It happened in 2001. A movie came out that felt like a passing of the torch, or maybe a funeral for a certain kind of filmmaking. People still talk about The Score because of the names on the poster. You had Robert De Niro, the titan of the 70s and 80s. You had Edward Norton, the white-hot talent of the 90s. And then, in his final screen performance, you had Marlon Brando. It was a collision of three generations of Method acting.
But honestly? Most people remember it as "that movie where De Niro is a jazz club owner who steals stuff."
That’s a bit reductive. The Score is actually a masterclass in tension and technical precision that we rarely see anymore in an age of CGI-heavy capers. It’s grounded. It’s gritty. It feels like you could actually get caught if you breathed too loud during the safe-cracking scenes.
The Weird Energy of The Score Robert De Niro and the Brando Factor
If you look back at the production of The Score, things were kind of a mess behind the scenes, which makes the polished final product even more impressive. Frank Oz directed it. Yeah, the guy who did The Muppets and Little Shop of Horrors.
It’s well-documented that Marlon Brando didn't exactly get along with Oz. There are legendary stories—confirmed by crew members—about Brando refusing to be directed by "Miss Piggy." He reportedly called Oz "Grover" and would only take direction if De Niro relayed the notes to him. De Niro, being the consummate professional, basically acted as the buffer. You can see a bit of that weariness in his character, Nick Wells. Nick is a guy who wants out. He’s tired. He wants to run his jazz club in Montreal and settle down with his girlfriend, played by Angela Bassett.
Then comes Edward Norton’s character, Jack Teller.
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Norton is electric here. He plays a dual role, essentially. He’s the arrogant, brilliant thief who infiltrates a customs house by pretending to be a mentally challenged janitor named "Brian." It’s a performance within a performance. When De Niro’s character looks at him with skepticism, you feel that real-world tension. De Niro represents the old school: "don't work in your own city," "don't get greedy." Norton represents the new breed: "I want it all, and I want it now."
The dynamic between them is the engine of the film. Without that friction, it’s just a movie about a heavy safe.
Why the "Bypass" Scene Still Holds Up
Let's talk about the actual heist.
The goal is a Scepter—a French national treasure. It’s locked in a high-security basement in the Montreal Customs House. This isn't Ocean's Eleven. There are no holographic projectors or acrobatic flips. It’s all about physics, water pressure, and bypass codes.
The "water bypass" method used in the film is one of the coolest things ever put on celluloid for heist nerds. De Niro has to drill into the top of a safe that is supposedly "undrillable." How do you do it? You fill the safe with water and use a small explosive charge to create a hydraulic shock that blows the door off from the inside out.
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It’s slow. It’s agonizing.
The camera lingers on De Niro’s face. You see the sweat. You see the precision of his hands. This is where the movie shines. It respects the craft of the criminal. Most modern movies skip the "how" because they think the audience has a short attention span. Frank Oz bet on the fact that watching a man carefully measure water pressure is actually more thrilling than a car chase. He was right.
The Montreal Vibe
Setting the movie in Montreal was a stroke of genius. It gives the whole film a European, noir-ish feel while still being firmly North American. The jazz club scenes are smoky and authentic. You actually see real jazz legends like Mose Allison and Diana Krall making appearances. It grounds the "Robert De Niro" persona in something tangible. He’s not just a generic tough guy; he’s a man with a specific taste and a specific life he’s trying to protect.
The Problem With The Ending (And Why It Works Anyway)
Some critics at the time complained that the ending was predictable. You’ve got the old pro and the cocky kid. You know someone is going to try to double-cross someone else.
But here’s the thing: The Score isn't trying to reinvent the wheel. It’s trying to be the best version of that wheel.
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When the betrayal inevitably happens, it’s handled with a quiet, devastating efficiency. There are no long monologues about why someone did what they did. It’s all in the eyes. De Niro’s "I told you so" moment isn't shouted; it’s a smirk over a radio. It’s satisfying because it rewards the character who stayed true to his rules.
The Lasting Legacy of the 2001 Heist Classic
We don't get movies like The Score anymore.
Today, everything has to be a franchise. Everything has to have a post-credits scene. The Score is a self-contained story about three men in a room trying to outsmart each other. It’s a relic of a time when "star power" meant you put three incredible actors in a scene together and just let the camera roll.
Watching Brando in this is bittersweet. He’s massive, he’s eccentric, and he’s clearly doing whatever he wants. But the chemistry he has with De Niro—the only time they ever shared the screen, despite both playing Vito Corleone in the Godfather saga—is history. It’s a moment that can’t be replicated.
If you haven't watched it in a while, it’s worth a revisit. Not just for the heist, but to see a version of Robert De Niro that was still fully engaged, playing a man who knew his time was up and was determined to go out on his own terms.
How to Watch and What to Look For
If you’re planning a rewatch, keep an eye on these specific details that elevate the film above your standard Sunday afternoon cable movie:
- The Lighting in the Vault: Notice how the shadows are used to hide De Niro’s movements. It’s classic noir cinematography updated for the early 2000s.
- Edward Norton’s Physicality: Watch the way he shifts his posture when transitioning between "Jack" and "Brian." It’s subtle, but it shows why he was considered the best actor of his generation at that point.
- The Sound Design: Listen to the clicks of the safe. The silence in the Customs House is deafening. It builds a level of anxiety that loud music never could.
To get the most out of The Score, treat it like a procedural. It’s not an action movie. It’s a film about work. The "work" just happens to be grand larceny. Once you view it through that lens—the lens of professional craftsmanship—the slow pace becomes a feature, not a bug. Check your favorite streaming platforms or grab a physical copy to see the textures of the film that compression often ruins. It’s a visual treat that deserves a high-bitrate viewing.