It was 1992, and I thought Robert De Niro was the best actor who ever lived.
Following a string of what would be iconic roles in classic films (The Godfather: Part II, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull) and incredible performances in really good movies (The Deer Hunter, The King Of Comedy, Midnight Run), De Niro had, in a very short period of time, built the body of work of which legends are made.
Mrs. Film Geek and I were fans of De Niro. Serious fans. Recently married, we were just starting to build a life together. Money was tight, and entertainment that cost anything more than nothing was rare. Once a month we'd go out to eat and see a movie afterwards, and we really cherished that weekend.
We looked forward to it, and planned it with excitement and great anticipation.
That's why I'm still pissed off that I spent $14 for tickets and $18 for concessions on the opening night of Night And The City!
De Niro, as bumbling, dirtball attorney Harry Fabian, never rose above the too-complicated-to-follow and tell-me-why-I-should-care script. And Jessica Lange's Helen was completely unbelievable.
On top of the $32 we spent at the theater, Mrs. Film Geek and I hit a nearby Shoney's afterwards for a cup of coffee and two orders of fudge cake. We probably shouldn't have paid the additional $12, but we needed something to get our mind off the piece of crap movie we'd just paid good money to see. The fudge cake, at least, was really good.
Night And The City? Not so much. It was so bad, in fact, it still haunts me.