The misjudgments are many, starting with the decision to cast Robert De Niro—fresh off of Taxi Driver and apparently in training to play both Raging Bull’s abusive boxer and Cape Fear’s deranged ex-con—as the lead in a romantic musical comedy opposite Liza Minnelli. In total, his career far outshines hers, but in this material she leaves him floundering. He plays Jimmy Doyle, an aspiring saxophone player in post-World War II New York City, and she plays Francine Evans, the featured singer in a rising big band. After hounding her over the course of several days, he lands a spot in her band, then her bed, and eventually as her violent, jealous, and controlling husband. (It’s like a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers flick, with domestic violence in place of dancing.) And yet, New York, New York is directed by Martin Scorsese, an avid film historian who certainly knew those Astaire-Roger films well and who stages his own variation with an affection and enthusiasm that results in some breathtaking moments. When Jimmy gets thrown out of a nightclub, he’s dragged down a hallway lined with lightbulbs, the camera tracking backwards as tries to kick out every one. When Francine records “But the World Goes ’Round” in a studio, the lighting drops so demurely that you barely notice until her face sits alone in spotlight. Minnelli—who already fared better with the movie’s attempts at witty wordplay—completely commands the film from that point, especially during the bravura, climactic, self-referential section that is Francine’s hit stage musical, about a movie-theater usherette who imagines herself as a musical-theater star. (This is where Minnelli belts out “Theme from New York, New York,” which John Kander and Fred Ebb wrote for the film.) For about 15 minutes or so, we get the full-blown movie musical Scorsese probably imagined—and for which he had the right star.
(8/4/2026)
