Be it his turn as flamboyant TV host Caesar Flickerman in The Hunger Games I-IV, empathetic refuge scientist Abraham Erskine in Captain America: The First Avenger or long-suffering magazine art director Nigel Kipling in The Devil Wears Prada, Stanley Tucci has proven time and again to be one of our finest character actors.

However, there was a period—specifically the late 1980s, early 1990s—when meaty roles were few and far between for the now 58-year-old New York native.

Like a blonde earmarked as the featherbrain or the bimbo (apologies to Mrs. CFS), Tucci, of Italian origin, found himself inundated with Mafioso roles. Some of the more prestigious parts he took—Lucky Luciano in 1991’s Billy Bathgate, Sal in 1992’s The Public Eye—but generally found himself mightily frustrated at the stereotyping.

However, instead of feeling sorry for himself, he took matters into his own hands, co-writing and -directing (with childhood friend Campbell Scott, the son of George C.) a film that not only offered up a plum, non-cliched role, but also one that slyly commented on art vs. commerce, Tucci’s professional dilemma.

Released in September 1996, Big Night tells the story of two brothers, Primo and Segundo, first generation Italian immigrants struggling to keep their tiny New Jersey restaurant afloat. Their problem isn’t one of quality but rather expectations—back in the 50s, when the film takes place, the American public’s excitement over Italian cooking revolved around spaghetti and meatballs and great big salads, not the more refined risottos and Pappardelle con Coda alla Vaccinara we’ve come to expect today.

Unfortunately for the brothers, Primo (the great Tony Shalhoub), the elder of the two and a brilliant cook, is unwilling to compromise his vision of impeccable tasting and presented Italian food for a bunch of yokel Americans. Segundo (Tucci), on the other hand, is more pragmatic—as the restaurant’s manager/server/host/bookkeeper he’s painfully aware that something has to change to remain afloat. And as opposed to his brother, who only cares about the purity of the food he prepares, Segundo has been seduced by the American Dream. He knows the sky’s the limit in this land of prosperity, a place where a man can realistically aspire to a Cadillac, unthinkable back in post-war Italy.

The film’s opening beautifully dramatizes the brother’s conflict: in the restaurant’s sparsely occupied (but homey) interior, a couple complain to Segundo about their dishes, the woman expecting big chunks of seafood in her risotto and, of course, a side of spaghetti (“I thought all main courses come with spaghetti.”).

Segundo reluctantly retreats to the kitchen with the couple’s starch-on-starch request. As expected, Primo’s head explodes. (“Maybe I should make mashed potato for another side!” he mutters. And then, more forcefully, “She’s a criminal, I want to talk to her!”) Segundo’s tired response is the same as it’s been a millions times before, something his brother can’t/won’t grasp:

“What are you going to do, tell the customer what she can eat? That’s what she want. This is what the customer ask for. Make it! Make the pasta. Make it, make it, make it!”

Later, the brothers hash out their different philosophies over a cigarette:

PRIMO
If you give people time, they learn.

SEGUNDO
Well, I don’t have time for them to learn.
This is a restaurant, not a fucking school.

Adding to Segundo’s anxiety is the presence, just across the street, of a competing Italian restaurant, Pascal’s, which enjoys the kind of popularity he can only dream about due to his brother’s stubbornness. Outside the garishly appointed joint, a parade of polished Cadillacs line up for valet service, while inside the rambunctious patrons “ooh” and “ahh” their heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs accompanied by a chanteuse butchering “‘O Sole Mio.” And then there’s the flamboyant proprietor, Pascal himself, full of exuberance as he serves his guests flaming desserts.

Although competitors, Segundo and Pascal (played with great relish by the indispensable Ian Holm) enjoy what seems to be a close relationship, the former often reaching out to the latter for fatherly advice. (Primo will have nothing to do with the friendship: “Man should be in prison for the food he serve.”) Of course, the fact that Segundo is having an affair with Pascal’s wife, Gabriella (Isabella Rossellini), potentially muddies the waters.

So it is that, one evening, Segundo ventures into Pascal’s for a chat, one that involves a great visual gag involving a table lamp. He hopes to borrow some money to keep his restaurant from being shuttered. Pascal passes but reminds Segundo that he’d love to have the brothers work for him. (Despite being a bit of a sell-out, Pascal knows a great chef when he sees one.) Now it’s Segundo’s time to demur. At an impasse, Pascal suddenly has an idea: as a close friend of the wildly popular singer Louis Prima, why doesn’t he (Pascal) invite him (Prima) to dine at the brother’s restaurant, which he’ll surely love. Once the press gets a sniff of it, sales will go through the roof.

Segundo thinks it’s a brilliant ploy; his brother, when told of the opportunity, is decidedly more muted:

PRIMO
People should just come for the food.

SEGUNDO
I know that, I know. But they don’t. After
tonight I don’t know if we can still do what we
came here to do…the way we want to do it.

With this bit of reality finally penetrating his creative skull, Primo agrees to the event. Thus the “big night” of the title. Of which I’ll say no more, other than it’s not only an orgiastic display of Italian food, but also one that serves up mean-spirited betrayals, dashed hopes, recriminations, suppressed emotions and, finally, the unbreakable bond between brothers, which plays out in a wordless final scene that ranks among the greatest of all time. Seriously.

But while Big Night is full of great performances (the aforementioned, Campbell Scott as a Cadillac salesman, Minnie Driver at Segundo’s girlfriend, Marc Anthony in a small role as a busboy, Allison Janney in a meatier role as Primo’s love interest, Ann), clever writing and a nostalgic 1950s mise en scène, what really sets the film apart, at least for me, is how facilely the brothers’ situation mirrors Tucci’s personal struggles to stay relevant in his chosen profession. To sell out or not to sell out in one’s art. Are the gains of the former worth the hit to the soul? Is the purity of the latter worth the potential dashed dreams?

This is easily one of my favorite films of the last 30 years. Sadly, I think it’s been lost to time a bit—rarely do you see it on TV and there still hasn’t been a proper version released on home video. There are way to watch it though. For free on Tubi, or for a small rental fee on places such as YouTube, Amazon Prime, iTunes, Vudu.

Check it out. Here’s the (admittedly terrible) trailer: