cox in Martin Ritt's Stanley & Iris Lieutenant Rimgale in Ron Howard's Backdraft Evan Wright in Barry Primus' Mistress Harry Fabian in Irwin Wrinkler's Night and the City Wayne Dobie and John McHaughton's Mad Dog and Glory It wasn't all disappointing. Sprinkled amongst the less inspiring performances was some of DeNiro's best work - namely, his turns in Once Upon a Time in America, Goodfellas, Awakenings and Cape Fear, each of which presented challenges for the actor, particularly Awakenings. As Max Cady in Cape Fear Notable here is the fact that over a ten year period, Robert DeNiro appeared in twenty-one feature films (not all are listed above). However, during the period between Mean Streets and The King of Comedy, the actor channeled his efforts into portraying characters in only ten films. On to Part Two Bob Banka - Main Page
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