Producers: Irwin Winkler, Barry Levinson, Jason Sosnoff, Charles Winkler and David Winkler   Director: Barry Levinson   Screenplay: Nicholas Pileggi   Cast: Robert De Niro, Debra Messing, Cosmo Jarvis, Katherine Narducci, Michael Rispoli, Michael Adler, Ed Amatrudo, Joe Bacino, Anthony J. Gallo, Wallace Langham, Louis Mustillo, Frank Piccirillo, Matt Servitto, Robert Uricola, James Ciccone, Mike Seely, Belmont Cameli, Tim Livingood, Luke Stanton Eddy, Antonio Cipriano, Glenn Cunningham, James P. Harkins, Abi Van Andel and Zach Meiser   Distributor: Warner Bros.

Grade: C

There’s an old-fashioned feel to “The Alto Knights,” not just because it’s about the Mafia history of the forties and fifties (with brief detours back to earlier decades and ahead to later ones) but because the look of the picture—with a glossy, if not exactly lived-in, production design by Neil Spisak and costumes by Jeffrey Kurland, set off by Dante Spinotti’s luminous cinematography—goes to great lengths to exude period authenticity. 

The nostalgic element is further emphasized by the casting of Robert De Niro at the center of a film that fits snugly into a genre that he’s specialized in over the years to such an extent that he’s thought by many to be synonymous with it.  And he takes on not one but two leading roles as mobsters in it—Frank Costello and Vito Genovese, whose childhood friendship turned into rivalry when they struggled over control of New York’s Luciano crime family.

Some will dismiss the actor’s dual—and dueling—parts as a stunt, and to some extent, of course, they are.  But it’s a stunt that De Niro, with makeup jobs to distinguish the men, pulls off, even if neither performance is among his best.  His Genovese, in particular, verges on over-the-top; some would argue that it does.  But its extreme volatility draws the required contrast with the restrained, practically-minded Costello, from whose perspective the tale is largely told through his narration, very often in monologues delivered straight into the camera.

The contour of the story is a matter of record.  Both Costello and Genovese became members of the Luciano family as young men (Costello was older by six years), and in 1936, when Luciano was sent to prison, Genovese took over as boss.  But the following year he had to flee to Italy to avoid a murder rap, and handed over control to Costello.  When he finally returned to New York in 1945, Genovese expected to resume his old position, but things had changed, and though Costello made him an important underboss, he wasn’t satisfied.  After more than a decade of contention, Genovese plotted Costello’s assassination in 1957, but the gunman, Vincent Gigante (Cosmo Jarvis) muffed the job, and Costello survived.

He didn’t, however, identify Gigante to the cops, and rather than letting the incident ignite a mob war, he made plans to retire and turn over the position of “boss of bosses” to Genovese.  The assassination of his ally Albert Anastasia (Michael Rispoli)—recreated in quite explicit terms here—reinforced his decision, though Genovese, according to the scenario constructed by Nicholas Pileggi, doubted his sincerity.  Nonetheless he agreed to have his restored role recognized at the famous meeting of bosses from across the nation at Apalachin in upstate New York.  Pileggi follows the unproven theory that the apprehension of many of the attendees (including Genovese) by law enforcement, which led to the revelation of the Mafia as a national criminal organization, was a trap sprung by the absent Costello to undermine Genovese and Cosa Nostra as a whole.

That makes for a nifty ending even though, like some other elements of the Pileggi screenplay, it’s speculative and structured for dramatic effect.  Despite that, and a few liberties taken with chronology, however, “The Alto Knights”—named after a social club in Little Italy where the Luciano gang congregated—is generally fairly accurate from a historical perspective.  That’s the case not only with the Mafia material (including the footage given over to the investigation of organized crime by the congressional committee headed by Senator Estes Kefauver, played by Wallace Langham), but with more personal elements.  Substantial time is devoted to the relationship of Costello and his loving, understandably concerned wife Bobbie (Debra Messing), who was, controversially among the Italian hoods, Jewish, and the far more volatile one between Genovese and his wife Anna (Kathrine Narducci)—the sequence of them squabbling before their divorce judge is hardly subtle, but it’s fun.

Messing and Narducci are both fine, and the rest of the supporting cast is filled with actors who are expert at playing colorful gangster types—not only the energetic Rispoli and dim-bulb Jarvis, but James Ciccone as Carlo Gambino, Anthony J. Gallo as Tommy Lucchese, Frank Piccirillo as Richie Boiardo and especially the late Robert Uricola as Tony Bender, Vito’s elderly, put-upon underboss.  There are also nice turns by those not part of the mob—Langham, for example, or Matt Servitto as Frank’s lawyer George Wolf, or Mike Seely as the state trooper who sets off the stampede of mobsters at Apalachin.

But it’s De Niro who dominates the picture, chewing the scenery with relish as Genovese and exuding practical-minded cunning as Costello.  In a couple of scenes the two bosses sit across a table and debate with one another, and De Niro seems to be enjoying himself no end playing against himself. 

