"The Sopranos" has been on long enough for everyone to fully appreciate every last facet of Italian-American mob life. There's not a single thing this film can add to that subject.
This is simply not a movie that needed to be made. I mean, "The Sopranos" has been on long enough for everyone to fully appreciate every last facet of Italian-American mob life. There's not a single thing this film can add to that subject.
But the filmmakers try anyway because the first movie made a lot of money and they assume that no matter what half-ass script they slap together, people will return to the theaters to once again experience the underworld stylings of Paul Vitti (Robert De Niro) as he spills his guts to his shrink, Dr. Ben Sobol (Billy Crystal). It's funny to see mobsters cry. In this episode, Paul is in prison, but he fakes insanity to get out and is put in the custody of Sobol and his wife, Laura (Lisa Kudrow), who does a very poor "I'm not Phoebe in 'Friends'" imitation.
Harold Ramis once again directs and his major accomplishment this time around is his insertion of quaint little flashbacks of a young Paul Vitti wearing a cowboy hat and enjoying the company of his father. It's that "quality" moment where you're supposed to join hands with the person beside you and appreciate the beauty of life.
Virtually everything about the film is the same as the previous one, with the minor exception of Robert De Niro singing. He sings show tunes in Sing Sing. That's how he gets out. Once again, Paul must outwit the other mobsters with the help of his pal, Jelly (Joe Viterelli), and Ben must keep his cool else he be shot dead and Paul's plans exposed. As the credits roll we're treated to a reel of outtakes, which in my mind is now the mark of a totally desperate film made by people who would sell their own mothers into prostitution if it meant a few more box-office points.
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