Nicky (John Cassavetes) is a low-level heavy for a notorious New York City gangster. When a hit goes wrong, Nicky’s relationship with the mob becomes sour, and he develops the notion that he is going to be killed. Paranoid beyond belief, he calls the only person who can help him, Mikey (Peter Falk), who he has been friends with since childhood. The two men are very different – Mikey is principled, honest and calm, whereas Nicky is skittish, nervous and untrusting – that is to everyone except Mikey, who would appear to be the person who Nicky needs to get out of his paranoid state. Over the course of a single night, the duo hops from location to location, hoping to evade any potential assassination attempts, which Mikey keeps reiterating are not existent. However, another low-level hitman (Ned Beatty) is on Nicky’s trail, and it would appear that Mikey knows much more than he is letting on – and the question is, can their decades-long friendship withstand Nicky’s incompetence and panicked state, and Mikey’s capacities as an effective gangster in his own right? Throughout the night, the old friends reminisce, but we wonder whether or not it’s just a front for something much deeper, as a sinister air of deceit and betrayal looms heavily over their activities throughout the night.

When you have a gritty, philosophical gangster film starring John Cassavetes and Peter Falk, the person you expect to make it is certainly Elaine May, the person behind such hardcore, deeply-unsettling dramas like A New Leaf and The Heartbreak Kid. Putting all jokes aside, Mikey and Nicky is a tremendous achievement for everyone involved, especially May, who proves herself capable of extending beyond the realms of comedy and delivering something bleak and complex, and almost entirely serious. With this film, she establishes herself not only as someone with a great capacity to extract brilliant performances from her cast through her meticulous attention to the development of her characters as more than just archetypes, but also as a filmmaker with a steadfast cinematic vision, an extraordinary ability to tell an effective story both narratively and visually. Her work in Mikey and Nicky is astonishing, and reminds us that she is much more than a comedy legend (even if some of her tendencies in that area do find their way into this film, albeit purposefully and very tastefully, as not to distract from the central themes), and capable of delivering a compelling film that enthralls just as much as it incites existential crises. This would be the penultimate film May would direct – and her last good one, as no one would like to remember the disaster that was Ishtar – which is a saddening realization, especially when we consider what an underrated masterpiece this film is.

You’d be forgiven for thinking this film was a brainchild of the great John Cassavetes, a director who came to be known for his brooding, intense character studies that oscillated between gritty realism and powerful melodrama. In fact, it would be odd to not be momentarily tricked into thinking this was a Cassavetes film because one of the titular characters is played by the great cinematic iconoclast, across from one of his finest collaborators, Peter Falk. Occupying to roles of Mikey and Nicky respectively, Falk and Cassavetes are on top form – taking on the characters of mild-mannered men involved with the mob, albeit at different levels in terms of status and capability, they give some of their finest performances. Cassavetes, in particular, is revered mostly for his directing, it sometimes clouds the fact that he is a phenomenal actor as well, and as I mentioned in my review for Opening Night, he has a certain grounded intensity that makes him such a superb actor. The decision to cast these two frequent collaborators across from each other was an inspired decision, as they bring a certain intimacy to this film that would not have been nearly as compelling had two people without such a storied personal and professional friendship been chosen for these roles. May also doesn’t interfere with their process – these are two titans of performance, and rather than trying to contain their exuberant personalities, she rather gives them free-reign to interpret her script as they see fit, resulting in a form of poignant artistic symbiosis. May gives the duo a terrific screenplay to work from, and they in return extract every bit of emotion and dramatic tension from an otherwise straightforward story and May (now in her capacity as an artist with a keen directorial eye) captures every moment with astonishing but unconventional beauty. The cityscape is cold and hostile but also brimming with energy and the way May visually depicts the unforgiving nature of a city like this may not be particularly extravagant, but is just as gorgeous as other films from the era.

