Gangster Squad (2013)

Gangster Squad, a movie about assembling a team for a top-secret mission, is a film whose story resembles its own structure, in that the film is as much an assembly of component parts from other prominent films in the genre.  Whether this collage method hurts the film is up for debate (though I contend that the comparisons do violence to the film), but the final product before us is a stylish and reliably enjoyable experience.

Los Angeles, 1949, is the playground of mobster Mickey Cohen (Sean Penn), who lives beyond the reach of the corrupt law force until Chief Bill Parker (Nick Nolte) establishes an extralegal “gangster squad” to take down Cohen without the sanction of their badges.  Among others, “Sarge” John O’Mara (Josh Brolin) recruits smooth-talking Jerry Wooters (Ryan Gosling) to join the squad, unaware that Wooters has been romancing Cohen’s girl Grace (Emma Stone).

When I initially described the movie as a cross between the plot of The Untouchables and the look of L.A. Confidential, I tried to do so without derision, recognizing almost immediately that Gangster Squad is not of the same A-list caliber as those two instant classics.  In fact, my chief complaint about Gangster Squad – that it doesn’t do anything particularly new with the genre – stems from my familiarity with the other two films to the point of absorption; knowing The Untouchables as well as I do made the similarities apparent to the point of prediction and distraction.

What Gangster Squad does not do, then, is break new ground.  But does it have to?  On one level, probably, because who wants to see remake after remake, but on the other hand my proclivity for writing favorable reviews stems from my chief intention when going to the movies:  I want to have a good time.  And Gangster Squad allowed me to do just that.  I admit the film isn’t perfect – the Manichean worldview with accompanying narration is a bit heavyhanded, and we never really find out Grace’s angle – but what works in the film is the atmosphere of old Hollywood mixed with the contemporary aesthetic and sense of humor.

Brolin and Gosling turn in reliably engaging performances, and the other members of the squad – though likely not authentic – possess a modern sensibility and delightful self-awareness, particularly Robert Patrick’s Wild West throwback.  The biggest surprise is not Stone finally playing a postwar vamp (a type, incidentally, into which she fits quite well) but rather Penn’s performance as Cohen.  Obscured behind Dick Tracy makeup, Penn never plays too cool for the room nor hides behind his Oscar cred (or otherwise irksome off-screen persona); instead, he gets right into the spirit of the movie and embraces the hammy characterization required of his villainous role.  While Gosling is clearly a rising star (if he’s not there already), it’s hard not to say that Penn steals the show even more than De Niro did in The Untouchables.

Gangster Squad exists somewhere in the gray zone between modern mobster movie (i.e., The Departed) and retro gangster chic (i.e., Boardwalk Empire).  But the blending of the two modes works for the film because of how unapologetically stylized it is; nothing seems accidental, and the film seems aware of its own indulgences, particularly the video game-esque shootout sequences.  I’m usually opposed to movies that play the “video game card,” but Gangster Squad knows itself well enough to ramp up the visuals in order to compensate for that potential distance from the audience.

It isn’t an instant classic, to be sure, but I suspect that the people who will be drawn to Gangster Squad are exactly the kinds of people for whom the film was made – those who will find themselves entertained by the time the credits roll.  Count me among them.

Gangster Squad is rated R “for strong violence and language.”  The film is surprisingly bloody, almost Tarantino-lite, and the language is standard “R” fare, with a few implied sexual encounters for good measure.

On Thursday, our road to the Oscars continues with Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty.  Stay tuned!

Monday at the Movies - May 28, 2012

Welcome to Week Twenty of “Monday at the Movies.”  On tap this week:  a few threequels, nostalgia, and Gary Cooper’s Cinema King debut.

The Godfather: Part III (1990) – Part III has become a kind of punchline, shorthand for the unnecessary and subpar sequel.  Even Francis Ford Coppola has tried to distance himself by labeling this merely an “epilogue.”  To be sure, Part III has its flaws – first, it is not the brilliance of The Godfather, nor does it enhance the original as Part II did.  Second, Robert Duvall is absent, courtesy of a contract dispute.  Third, Sofia Coppola as Michael’s daughter... well, you’ve heard all the jokes, and they’re all accurate.  But the film has its positives, too, often neglected in the dead faint to insult the film.  Seeing Michael make good on his promises to legitimize is satisfying, and Andy Garcia’s role as Vincent Mancini (the illegitimate son of Sonny Corleone) ought to have been a star-making one, since his work is compelling and entertaining with a respectful dash of James Caan thrown in for appropriate measure.  I had said that Part II was a sequel to a film that didn’t need one, but Part III is a sequel – pardon, epilogue – that doesn’t quite fit with the rest of the franchise.  Al Pacino in particular, genius that he was in the earlier films, seems inconsistent; he’s more bluster a la Devil’s Advocate than the quiet man we last saw on the park bench at the end of Part II.  Where Talia Shire successfully navigates the interim to portray Connie as, at last, her father’s daughter, it’s difficult to see a more happy-go-lucky Michael with only glimpses of how tortured he ought to be.  Part III isn’t enjoyable in the way that the first two are, although it’s fun to see the way that it reflects and refracts its predecessors; we have a mass execution of the dons, a romantic confession in a kitchen, a trip to Italy, a passing of the torch complete with ring kissing, and Diane Keaton still left in the doorframe, but they mean different things here and serve as fun nods to those in the know.  Ultimately, the film concludes as every Godfather film ought to – a bloody settling of accounts – and Pacino all but redeems himself at the tragic opera finale.  Forget Fredo – it was you, Al; you broke my heart.  Required viewing, if only to conclude the saga, but there’s a reason it never stands shoulder to shoulder with its older, more sophisticated brothers.

