Remember the classics

‘Goodfellas’ (1990)

Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) wants all of the perks of being a gangster, but none of the consequences. He drifts around aimlessly, tossing money at every opportunity, and is somehow genuinely shocked when he becomes involved in the shadow of death and violence. He nostalgically mentions, “Your friends and your family rode along with you,” but he routinely cheats on his wife Karen (Lorraine Bracco), and the rest of his family seems all but forgotten.

From the opening of the film, we are introduced to Henry’s family, which includes his younger brother Michael, who is wheelchair-bound and apparently spends much of his time in a hospital. He turns up in the film again on the day when Henry is finally caught by the Feds, but when we see him we realize that we haven’t so much as heard about him since the opening scenes, which describe Henry’s childhood in the mob. Michael seems like he has a story to tell, but is largely ignored by the film, and by association, he is ignored by Henry. It seems that as long as good things are happening to him, everything else takes a backseat. As to be expected, once things start to fall apart, everyone abandons him—both those he ignored and those to whom he ingratiated himself.

But the life is great, while it lasts. Money comes from everywhere, and everyone treats him like a V.I.P. Even when Henry spends a term in jail, he spends the time with his friends and eats full-blown Italian dinners. What makes “Goodfellas” such a wonderful film is how it draws the viewer into its world and asks us to laugh along with its characters, even though their actions are horrifying.

“The Godfather” kept us at arm’s length from its business, demanding respect; “Goodfellas” takes us on as its own people. It’s one of Scorsese’s best films, all at once showing us why it is that people are drawn to the life of organized crime—and yet also why you don’t want to get involved in it because of how easy it is to get sucked in.

Scorsese makes it universal in this sense. The only way to understand it is by putting the viewer into Henry Hill’s shoes, which results in some great Steadicam point-of-view shots across restaurants and nightclubs.

“Goodfellas” also seems much more accepting of outsiders into its world than “The Godfather”; Henry’s bride Karen is Jewish, after all. When they are married, Karen is forcibly thrust in a beautifully surreal scene where she meets the extended family, comprised almost entirely of people named Peter, Paul or Marie. “I felt like I was drunk,” she says, and she knows that she’s going to enjoy this new life of luxury.

The violence that permeates life in the mob is almost treated by its participants as a necessary evil, but it is revealed in the film as utterly ruthless and without compassion. Scorsese accomplishes this by making any violence seem abrupt, and yes, even overdone; it is meant to be a stark contrast from the overly romantic tone of the nightclubs and parties. Henry witnesses friends Tommy (Joe Pesci) and Jimmy (Robert De Niro) mercilessly beat Billy Batts (Frank Vincent) to a bloody pulp, all because of a minor argument where “I’m just busting your balls a little.”

A throwaway line demonstrates just how little it all means to them, as Tommy wraps the body in a blanket: “I don’t want to get blood on your floor.” It leads to the wonderful scene where the three of them go out to bury him, but stop off at Tommy’s mother’s house for a shovel. She cooks them a meal at 3:00 a.m., and they talk and laugh about nothing in particular.

Joe Pesci rightly won an Academy Award for his role as Tommy; his presence best demonstrates the delicate balance of the dichotomous life in the Mafia. At a moment’s notice, he will let loose an explosion of anger, and then, in the wake of the aftermath, he will pretend as if nothing happened or write it off as just a loss of temper. Every time we see him, we’re afraid that something is going to happen, which is most often the case. In Tommy’s mind, it just goes along with the job.

Does he represent the reality of this whole system? Not in Henry’s mind—not even after he’s left the life. There are too many great things to be concerned with the little stuff. Henry’s “co-workers” are family, taking vacations with each other, attending each others’ important events (like weddings and birthdays), and there is a general feeling of togetherness to the whole structure. But Henry is also half-Irish, and there is still a sense of distance between him and a true sense of belonging. He resents it, and considers it “real greaseball s**t,” even though his other half is Sicilian.

Maybe that’s why he lies to his distant yet fatherly boss, Paul Cicero (a spectacular Paul Sorvino), and starts dealing cocaine on the side. He doesn’t need the extra money—he already lives the high life—but he does it anyway because it stands as something of a defiance of the people who won’t let him into the higher tiers, like a spoiled son would defy his father.

He deserves it, doesn’t he? Henry’s world collapses in a mire of distrust and addiction, and the viewer cannot help but think that it was all his fault for succumbing to hubris. Of course, such a perspective does not account for the horribly amoral world that the mob is by its own nature. Scorsese’s brilliant aim is to reveal a shocking side of humanity, not only in his characters but his audience.

Although Ray Liotta did not receive as many accolades as Henry, he acts as a perfect gateway to an unfamiliar world. His hypnotizing narration doesn’t talk down to us but speaks as a guy trying to describe his favorite movie, one that you haven’t seen yet. As Jimmy Conway, De Niro is somewhat more subdued than usual (perhaps to make way for Pesci’s role), and he’s almost always got a friendly smile on his face, but there always seems to be more to him than he lets on.

Scorsese, along with his co-writer Nicholas Pileggi, wanted to call this film “Wiseguy,” the title of Pileggi’s novel about the real-life Henry Hill. But because of a recent television mini-series about the Mafia entitled “Wiseguy,” it was changed to “Goodfellas.” Though the change to the title was not one of choice, it ended up being better for the film, because “Goodfellas” speaks so much more for Scorsese’s and Pileggi’s point. “Wiseguy” already implies something sinister in the undercurrent. But in this business, everyone’s a good fella, free of suspicion, until he turns on you.