One night, Stanley Tucci will be at a Manhattan cocktail party. All his frufru friends and New York Times execs will be telling him what a great artist he is. Then somebody’s boozy boyfriend will mention “Undercover Blues” (1993), where Tucci plays a version of Tony Montana that is more schtickup than stickup. He’ll think back to that awful movie, serving as slapstick foil to Dennis Quaid and Kathleen Turner. As he’s about to punch the drunk, he’ll suddenly feel a hand on his shoulder. “Fuck it,” Dave Chappelle, his movie hoodlum sidekick will say, “we’re still getting residual checks.”

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