(Big Night, Campbell Scott, 1996)
When Big Night was first described to me I got the impression that it was a comedy. I can attribute this to a couple of points that were made during the description. For one, I was told that the film stars Stanley Tucci and Tony Shaloub, two men I associate primarily with humor, even if that humor is generally pretty dry and sarcastic. Secondly, I knew that the plot involved a very elaborate dinner being made for a guest of honor who ultimately does not show up, which I misinterpreted as being a comic storyline. I don't know why I made those assumptions, but I did, which is why I was surprised when Big Night turned out to not be a comedy at all (though it did contain some of that dry Stanely Tucci humor that I love so much), and actually a fairly tense drama about a failing restaurant owned by two Italian brothers who refuse to sacrifice their heritage in order to please their diners.
I find it hard to objectively evaluate this film because I went into it with expectations that it could not possibly meet. Even though I'd read the Netflix summary and realized my mistake, I still subconsciously expected humor from Big Night, so even though I know I shouldn't have been, I was somewhat disappointed when the story was fairly depressing. I really wanted Stanley Tucci to be as he was in either The Devil Wears Prada or Julie & Julia. What I love most about Stanley Tucci is his sharp tongue, and I really missed that in his performance as Secondo in Big Night. Watching dear Stanley be repeatedly defeated in his attempts at success was heartbreaking (which I know was the intent, but even so), and I really just wanted him to be sassy and catty and wave his hand at Anne Hathaway before dressing her in Dolce & Gabbana.
However, despite my disappointment in Big Night's non-comedy, I can say that I felt a lot of empathy with the main characters. Tucci's Secondo runs the front of the house for a restaurant that he owns with his brother, Primo, who is the chef. They came to America from Italy with the goal of opening an authentic, successful Italian restaurant, and slowing begin realizing that they cannot have both success and authenticity. In the opening scene, two customers (who I'm inclined to call Ugly Americans even though they're in America) complain about the way the food is made, despite the fact that Primo has made beautifully authentic Italian cuisine for them. One complains of spaghetti with no meatballs while the other is upset that her seafood risotto doesn't have overwhelmingly large chunks of seafood in it. Secondo does his best to explain to them that, sorry, that's not what Italian food is like, but they just won't hear it. Defeated, he trudges back into the kitchen and asks Primo for some meatballs.
I've spent a good amount of time in a couple of foreign countries (Japan and Italy, specifically), and I can understand how upsetting it must be to feel you have to change your cuisine in order to cater to American palettes. I ate some of the best food I've ever had when I was in those two countries, some of it just being the dinners prepared for me by my host families. Some of my best memories of Italy were the nights that I went over to have dinner with my good friend's host family, which consisted of an Italian mother and an Middle Eastern father. Renatta, the host mother, would prepare huge spreads of food that combined both of their heritages and I always found myself eating just a little more than I probably should have. The food was great because it was real. I was eating the same things that these Italians ate every day, and I would love to find a restaurant here that could replicate Renatta's polpettine and saffron rice. I also would love it if I could find a corner cafe that sold suppli, a Roman snack that I discovered far too late and ate way too little of.
My experiences in Japan were very similar. Every morning I'd wake up to a beautiful breakfast paired with miso soup, which my host mother gave me for every meal because on my first day there I told her how much I liked it. Every night she'd make me some sort of authentic Japanese or Korean dish (I have her to thank for my exposure to bibimbap, now one of my favorite dishes), and I'd savor every bite. A couple of times we went out for sushi or to a noodle house and I'd realize just how inferior most of the Japanese food I'd eaten in American truly was. Every piece of sushi was perfect, every bowl of noodles incredible, ever cup of rice a revelation. After every sojourn abroad that I've taken, I've come home fondly remembering the meals I'd eaten above all else.
Fortunately for me, there are a couple of places in Eugene that have managed to replicate some of my favorite foreign meals. We have Toshi's ramen, an incredible little place that serves ramen that makes me feel like I'm back in Japan, hunched over a bowl of noodles, straining to hear the few Japanese words I know in the conversation next to me. Occasionally when I'm in Toshi's a Japanese or Korean family will sit down next to me to have lunch and I'll smile to myself, silently traveling back in time to those three weeks in Japan. We also have an incredible, authentic Neapolitan pizzeria called La Perla, which has been verified by the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana, a board whose sole duty is to travel around the world and make sure the pizzerias that call themselves authentic actually are. I feel lucky to have La Perla because it reminds me of buying pizza from a cute, hole-in-the-wall pizzeria in Rome that was just around the corner from my school.
