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"As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster," narrates former gangster Henry Hill as he opens Martin Scorsese's "GoodFellas," one of the most brutal sensory assaults on audiences since the likes of "Mean Streets" and "Raging Bull." This is the director at his most skilled: working from a story that is set in New York, Scorsese knows the ins and outs of the material like a butcher knows how to work with cutlery. He digs deep into the recesses of an underworld, much as he has done in his past films, unveiling the gritty details of organized crime in such a way that the film isn't just one of the best films of all time about the mafia: it's one of the all-time greats.
The basis comes from the true-life story of Hill (played by Ray Liotta), who grew up with dreams of becoming a gangster, skipping school for months at a time to work for the cab service across the street run by mob boss Paul Cicero (Paul Sorvino). The way of life for a mobster, as seen through young Henry's impressionable eyes, is the ultimate way of life: as Henry explains, "To me, it meant being somebody in a neighborhood that was full of nobodies. They weren't like anybody else. I mean, they did whatever they wanted. They double-parked in front of a hydrant and nobody ever gave them a ticket. In the summer when they played cards all night, nobody ever called the cops." He's like the kid in the candy store, only this time, stealing is the only way to get what he wants, with no fear of penance.
As a man of 21, and very much acquainted with the underworkings of the "family," Henry knows more connections and has more money than most people have in a lifetime, all through heists, thefts, and criminal operations kept quiet by the higher-ups. We get a real sense of the mafia's inner workings from this film, as Scorsese lays out an intricate map of loyalties and alliances, bonds and relationships, all walking a tightrope that revolves around one thing and one thing alone: money. "That's the way it is with a wiseguy partner," Henry tells us. "He gets his money no matter what. You got no business? You had a fire? The place got hit by lightning and World War Three started in the lounge? F--- you, pay me."
I think Scorsese's choice to include the voice-over of the Hill character is his smartest move in the film. There's so much that we learn about the criminal profession through his explanations of life in the mob: for instance, when he recalls that "Paulie might have moved slow, but it was only because Paulie didn't have to move for anybody," we have a complete sense of Paul as a brooding mob boss, and all in less than two words. Scorsese, and his co-writer Nicholas Pileggi (working from his source novel, Wise Guy), use dialogue to its utmost advantage, guiding us through a world that offers "protection for the kinds of guys who can't go to the cops."
Through the experiences of Henry, we become better acquainted with the dirty dealings of the New York City circuit of organized crime. We meet his longtime pals and fellow gangsters: there's Jimmy Conway (Robert De Niro), one of the most feared men in the entire city, and then there's Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci), the fast-talking, short-tempered hot-head who tends to speak (and shoot) before he thinks. These are men who have no inhibitions about their occupations: if it means killing someone to keep others from getting "pinched," then that's it, That's all there is to it. Even Henry's wife, Karen (Lorraine Bracco), soon becomes accustomed to life with a gangster: when he asks her to hide the gun he just used to beat someone's face in with, a voice-over regails, "It kinda turned me on."
In getting to know these characters, Scorsese begins revealing his bigger picture, painting their lives in broad strokes resembling a life that goes south out of wrong decisions and greed. Rather than shape the characters into those that would adhere to his previous themes concerning guilt and self-condemnation, Scorsese makes them into all-out despicable criminals that form an entirely different concept. As the story progresses, we see the rise and fall of each of the characters, each coming to their downfall at an unexpected point, none ever realizing or acknowledging the possible consequences of their actions. They have been blinded by the mob life for so long, wrapped up in the protective blanket of their camaraderie and influence, that they feel as if nothing can bring them down. The events that lead to the outcome of the story ultimately proves otherwise: where there's crime, there's almost always a comeuppance.
The usual Scorsese trademarks are back in fine form here. Hit gritty style and tight focus on setting and character as one primal force is exquisitely rendered through unflinching images that contrast the high life of the gangster with the dirty underworkings that lead to grotesquely fascinating displays of violence and mayhem. In terms of cinematography alone, "Goodfellas" is really two movies rolled into one.
His characters are also some of the sharpest, most intricately-drawn people to come out of his career, brought to life by one of his best casts to date. Longtime collaborator Robert De Niro is terrific in the role of Jimmy, especially in later moments, where he must find a balance between Jimmy's outer calm and inner paranoia. Ray Liotta delivers on all grounds, portraying Henry's fascination very convincingly. As one of the most memorable gangsters of all cinema, Joe Pesci crafts Tommy into a force to be reckoned with: there's a scene in which a bartender rebukes one of his remarks with a derogatory comment. Tommy sits there, stunned, as his pals cheer the bartender on; then, without warning, he empties his gun into the poor S.O.B. Even Lorraine Bracco is powerful as the wife, a once virtuous woman now transformed into a tool for her husband's shady dealings.
More than any other film I've seen, I think "Goodfellas" captures most significantly the fact that the mafia isn't solely a bunch of guys sitting around, arguing in Italian, and shooting one another, though we do get a taste of all these things. There's more to it than that: outside sources can include everyone from cops, lawyers, judges, even employees of intended targets hoping to get in on the action. "We ran everything," says Henry. "Everyone had their hands out. Everything was for the taking." That Scorsese broadens his canvas to include the outside influences as well as the inner sanctum of the family is what makes his film so hardhitting and true; he tackles the big picture, and succeeds in every way possible. "Goodfellas" is the best Scorsese picture to date, the work of someone driven by the music of his story, his characters, and the meaning behind it all.
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David Litton