Crisco, nasal spray or poppers, and handkerchiefs are floated without a resolved affirmative choice.
The S&M leather scene in movies receives an affirmative Apex judgment; Pulp Fiction’s gimp is considered a more problematic, decontextualized later portrayal. — Wesley Morris
Sorvino’s captain is terrible at pool, repeatedly hitting clusters rather than playing coherently, undermining confidence in him. — Chris Ryan
Burns is considered too tired, unhealthy, scared and unappealing to attract these men; they seem to respond to Pacino’s celebrity rather than the character. — Wesley Morris
Cruising is proposed as an ideal Tom Cruise vehicle, initially around 1993 but with 1999’s Eyes Wide Shut-era curiosity preferred over Jerry Maguire-era Cruise.
The ambiguous mirror ending and return to the harbor are admired, including the possibility of continuing murders; the editing problems may have helped create its ambiguity. — Bill Simmons
The assignment scene is praised for Burns readily volunteering rather than resisting, with promotion seeming secondary; the captain opens by bluntly asking about sexual experience with men. — Wesley Morris
The dancing sequence is praised as an unusually uninhibited Pacino moment, interpreted as release and a metaphorical sexual experience rather than mere undercover work. — Wesley Morris
The precinct-night rejection is admired for the irony of an actual undercover cop failing to look or act sufficiently like a fetishized cop. — Wesley Morris
Sorvino’s briefing is a scene candidate, using victim photographs that resemble Burns to explain the undercover assignment.
The first gay-bar visit and Burns’s tour of the Ramrod and Wolf’s Den establish how fully the film enters this world.
Powers Boothe explaining the hanky code is a favorite; Burns promises to think about it and returns with a yellow hanky before being told watching is insufficient.
Burns lifting weights after the hanky-code encounter is interpreted as going beyond a purely undercover commitment. — Bill Simmons
The dressmaker murder sequence, including the cinema trip, is praised as a miniature Hitchcock film. — Chris Ryan
Burns telling the captain he cannot handle what is happening is a favorite; the captain’s indifference highlights the lack of concern for him as a person.
The yearbook identification of Stuart is enjoyed as hands-on mystery solving. — Bill Simmons
Burns tailing Stuart and confronting him at the park benches is praised as an old-fashioned showdown, despite possible police misconduct. — Bill Simmons
The ending with Karen Allen wearing the clothes is admired for leaving the next encounter unknowable; Burns hearing club music during sex suggests mental distance from his girlfriend. — Wesley Morris
The interrogation is considered terrifying and bracing rather than rewatchable or camp.
The nearly naked cowboy-hatted enforcer is interpreted as an S&M embodiment used by police to abuse and coerce suspects. — Wesley Morris
Burns asking why he was hit is a favorite non-dancing Pacino reaction, destabilizing what undercover realism means. — Chris Ryan
Dancing receives repeated final selections, while another preference favors the showdown through hospital and especially the ending. — Bill Simmons
The final shaving and residual cream are interpreted as concealment and a sexual visual metaphor, with agreement on that reading. — Wesley Morris
Martin Scorsese, gangster movies, the 1990 Scorsese–De Palma rivalry, the Copacabana sequence, gangster names, razor-bladed garlic, the Lufthansa heist, Joe Pesci’s 1989–95 run, pistol-whipping, mobster wigs, prison tomato sauce, Ray Liotta, Lorraine Bracco, “fucko,” and Pittsburgh drug dealers
A replacement for Altobello would need an Italian-American actor of the era with Sinatra-like charisma; Paul Sorvino is unavailable because of Goodfellas. — Bill Simmons
Casting Wallach may echo the Lee Strasberg gamble, but it telegraphs the villain because he has played so many heavies.
The winner for Hamilton's part is William Hurt, called a no-brainer who looks like Duvall and could be Hagen's Harvard son as the new consigliere.
Recasting Hagen himself with Hurt is rejected as anti-recasting, and a Hagen son working for Michael is questioned given Michael's record. — Chris Ryan
Mitch trusts Tammy instantly; Avery's flip; the firm never tails Mitch; the premise collapses under scrutiny; Mitch would be shot walking into the mob boss's suite
Mitch trusts Holly Hunter's character within seconds on the word of a maniac felon, and Abby then does too; Avery flipping and telling Abby everything is explained as depression in a middle-aged spiral; the firm should have been tailing Mitch from the forty-minute mark, though he may be assuming surveillance in the diner.
The premise does not hold: Harvard's crackerjack lawyer never asks who the clients are or how the firm makes money, representing the mafia is not illegal, no firm would launder money this way, and attorney-client privilege means the firm would never need to kill departing lawyers; the reluctant host says this is why he resisted the episode, yet the Xeroxing-and-overbilling plot still makes it rewatchable.
Walking into Sorvino's hotel suite, Mitch would simply be shot rather than heard out.
Earlier, while still on what aged worst, the hosts admit they are already picking nits: the FBI having the mob family's itinerary, Mitch getting the overbilling idea from the client being overbilled, and Avery rolling over for Abby.
The award is explained as Joe Pantoliano, 'that guy' through the eighties before becoming Joey Pants; the question is whether the winner should be someone who was that guy then and became known, or someone never known, with Terry Kinney, David Strathairn and Paul Sorvino ruled out as people we know.
The personal choice is the man beside Paul Sorvino, with Hal Holbrook's consigliere Jerry Hardin, who plays Royce McKnight, as runner-up; Hardin was in everything for twenty years, from Big Trouble in Little China and Reds to Deep Throat on the X Files and Melrose Place.
Brimley is his own planet in the film: the hosts quote his 'oral and whatnot' speech, note that Hackman was five years older yet Brimley seemed born at fifty, recall him as the Quaker Oats man and the manager in The Natural, and perform his catalog monologue, which the Ringer's president Jeff Chow does best.
Brimley had never played a bad guy before, brings an unexpected edge, and the blockbuster hinges on him checking whether the fax machine has paper; it is traumatic to watch Cruise fall on him and kick him, and whether he died is left for unanswerable questions.
Brimley carried himself like a hated stepfather and makes the office scene before the chase feel like Mitch is about to be killed; the 'oral and whatnot' line is recited again and he is declared the winner.