I wish Primo and Secondo's restaurant was real, and existed in Eugene, because I'd go to it every day just to show them that there are Americans who want to eat authentic Italian food. My favorite restaurants are the ones that do ethnic cuisine, and do it without compromise. I would love to dive into a bowl of Primo's spaghetti because, just like my beloved La Perla, it would probably bring me right back to the spring that I spent in Italy. Because of that I actually somewhat enjoyed Big Night. It reminded me that I'm not the only person out there who wants things to be the way they are supposed to be. Even though the film isn't exactly happy, when they all silently gather to eat a frittata and the end, there's hope. And really, what more can you ask for?
I find it hard to objectively evaluate this film because I went into it with expectations that it could not possibly meet. Even though I'd read the Netflix summary and realized my mistake, I still subconsciously expected humor from Big Night, so even though I know I shouldn't have been, I was somewhat disappointed when the story was fairly depressing. I really wanted Stanley Tucci to be as he was in either The Devil Wears Prada or Julie & Julia. What I love most about Stanley Tucci is his sharp tongue, and I really missed that in his performance as Secondo in Big Night. Watching dear Stanley be repeatedly defeated in his attempts at success was heartbreaking (which I know was the intent, but even so), and I really just wanted him to be sassy and catty and wave his hand at Anne Hathaway before dressing her in Dolce & Gabbana.
However, despite my disappointment in Big Night's non-comedy, I can say that I felt a lot of empathy with the main characters. Tucci's Secondo runs the front of the house for a restaurant that he owns with his brother, Primo, who is the chef. They came to America from Italy with the goal of opening an authentic, successful Italian restaurant, and slowing begin realizing that they cannot have both success and authenticity. In the opening scene, two customers (who I'm inclined to call Ugly Americans even though they're in America) complain about the way the food is made, despite the fact that Primo has made beautifully authentic Italian cuisine for them. One complains of spaghetti with no meatballs while the other is upset that her seafood risotto doesn't have overwhelmingly large chunks of seafood in it. Secondo does his best to explain to them that, sorry, that's not what Italian food is like, but they just won't hear it. Defeated, he trudges back into the kitchen and asks Primo for some meatballs.
I've spent a good amount of time in a couple of foreign countries (Japan and Italy, specifically), and I can understand how upsetting it must be to feel you have to change your cuisine in order to cater to American palettes. I ate some of the best food I've ever had when I was in those two countries, some of it just being the dinners prepared for me by my host families. Some of my best memories of Italy were the nights that I went over to have dinner with my good friend's host family, which consisted of an Italian mother and an Middle Eastern father. Renatta, the host mother, would prepare huge spreads of food that combined both of their heritages and I always found myself eating just a little more than I probably should have. The food was great because it was real. I was eating the same things that these Italians ate every day, and I would love to find a restaurant here that could replicate Renatta's polpettine and saffron rice. I also would love it if I could find a corner cafe that sold suppli, a Roman snack that I discovered far too late and ate way too little of.
My experiences in Japan were very similar. Every morning I'd wake up to a beautiful breakfast paired with miso soup, which my host mother gave me for every meal because on my first day there I told her how much I liked it. Every night she'd make me some sort of authentic Japanese or Korean dish (I have her to thank for my exposure to bibimbap, now one of my favorite dishes), and I'd savor every bite. A couple of times we went out for sushi or to a noodle house and I'd realize just how inferior most of the Japanese food I'd eaten in American truly was. Every piece of sushi was perfect, every bowl of noodles incredible, ever cup of rice a revelation. After every sojourn abroad that I've taken, I've come home fondly remembering the meals I'd eaten above all else.
Fortunately for me, there are a couple of places in Eugene that have managed to replicate some of my favorite foreign meals. We have Toshi's ramen, an incredible little place that serves ramen that makes me feel like I'm back in Japan, hunched over a bowl of noodles, straining to hear the few Japanese words I know in the conversation next to me. Occasionally when I'm in Toshi's a Japanese or Korean family will sit down next to me to have lunch and I'll smile to myself, silently traveling back in time to those three weeks in Japan. We also have an incredible, authentic Neapolitan pizzeria called La Perla, which has been verified by the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana, a board whose sole duty is to travel around the world and make sure the pizzerias that call themselves authentic actually are. I feel lucky to have La Perla because it reminds me of buying pizza from a cute, hole-in-the-wall pizzeria in Rome that was just around the corner from my school.
I wish Primo and Secondo's restaurant was real, and existed in Eugene, because I'd go to it every day just to show them that there are Americans who want to eat authentic Italian food. My favorite restaurants are the ones that do ethnic cuisine, and do it without compromise. I would love to dive into a bowl of Primo's spaghetti because, just like my beloved La Perla, it would probably bring me right back to the spring that I spent in Italy. Because of that I actually somewhat enjoyed Big Night. It reminded me that I'm not the only person out there who wants things to be the way they are supposed to be. Even though the film isn't exactly happy, when they all silently gather to eat a frittata and the end, there's hope. And really, what more can you ask for?