Midnight in Paris (2011) – It surprises me that this is the first Woody Allen film I’ve reviewed on this blog, since I’ve practically lived the movie Annie Hall (right down to the awkward primary school education of a precocious bespectacled redhead) and love a whole host of his other films (especially Play It Again, Sam; The Purple Rose of Cairo; and Match Point).  And on the advice of so many of my colleagues who know literature like I do, I checked out Midnight in Paris on the strength of the premise:  Owen Wilson plays the stock Woody Allen character who roams the streets of Paris and slips through time into the 1920s to meet literary icons like F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom “Loki” Hiddleston), Ernest Hemingway (a spot-on Corey Stoll), and Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates).  Unfortunately, Midnight in Paris is a film that never quite lives up to its conceit; it’s a fantastic idea, don’t get me wrong, but it’s mismanaged and underutilized.  I’d much rather see a Hiddleston/Stoll buddy biopic of Fitzgerald and Hemingway than the Owen Wilson movie we get.  Premise aside, there’s not much original here:  Wilson plays the same Woody Allen character we’ve seen a million times, Rachel McAdams is Regina George, all grown up; Michael Sheen plays the cuckolding academic, another Allen-trope; and Wilson’s life-changing revelation is as plain as... well, the nose on his face.  The best parts of the movie are the scenes when the writers take center stage, but these moments are not frequent enough, and indeed not all of them work (although Adrien Brody as Salvador Dalí is quite entertaining); all told, Midnight in Paris is a bit like an episode of Saturday Night Live – a few good sketches worth rewatching but overall less than enjoyable.

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) – The combination of Frank Capra and Gary Cooper is enough to get my butt in the seat.  I’ve long been nostalgic for the simpler world Capra’s films present, and I’ve made holiday traditions out of It’s a Wonderful Life and Arsenic and Old Lace.  And after High Noon and especially The Fountainhead, Gary Cooper can do no wrong in my eyes.  Here Cooper plays simple man Longfellow Deeds, an aspirant poet who inherits $20 million (upwards of $311 million today) and finds that all that glitters isn’t quite golden.  Like later Capra/Cooper joint Meet John Doe (1941), Deeds becomes the center of a media frenzy, courtesy of romantic interest and newspaper spy Babe Bennett (Jean Arthur).  In the final analysis, Mr. Deeds isn’t my favorite Capra film (Arsenic and Old Lace takes that cake, meaning I should probably get around to reviewing it on here).  There are parts that take a bit too long for anything to happen, and the slapstick comedy isn’t as prevalent here as I might have liked on a Sunday evening.  Moreover, almost all of the characters in the film are extremely unlikeable, even Bennett, who doesn’t atone for her sins until the very end of the picture.  Fortunately, though, Cooper is one of those actors who’s so charismatic that his hard work redeems many of a film’s flaws; his performance here is consistently and satisfactorily compelling, charmingly entertaining and touchingly empathetic.  To paraphrase former dean of American pop culture Tony Soprano, “Whatever happened to Gary Cooper?”

Superman III (1983) – First things first, this is not a Superman movie.  Unlike the two films that preceded it, Superman III doesn’t star Christopher Reeve as the Man of Steel, even though he finally gets top billing.  Rather, this is a Richard Pryor movie in which his character, Gus Gorman, attempts to pull one over on Superman by manipulating computers, weather satellites, and giant foam cowboy hats.  The greatest compliment I paid the RichardDonner cut of Superman II was that it excised a lot of Richard Lester’s slapstick inclinations; unfortunately, those inclinations are given full rein here, most egregiously in the moment when Pryor skis down the side of a skyscraper while wearing a pink tablecloth as a cape.  It’s a real shame, because there’s a great Superman movie in here somewhere.  Reeve is doing continually solid work as the Last Son of Krypton, especially when defective Kryptonite transforms him into a dark reflection of himself.  What’s more, his scenes opposite Annette O’Toole as former flame Lana Lang are a fulfilling fill-in for his relationship with the absent Lois Lane (a shame, since Margot Kidder’s portrayal is definitive).  But Lester’s priorities are clear; he’s more interested in Pryor’s twitchy brand of humor than in superheroics, more in the villains than in the film’s ostensible hero.  Worse, the villains on which the film focuses are nowhere near as interesting as the posthuman-converting computer, an apparent riff on the comics’ Brainiac; I’d much rather have seen Superman square off against an army of robot people than the would-be moguls herein.  When the chips are down, color me a Donner fan.  It’ll take a lot of work out of Zack Snyder next year to make me a true believer.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!  And stay tuned, because later this week I’ll be bringing you a full review of yet another threequel – this time, it’s Men In Black III!