Mikey and Nicky is a bit of an anomaly, as it isn’t particularly innovative, but it also defies clear categorization. After some thought, I’ve concluded (quite contentiously so) that this is essentially a buddy comedy parading as a gritty gangster drama. Broadly, its a film about two men trying to make it through the night without causing too much trouble or running into a difficult situation. That’s the story, but at its core, Mikey and Nicky is the tale of two very different individuals sharing a common friendship undergoing a series of misadventures through New York City. There are certainly some moments of sincere levity here, especially in the dynamic between the two men – May did make her name through comedy routines with her creative partner Mike Nichols, and that shows very clearly here – but it ultimately is just as bleak as it is riveting. Its a very simple and authentic film, but it appears a lot more gritty and dark than similar films. We can possibly attribute this to the relative lack of a score, and how everything is played off as entirely natural – there is not a single moment of heightened dramatic tension right up until the ending, which is about as dark as any of the similar gangster films of the era. There are some moments of deep philosophical profundity, but these are about as sporadic and subtle at the moments of levity, but intentionally so. The reason why Mikey and Nicky works so well is because it thrives through simplicity – its nothing more than two men making their way through a nightmarish version of New York City, but it thrives on such a basic premise and becomes extraordinary in how it derives every iota of uneasy tension from an unembellished narrative.

Mikey and Nicky is ultimately a dense but poetic film about friendship and betrayal, and the intersections between professional duty and personal connections. Set on the beautiful but ominous streets of New York City under the cover of night, this film is not unlike many other New Hollywood films (there are traces of Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, The French Connection and even The Godfather peppered throughout), but also has its points of deviation that make it quite a unique experience in itself. It supersedes many of these far more famous works by exploring certain themes hardly present in these more story-driven works, as the character-focused narrative here allows for rumination on the personal level as opposed to prioritizing the action. The friendship between the titular duo is primarily the focus of Mikey and Nicky, and this is where the film is the most touching. Nicky implicitly trusts Mikey – and who wouldn’t? He is caring, responsible and sensible. However, he is also seemingly lacking the moral core of caring about his friend, as it becomes very clear early on that Mikey is implicit in the plot to assassinate Nicky. The notion that his friend may betray him never crosses Nicky’s mind right up until the end, where the heartbreaking final moments make a powerful statement not only on violence but also on the crushing defeat that comes with betrayal from those who supposedly care for you.

May also looks at the concept of what we now refer to as toxic masculinity – the central duo (and their peripheral associates) are not only men who assert their power in the realm of organized crime, but also in every interaction outside of it, projecting their own fragilities onto their relationships with others, seeking some form of validation for their machismo and displays of what they believe is immense power. The film looks at their psychological machinations, and how they engage in separate games of manipulation and persuasion, both with each other and with various characters they encounter along the way. One of the cornerstone scenes in Mikey and Nicky is one where the men visit a prostitute and exert their inner insecurities onto this innocent woman who becomes tangled in the rapidly-ascending moral chaos developing between these two men. Contrast this with the final scenes, where Mikey converses with his wife, who now dominates him and forces him into psychological submission. May, who is a steadfast feminist in how she refused to back down in an industry and era dominated by men, creates a powerful, but rarely heavy-handed, manifesto about male bonding and fragile masculinity, in a way these kinds of films very rarely dare to approach these themes, and her vision, while certainly not anywhere close to definitive or perfect, being quite impactful when we consider this film as not just being a simple film about two men making it through the night, but something thematically much deeper.

Mikey and Nicky is an impressive piece of contradictions – it is a funny film and a tragic film. Its a story about friendship, and a story about betrayal. Elaine May does some of her most interesting work here, writing a dynamic character study that is a lot deeper than it may appear, even if the story itself is beautifully straightforward in how it navigates a panoply of difficult themes. John Cassavetes and Peter Falk give some of their most fascinating performances as the two main characters, playing off each other with wonderful natural chemistry that only years of close collaboration could bring out. The film is explicit in its exploration of common concepts, and it focuses more on the personal side as opposed to being preoccupied with everything around these two characters and their friendship. This is a sorely underrated film, and its status deserves to be just as high as other similarly-themed films from the era – it is intricate, it is complex and ultimately, it is a deeply rewarding experience. It may not be the definitive representation of May as a comedic iconoclast, but it certainly demonstrates a terrific dramatic experiment on her part, and the result was definitely something worthwhile, and overall a chilling, but compelling success of profound, gritty philosophical ponderings with strong grounding in reality, and themes that all of us can relate to in some way.