Mikey and Nicky (1976)

Mikey and Nicky is special because it turns a familiar gangster setup into something far more intimate and unsettling: a night-long pressure cooker where friendship becomes the real crime scene. Elaine May directs with a novelist’s patience and a documentarian’s eye, letting the grit of back rooms, late-night streets, and bad decisions reveal people who feel heartbreakingly real. The performances are raw and lived-in, full of nervous humor and sudden cruelty, and the film’s darkness isn’t stylish so much as honest—an unblinking look at loyalty, fear, and the kind of masculinity that can’t admit need without turning it into violence. It’s not for viewers who want clean thrills or tidy catharsis, but if you’re on the fence and crave a 1970s drama that cuts deep and lingers, this is the underappreciated masterpiece to take a chance on.

Mikey and Nicky is trying to be less a slick gangster thriller and more an all-night autopsy of friendship, paranoia, and betrayal, played out in grimy streets and cramped rooms. If you’re expecting a tight plot with clear beats, you may find the early going slow, occasionally confusing, and more interested in messy conversation than momentum. The characters aren’t designed to be likable, and the film’s rough edges (including some continuity hiccups) can feel distracting rather than “authentic.” Stick with it if you want raw, uncomfortable character drama and great performances; skip it if you need pace, clarity, or anyone to root for.