“Mad Dog And Glory” (1993)
De Niro tends to go big or go home, and his domineering presence is such that he’s rarely asked to play gentle or timid characters. But the genius of John McNaughton’s comedy “Mad Dog And Glory” is in its casting: the movie pits meek Chicago Police Department crime scene photographer Wayne Dobie (De Niro), sarcastically nicknamed “Mad Dog” by his cop friends, against mob boss Frank Milo (Bill Murray) in the name of amour. De Niro was originally offered the Milo role, but instead insisted on the more ineffectual character who accidentally saves the life of the Chicago gangster who then feels indebted to him. And it’s this casting-against-type, Murray as the heavy and De Niro as the passive, hangdog character, that makes for some terrific comedic sparks and fresh energy from both actors. Their “friendship” is tested when Dobie falls in love with the call girl (Uma Thurman) whom Milo gifts him as a present. Learning she is trying to pay off debts to Milo, Dobie then asks to take on those commitments, but has to eventually fight for her honor. But even when Dobie stands up to battle against the mobster, De Niro manages to still convey fear; he’s motivated by love, principle and honor, but he’s still well aware he’s going to get his ass kicked. De Niro, similar to his stellar comedic turn in “Midnight Run” wisely never goes for the joke—he plays everything totally straight, yet still lands plenty of laughs. De Niro comedy renaissance of the aughts is a lot down to the ‘Focker‘ movies, but this stands as proof of his comedic chops from way before then.
READ MORE: “You’re F*cked”: Watch Robert De Niro’s Graduation Speech At New York University’s Tisch School Of The Arts
“This Boy’s Life” (1993)
“What about me? What about meeee?!” The final words bellowed out by De Niro’s Dwight Hansen echo in the final moments of “This Boy’s Life” as a chilling reminder of the just how boundless the human ego can be. Then again, there are plenty of good reasons to count Dwight among De Niro’s most despicable, depraved, grotesque, and evil villains. The story of this everyman and the way he poisons the lives of his new wife Caroline (Ellen Barkin) and her son Toby (young star-in-the-making Leonardo DiCaprio), could be perceived low-scale compared to his more archetypal roles, and from another planet altogether than his showy turn as Max Cady from two years prior. But it’s precisely because of this that Dwight, a seemingly reasonable blue-collar worker who modestly “knows a thing or two about a thing or two,” is De Niro at his most emotively evil-incarnate, somehow even more toxic because he’s also so infinitely pathetic. Based on Tobias Wolff‘s memoirs, “This Boy’s Life” pulsates with the gritty realism of a domestic-drama-turned-thriller as it slowly lifts the hood to reveal the dirt under Dwight’s meek exterior; a monster who psychologically and physically abuses his wife and children. For someone with such an intimidating reputation for playing larger-than-life characters, Dwight Hansen is De Niro’s essential example of how to approach lower-than-lowlife regular people.
“Heat” (1995)
Michael Mann’s ultra-stylish, engrossing three-hour crime epic “Heat” boasts the distinction of showcasing one of Robert De Niro’s last truly great, epochal performances, because while he’s been intermittently excellent since, this is maybe the last time he’s been truly unforgettable—as so often with his best turns, it’s as a result of alchemy with the director and the other cast members. As professional thief Neil McCauley, De Niro shows no traces of the moody, violent, emotionally unstable loners he has played throughout his career. McCauley is cold, calculating, tightly wound and famously ready to walk away from everything at a moment’s notice—all ties broken. He’s essentially another one of director Michael Mann’s “Men with a Code”, here elevated because of De Niro’s innate capability of suggesting more with a hardened stare than many actors would be able to convey with an entire monologue. He’s certainly a fine foil for co-star Al Pacino—a flip side to his the proverbial coin and with Pacino tearing into his role with great relish, De Niro gets to be as quiet and restrained as he’s ever been. The scene the two men share together in a downtown Los Angeles diner is a quiet marvel, the first time the two legends appeared onscreen together.
“Jackie Brown” (1997)
“Jackie Brown” might just be Quentin Tarantino’s most unjustly overlooked picture, even though it has slowly accrued a devoted following in the last couple of years. An adaptation of Elmore Leonard’s gaudy “Rum Punch”, it’s a quiet, soulful character piece that stands in pointed contrast to the director’s more recent movies, which are splashier and more deliberately artificial “movie-movies” than anything else. As Louis Gara, a pot-smoking, sleepy-voiced career criminal who’s recently been released from a prison stint, De Niro brings something to his role here that we don’t often associate with his performances: fuzzy understatement. We’re certainly a long way from “Goodfellas’” Jimmy “The Gent” Conway here. De Niro’s Louis is downright friendly, even if he’s a little…off. He’s genial enough—that is, until he’s pushed to the point of exhaustion by a petulant beach bunny memorably played by Bridget Fonda. Their scenes together are deadpan comic gold, until the prickly banter tips over into Tarantino’s characteristic explosive violence. De Niro doesn’t give the flashiest performance in the film, not by a mile (that honor would go to Mr. Samuel L. Jackson, who plays the ponytail-sporting, F-bomb-dropping arms dealer Ordell Robbie). But as far as mid-period De Niro goes, his turn here is an undeniable highlight.