VIEWING DATE: November 5, 2023
#94 - GOODFELLAS (1990)
D: Martin Scorsese
S: Ray Liotta, Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, Paul Sorvino, Lorraine Bracco
It's not that Martin Scorsese planned to go head-to-head with Francis Ford Coppola then. In the first place, this was supposed to be an 80s release. But, thanks to the 11th hour funding of The Last Temptation of Christ, that one had to take precedence.
Well, obviously, Goodfellas did eventually make it onscreen. It was mid-September at the turn of the nineties, and The Godfather, Part III beckoned three months away. No pressure, it was only the third part of a celebrated franchise, preceded by one of the greatest gangster flicks of all time and its equally flawless (some even say superior) sequel. And judging from the holiday release, it was aiming for awards consideration.
But, again, it was a non-issue for Scorsese. His mom's cameo in both films hinted as much. He was always for the love of cinema – a reverence made clear recently by his disdain towards the MCU and his defense of Killers of the Flower Moon's running time. "Respect the cinema", he adamantly rebuked. Clearly, there's no arguing with the self-aware. He just won't back down.
With that passion came a flair for celebrating the classics. Scorsese loved brandishing his work with references. There's Taxi Driver (1976), which stylistically lifted from The Searchers (1956) and Raging Bull (1980), which straight up quoted On the Waterfront (1954). Then, we have this, which borrowed from two Hitchcock films, among many others.
Paying homage to Psycho (1960)'s opening credits was a clever choice. The swift zooming of text from right to left, only to be halted by violent freeze frames suggested someone on the run. It's how we meet Marion Crane in Hitchcock's masterpiece. And it'show we meet the central characters here. In this film's case, we see them stopping in the woods in the dead of night, opening the car's trunk, then finishing off the bloodied, dying man stored inside. Pepper in the sound of speeding cars on the soundtrack, and the tone is set. Then, cue in the late great Ray Liotta's iconic VO opener: "As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster."
At that point, we learn we're treated to a flashback, as we soon meet Liotta's character as a bemused teen. By then, his identity is disclosed: real-life mobster Henry Hill. Born of Irish-Italian lineage, Hill was affiliated with New York City's Lucchese crime family from 1955 to 1980. His rise and fall became the subject of Nicholas Pileggi's non-fiction piece, Wiseguy: Life in the Mafia Family, from which this film was based. For this adaptation, Pileggi teamed up with Scorsese in penning the screenplay. Needless to say, the collaboration breathed new life into the material and turned it from simple biography to ultra-stylized cinematic gem. The precision is thanks to Scorsese's go-to editor, Thelma Schoonmaker.
Despite starting in medias res, the narrative is largely in linear order. We start with Hill's humble beginnings as a young truant who traded school for working for Brooklyn's Mafia. That's when we're introduced to his eventual accomplices. There's his employer and mentor, Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino), the closest he had to a moral compass. On the other extreme, there's his fellow Irish-Italian, the two-faced Jimmy Conway played by Robert DeNiro in his sixth collaboration with Scorsese. And there's the hot-tempered and trigger-happy Tommy DeVito, played by Joe Pesci in his Oscar-winning role. The rest of the gang, we meet in a brilliantly mounted tracking shot at the Copacabana.
It's also through their late-night escapades where Hill meets his eventual wife, the Jewish Karen Friedman (Lorraine Bracco), who takes over the VO narration from time to time. Though apprehensive at first, her attachment to Hill leads her to embrace the mobster life, albeit as a long-suffering bystander. Through Karen, we're introduced to a new vantage point: Hill's dysfunctional family life.
Things then take a fateful turn when Hill, Conway, and DeVito meet the freshly-paroled Billy Batts (Frank Vincent) at a party. Being a "made man", Batts is virtually untouchable, and any harm inflicted on him would have dire consequences. Nevertheless, that doesn't protect him from facing the trio's wrath after hurling insults at DeVito. Soon, we find ourselves back in the opening sequence. We also learn who's in the trunk.
The rest of the story unfolds in spellbinding manner, with classic tracks filling the soundtrack in lieu of a score. There's no shortage of drama, violence, and profanity, as we witness Hill's exploits, from Hill's marital woes to his decade-long prison sentence. And it's not like they're freed as reformed men. Upon their parole, they continue their shady dealings, mostly against Cicero's wishes. It all culminates with the notorious Lufthansa heist of 1978.
It's during that tipping point when covering up becomes top priority. Soon, the body count intensifies, and so does Hill's sordid lifestyle. This leads to a high-octane final act, which comes at the expense of Hill's affluence. And, as suspicion escalates, he is forced to protect himself, loyalties be damned – even if it entails eventual isolation.
No redemption is offered in the end, only rumination with hints of self-loathing. In Hill's final voiceover, the self-realization is apparent. "I'm an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook", he admits, surrendering to his decline.
Prior to the postscript, we're treated to one last galvanizing image. A fallen character breaks the fourth wall, aims his pistol at the audience, and fires six shots. It's a visual nod to 1903's The Great Train Robbery, included by Scorsese to pay homage to pop culture's fascination with outlaws. It startles, as much as it evokes thought. Hill may be done with that chapter, but its memory and its repercussions continue to haunt him.
While Goodfellas ultimately lost to Dances with Wolves in the Oscars, its impact nevertheless endured. Apart from being touted as a benchmark crime film, it also influenced another classic: HBO's hit series The Sopranos. Incidentally, that one starred Bracco and Michael Imperioli, who played the ill-fated Spider in this film.
As for Hill, he remained fairly visible since the depicted events. Amidst three more arrests and two more significant others, he managed to be a frequent guest in The Howard Stern Show and write a few books. He always approved of his portrayal in the film and even hosted a 20th anniversary screening in New York's Museum of the American Gangster in 2010. On June 12, 2012, just one day after turning 69, Henry Hill passed away from a lingering heart disease.
The movie ends with Sid Vicious' take on a Frank Sinatra song – you know, the one locally associated with lethal karaoke. It's a sound choice, in hindsight, not just because of the morbid lore surrounding it. But rather, it's a reflection of living on one's own terms. Hill neither overtly expressed regret nor did he claim to be right. Towards the tail end of his turbulent life, he identified as a changed man. So, much as there probably was a modicum of regret, he chose not to be crippled by the memory of his previous misdeeds. He did what he had to do. And, to paraphrase the song, he did it his way.
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