I stand by it, the 90s was the best decade for films.
The whole point of Jonathan Lynn’s 1992 comedy “My Cousin Vinny” is that it’s unwise to underestimate somebody because of how they talk or dress, because intelligence and talent manifests itself in all sorts of ways and isn’t restricted to stuffed shirts or bespectacled academics. It would be very easy to underestimate “My Cousin Vinny” in the same way; the plot is silly to the point of absurd and, as Roger Ebert famously said in his review, “(is) the kind of movie home video was invented for”. It presents itself as a quirky, harmless, “fish out of water”, easy watch, and we as an unsuspecting audience are hit in the face with a big bowl of Nonna’s spaghetti when all of a sudden the final twenty minutes hit and we realise that the whole film has been leading to this. There are moments that amble along with a genial sort of ease and which don’t seem to make a whole lot of sense, but without them that final phenomenal scene has no teeth. And it pays off spectacularly well.
William Gambini (Ralph Macchio) and Stanley Rothenstein (Mitchell Whitfield) are two young New Yorkers travelling through America’s colourful South during college break, when due to an innocent yet costly misunderstanding, find themselves on trial for murder. Because of course a good defence attorney is hard to come by, the boys (who are remarkably unphased by their potential execution) have no choice but to hire Will’s cousin Vinny (Joe Pesci) to represent them. But uh oh! Vinny is a fast talking Italian New Yorker working in personal injury, who failed the Bar exam six times, wears a black leather jacket and seedy gold chain in the court room and back talks the stuffy conservative judge (Fred Gwynn)! It becomes evident fairly quickly that Vinny is in over his head, and that he and his sassy, smart, sexy, big haired, short skirt and stilleto wearing fiance Mona Lisa Vito (Marissa Tomei in her controversial Oscar winning performance), aren’t cut out for the South.
Pretty quickly, we learn that the two boys aren’t really the point of the film. I was excited to see Ralph Macchio again, I hadn’t seen him in anything else other than in the “Karate Kid” franchise. This is unfortunately a glorified cameo role for him though; he and Whitfield are basically used as a plot device to get Pesci and Tomei into Alabama and not much else. No matter! Once Pesci and Tomei arrive on the scene, it’s their show through and through. There’s a version of this film where the Alabaman folk are three toothed, inbred, racist yokels in overalls and the New Yorkers are sophisticated liberals dodging cow pats and looking down on everybody (“Did You Hear About The Morgans”). Instead, there’s a genuine sweetness to “My Cousin Vinny” which I found quite refreshing. Mona Lisa and Vinny may be stereotypical but their portrayals are not mean spirited and are rooted in heart and a proper understanding of the idiosyncrasies of Italian New Yorkers. And they’re so funny. As in, the back and forth between these two characters might be some of the funniest comedic material I’ve ever seen. And it’s a genuine happy combination of clever writing and pitch perfect performances that makes the film work, a deviation in either direction and “My Cousin Vinny” is a real lemon.
What’s interesting is that in these kinds of films it’s usually the simple, kind hearted, Southern country folk (think the “Beverly Hillbillies”) who are out of their depth and ultimately triumph over the cynical and cold hearted city slickers to prove to the world that they’re smarter than their drawl and pigtails let on. This was a fun subversion of that genre, worth it even just to see Pesci and Tomei order from a local diner menu that simply listed “Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner” as the only items available to order. The contrast between Vinny and the considered, statuesque, gravelly voiced and irreverent judge (the same man who played Herman Munster funnily enough) is perfect, and made me wish that they had done the same for Mona Lisa. Surely there’s a three minute scene somewhere where Mona Lisa and the judge’s wife bump into each other and there’s some kind of fun misunderstanding about the meaning of “whack”.
Out of nowhere, the final act of “My Cousin Vinny” becomes a slick, intelligent and pulse quickening courtroom drama. So much so that apparently legal professionals in the States cite the final scene in which Vinny has his turn at the witnesses as the most realistic example of cross examination in film and a fair demonstration of the fallability of witnesses. Up until the moment Vinny starts his cross examination, we’re still not convinced that he’ll be able to pull this off, at least not convincingly. And all of a sudden, his demeanour is cool and confident, his posture is relaxed yet in control, and every obscure detail and reference in the film that we hadn’t thought about at the time (the grits in the diner, the mud on the tyres, Mona Lisa and Vinny’s weird foreplay back and forth about the torque wrench), make perfect sense as Vinny uses every one of those references to dismantle the various witness’ credibility. He is formidable and impressive, and Tomei in her tour de force interrogation from the bench makes it pretty obvious that her 1993 Best Supporting Actress win was no accident. The rhythm between Pesci and Tomei during the cross examination is so beautifully choreographed it could have been done to music. There is something about Tomei’s physicality, her confidence and how comfortable she is with this persona that we don’t doubt for a minute that she is able to tell from a photograph of some tyre tracks that they were made by a ’63 Pontiac Tempest and not a ’64 Buick Skylark. Just in the same way that even though there’s a good twenty year age difference between Mona Lisa and Vinny, and that perhaps in the real world Joe Pesci in a bad hairpiece might not be able to swing Marissa Tomei, their on screen chemistry is so infectious we don’t doubt for a minute that they work as a couple and genuinely adore each other.
Of course, it would be very easy to underestimate this sweet, little, “clash of cultures”, comedy as that alone. But then that would be like judging Vinny for his leather jacket or for not knowing the proper court room procedures. If that final climactic scene had played out like a slapstick sit com then this film is still fun, still sweet, but perhaps forgettable. Instead, “My Cousin Vinny” is everything you could want from a 90’s comedy, plus an unexpectedly compelling and highly quotable courtroom drama with some razor sharp, hilarious lead performances which nobody is forgetting any time soon.
By Jock Lehman
Lehman Loves A Movie 