GoodFellas

October 10, 2004

            The first time you come out of Martin Scorsese’s “GoodFellas” you are bruised and beaten, hung over from the dizzying array of bravura filmmaking and gobs of unsettling violence.  It is a morality play tinged with drug induced paranoia wrapped in a subversion of everything from “The Godfather” to “The Public Enemy”, that ends with an image straight out of the pioneering days of Hollywood, Edwin S. Porter’s “The Great Train Robbery”.  Believe me, if you don’t remember the first time you saw “GoodFellas”, than you weren’t paying attention.  Looking at it again, in the new DVD special edition recently released, you still notice the violence, and realize how necessary it was to portray an honest, gritty gangster environment, but when you dig deeper, the violence is only skin deep; what really sticks out, amongst other brilliant things in this one-of-a-kind masterpiece, is the ultimate lesson, that crime, though potentially appealing, in the end simply doesn’t pay.  You get the feeling, to paraphrase one of the films key lines of voice-over, that in this gangsters life of theft and murder, there are two outcomes, jail or premature death, sometimes both, but always at least one.

            The 1990 classic, Scorsese’s comeback after a somewhat weak decade (the ‘80’s), hits all the right notes, and pounds you to submission with the highs and lows of young Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), a Lower Eastside teenager who curries favor with the local crime syndicate, run by Paulie (Paul Sorvino), whose most ferocious earner, Jimmy Conway (Robert De Niro), becomes a mentor to Hill when he comes of age.  What Scorsese, and co-screenwriter Nicholas Pileggi (based on his non-fiction novel “Wiseguy”) do from the onset is set up Hill’s life as seen directly through his eyes (hence the voice-over commentary which transcends a usual film cliché); the impossibly romantic thought of an easy living- booze, women, respect, and unending cash flow- debunked by violence, betrayal, and, when the ‘70’s come around, drug paranoia, and eventually, the Big Two, jail and death. 

Like his early street masterwork, 1973’s “Mean Streets”, Scorsese gets realistic and heartfelt performances from his talented cast.  Everybody always points out Lorraine Bracco as Karen, Henry’s long suffering wife, and Oscar winner Joe Pesci (“Funny how?  Funny like a clown?  Do I amuse you?”), for his schizophrenic madman Tommy, but credit is due to Ray Liotta, in only his fourth film, for bringing vitality (when needed), and intense scared-for-your-life paranoia (the cocaine fueled third act) to Henry Hill, the films most important character.  De Niro is great, as usual; the look in his eyes, through thick glasses, when he finally decides Hill is expendable, is chilling and unforgettable, and Scorsese uses his favorite actor to menacing effect (“Never rat on your friends,” he bluntly tells a young Hill, which obviously doesn’t sink in, “and always keep your mouth shut.”), but I think the film wouldn’t be what it is without Liotta’s performance, as the film lives and dies on our acceptance of Hill as a patsy in an uncontrollable situation.  Watch close the incredibly famous Steadicam long take (courtesy of master cinematographer Michael Ballhaus) following Henry and Karen into the bowels of the Copacabana, and notice, as flashy as the whole setup is, that Liotta is stealing the scene, dropping bills into coat pockets, and schmoozing his way into La Dolce Vita, which turns out to be the high point of his life, all things considering, it’s downhill from here.

by Adam Suraf

asuraf@DunkirkMA.net