It’s a pity his deft double work isn’t situated in a better movie.  While veteran director Barry Levinson doesn’t embarrass himself the way Francis Ford Coppola did, for example, with “Megalopolis,” he fails to infuse the film with the intensity that De Niro’s old collaborator Martin Scorsese would have brought to it.  It’s not for lack of trying: he encourages Spinotti and editor Douglas Crise to jazz things up with lots of found footage, historical stills and busy, jerky montages, but that merely accentuates the ramshackle construction of Pileggi’s script, resulting in a jagged, helter-skelter vibe.  David Fleming’s score often comes on too strong, too.

“The Alto Knights” isn’t boring, and it affords the opportunity to appreciate Robert De Niro’s virtuosity as he runs the gamut of mobster characterization in his two roles.  But as a whole it’s a pale reflection of the classics of the genre he made in earlier days. 

Producers: Drew Houpt, Lucas Joaquin, Alex Scharfman, Lara Knudsen, Tyler Campellone, Tim Headington and Theresa Steele Page  Director: Alex Scharfman   Screenplay: Alex Scharfman   Cast: Paul Rudd, Jenna Ortega, Will Poulter, Téa Leoni, Richard E. Grant, Anthony Carrigan, Sunita Mani, Jessica Hynes and Stephen Park   Distributor: A24

Grade: C

It’s disheartening to see a promising premise squandered.  That’s unfortunately what happens in “Death of a Unicorn,” the first writing-directing effort from long-time producer Alex Scharfman.  It begins with a father-daughter scene in which widowed dad Elliot Kintner (Paul Rudd) is driving with teen Ridley (Jenna Ortega) to the isolated estate of his employers, the hugely wealthy Leopold family; the lawyer is about to be named functional head of their pharmaceutical empire if he can secure their approval.  The estate’s located in a large wildlife preserve the Leopolds have endowed, and along the mountain road a distracted Elliot hits an animal that turns out to be a unicorn.  Though Ridley makes some sort of psychic connection with the injured beast, her father bludgeons it to death when it appears to be suffering, stuffs the carcass into the damaged SUV and goes on to his meeting.

One can imagine all sorts of imaginative ways the scenario could go on from there, but the one Scharfman has chosen turns the plot into a heavy-handed satire of greedy Big Pharma—at least in part.  Mostly though, it’s just a gory home-invasion movie, though one in which the murderous interlopers are unicorns, stabbing their victims not with knives but their horns or simply ripping them apart with their teeth.  These are hardly the sweet critters beloved of adoring little girls.

The Leopolds are caricatures, presumably inspired by the notorious Sackler clan.  Domineering patriarch Odell (Richard E. Grant) is suffering from terminal cancer.  His wife Belinda (Téa Leoni) spends most of her time on reputation-building philanthropy.  Son Shepard (Will Poulter) is a hedonistic doofus, always on the lookout for a profit if it doesn’t require much effort on his part.  Their security chief Shaw (Jessica Hynes) is a no-nonsense type, and their butler Griff (Anthony Carrigan) a long-suffering doormat.

Elliot intends to keep the dead beast secret from his hosts, but it comes back to life, only to be killed again by Shaw.  Then it appears that Elliot’s allergies and Ridley’s acne have been cured by their interaction with it.  Further tests prove the curative power of its sometimes glowing horn, and soon Odell is back on his feet, hale and hearty.  Recognizing a goldmine when they see it, the Leopolds call in the company’s chief researchers, Drs. Song (Steve Park) and Bhatia (Sunita Mani) to do a proper analysis; they determine that the horn does have remarkable medicinal power, but it’s a compound that can’t be synthesized.  Only the real thing will do; happily, it’s evident the unicorns can regenerate when killed.

Brushing aside the warnings of Ridley, an art history major whose study of medieval tapestries convinces her that unicorns are ferocious, the Leopolds decide to hunt down the unicorn family that’s begun to threaten the estate to retrieve their dead child.  The confrontation does not end well for the humans as the unicorns show the ferocity Ridley had predicted.  Things get pretty gruesome as the interlopers rampage through the estate, and the mayhem isn’t funny.

Indeed, the humor of the scenario is pretty thin overall.  Poulter gets easy laughs as the overprivileged son, but Leoni hasn’t much to work with.  Even the usually reliable Grant is reduced to stomping about and desperately shouting unfunny dialogue, while the ordinarily agreeable Rudd has trouble being sympathetic, given Elliot’s efforts to ingratiate himself with the powerful family at any cost; his concern for making life comfortable for his daughter, nicely played by Ortega, in the absence of her mother is intended to show him a good father, but it takes precedence over his actual treatment of her.  In fact, he’s such a jerk that one wonders whether what’s become a Hollywood crutch to save audiences from leaving depressed—the old resurrection trope, in this case—is deserved in the case.  In any event, Carrigan outshines him with a canny, deadpan turn as a servant called on to undertake every unpleasant task.

Nor does it help matters that the VFX is not terribly good.  The CGI unicorns look blurry and unreal, and though Amy Williams’ production design and Andrea Flesch’s costumes are more handsome than one expects in this sort of fare, especially as set off by Larry Fong’s glossy cinematography, the overall effect is less than impressive.  Ron Dulin’s editing is variable, with the action sequences often muddy, while the score by Dan Romer and Giosuè Greco tries to pump them up without much effect.  The closing shot will leave many stumped.

For an idea boasting so much promise, this horror satire proves neither pointed nor scary enough to merit more than a disappointed shrug..