Max Fischer & Herman Blume – “Rushmore” (1998)
Though “Bottle Rocket” is well-liked, “Rushmore” is the film that proved Wes Anderson’s real breakthrough, and part of the reason it struck a chord is the unique relationship at its core between Jason Schwartzman’s Max Fischer and Bill Murray’s Herman Blume. Though there’s a light touch of Hal Ashby to it, there’s been little like it in film history, and certainly during the Tarantino-aping ’90s. Max is the polymathic kid from a modest background taking full advantage of the private school he attends and dedicates his life to; Blume is the wealthy businessman with a shitty family life who takes a shine to Max, who clearly reminds him of himself in some way. The two develop a rich friendship, something that goes deeper than mentor/apprentice, until Blume falls for teacher Rosemary (Olivia Williams), who Max has a deeply unrequited crush on. It sparks a rivalry that only proves how alike they are, as they seek vengeance on each other with a series of increasingly petty and childish acts (“you deserve each other,” Rosemary eventually tells them). It’s such an unusual dynamic — it never really indicates a father and son vibe, but with the cross-generational element still important, it’s perhaps closest to a platonic relationship like “Harold & Maude”— and is just one of the reasons why the film marked Anderson as such a huge talent.
Caesar ‘Rico’ Bandello & Joe Massara – “Little Caesar” (1931)
The frenemy dynamic is almost as popular in the crime genre as in the superhero pic, and much of that dates back to “Little Caesar,” the 1931 Mervyn LeRoy film that helped to make the gangster film (and particular those from Warner Bros.) such a big deal for much of the 1930s. The Caesar of the title is Edward G.Robinson’s Rico, a small-time hood who moves to Chicago with his best pal Joe (Douglas Fairbanks). In a very early-studio-movie character development, his friend just wants to be a dancer with his professional and romantic partner Olga (Glenda Farrell) and tries to break away, but as Rico makes his way up the ladder in bloody fashion, he refuses to let his pal transition from from the criminal lifestyle, and eventually makes the couple into a target. Their falling out is less dramatic than some of the ones here —Joe never really sees Rico as an enemy; he just wants to be left along to do his thing— but the souring of the relationship nevertheless gives the film much of the pathos that prevents an overly moralistic tone. The only problem is that Robinson is infinitely more compelling on screen: Fairbanks is pretty bland here, and you end up almost rooting for Rico to take him out.
Quincy ‘Q’ Powell & Roland Bishop – “Juice” (1992)
When the serious-minded African-American gangster picture became a trend in the early 1990s, it was clear that the genre was taking a little DNA from the classic 1930s gangster pics, and it isn’t hard to see some influence of “Little Caesar” in the broken-friendship narrative of “Juice.” Less remembered now than near-contemporaries “Boyz N The Hood” or “Menace II Society,” Ernest Dickerson’s film (his first as director after making his name as DP on Spike Lee’s early films) is an eminently watchable drama that deserves to greater recognition. The film centers on four friends, but particularly Q (Omar Epps) and Bishop (Tupac Shakur, who was cast only after accompanying Money-B to an audition), Harlem high-schoolers who at Bishop’s behest aim to move into bigger criminal life. Q wants to be a DJ, but the increasingly unhinged Bishop keeps him in the life, with eventually fatal consequences. It’s more of a straight-up thriller than some of its contemporaries, but it’s nicely focused, and Dickerson proves to be a strong director of actors, with Shakur particularly impressing in a live-wire role. Sadly, he didn’t get many more chances to show his stuff: he made only six movies before he was killed in 1996.
Pasquale Maggi & Giuseppe Filippucci – “Shoeshine’ (1946)
Gentler and yet more harrowing than some of the movies listed here, “Shoeshine” gives the lawbreakers-turned-against-each-other narrative to far younger characters than usual, and to utterly powerful effect. Perhaps the first of Vittorio De Sica’s films to gain international recognition (it won a special Oscar and was nominated for its screenplay), and doing as much as anything to launch the neo-Realist movement, the film focuses on two street kids, Giuseppe (Rinaldo Smordoni) and Pasquale (Franco Interlenghi, who’d grow up to work with most of the great Italian helmers, but made his debut here), making a living as shoeshine boys after being abandoned by their parents in WWII. Giuseppe’s brother brings them into the criminal milieu, which lands the young friends in jail. There, in a sort of prisoner’s dilemma-type situation, their bond weakens and eventually snaps, leading to tragic consequences. The heartbreaking ending is quite bleak, but there’s such compassion and humanism in De Sica’s quiet, observational approach, and such power in the performances by his young leads, that it ends up feeling like one of the great post-war movies.