Monday at the Movies - April 30, 2012

Welcome to Week Eighteen of “Monday at the Movies.” Just when you thought we were out, we’re pulled back in to the world of The Godfather!

The Godfather: Part II (1974) – There are those who say the sequel is better than the 1972 original. I don’t know about all that (I’m incredibly fond of the first Godfather), but Part II is every bit as good as the film that preceded it. Simultaneously a prequel and a sequel, Part II juxtaposes the rise of immigrant Vito Corleone (Robert De Niro) with the tenure of his son Michael (Al Pacino) as he contends with moves for legitimacy in the Vegas casino industry, an assassination attempt facilitated by a betrayal from within, a Congressional inquisition, and a smiling enemy (Lee Strasberg as Hyman Roth) attempting to slide a knife in his back. For my money, the Vito chapters are stronger, although I appreciate the Michael scenes more each time I see the film for two reasons: one, I enjoy the difficult plot the more I understand it and recognize the subtlety; and two, Al Pacino’s performance here is likely his all-time career best. (Take, for example, the exchange between him and his wife when Kay tells him she’s taking the children.) As before, the supporting cast excels: Robert Duvall’s work as Tom Hagen reminds me how empty that part of Part III felt, De Niro and Bruno Kirby are spot-on as Vito and Clemenza without feeling slavishly bound to the original actors, and John Cazale absolutely steals the movie as the malleable brother Fredo. In fact, Pacino and Cazale have what I maintain is the best scene of the film, a boathouse confessional which should have netted an Oscar for both; theirs is the relationship which anchors the film, for which I find myself, as I get older, returning to the film more than for the Vito plotline, which is amusing and entertaining, a lighter counterpart to the heavy burden with which Michael finds himself saddled by the film’s end. The first film needed no sequel, but the second proved how much more could be added to the saga; having only seen the third installment once, I’ll be curious to see if it transcends this film’s sense of completion.

Stay tuned for the final Godfather review. But for now, that does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monday at the Movies - April 16, 2012

Welcome to Week Sixteen of “Monday at the Movies.” Only one film this week, one that makes me think I really ought to put up a “Top 10 Movies” list.

The Godfather (1972) – Forty years and one month ago, a film widely regarded the best of all time opened in American cinemas. Based on the brutally popular Mario Puzo novel, The Godfather has achieved iconic status in global pop culture, rendering any comments I might add as mere kindling to the inferno. Everyone knows the story – Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) runs one of New York’s top mob families, and as the film progresses we witness his son Michael (Al Pacino) move from war hero to father’s son. What struck me about this most recent rewatch was the way that every scene is memorable, with no moments of dry disinterest. We move from the wedding to the backroom deals to assassination plots, through a tour of Italy to rises and falls in the Corleone family, concluding with the often-imitated baptism montage and the film’s final moments, which imbue as much gravitas on a closing door as possible. The dialogue is snappy and eminently quotable, the performances are riveting, Nino Rota’s soundtrack is the ultimate in mafia music, and director Francis Ford Coppola set the standard for what every other mob movie now has to live up to. There's so much more that I could say about the film, so much that deserves mention - James Caan's hotheaded Sonny, Robert Duvall's perfectly collected Tom Hagen, Richard S. Castellano's lovable heavy Clemenza (who wouldn't want this guy at a wedding?), and even Abe Vigoda's work as Tessio, proving that he hasn't aged a day since 1972 because he's been 90 all his life. And in an era where we’re texting and multitasking to our brain’s fullest capacity, I was flabbergasted that the film’s three-hour runtime never bored me or forced me to grab my iPad to check e-mails or Facebook. So strong is the allure of this film after more than forty years that it’s as close to Italian wine as film has captured – improving with age and making us look forward to the next installment. My only regret is that I didn’t have time this week to return for the sequel, but reviewing the next films in the series is an offer I cannot refuse.

Stay tuned for more reviews of The Godfather franchise, but for now that does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Casino (1995)

The Martin Scorsese showcase continues here at The Cinema King with 1995's Casino, Marty's second and final collaboration with writer Nicholas Pileggi, his third and final with Joe Pesci, and his eighth and (to date) final with Robert DeNiro.

In many ways, the idea of this film being a "final" film is brutally apparent, as the film is another rise-and-fall story - albeit heavy on the "fall." When the film begins, Sam "Ace" Rothstein (DeNiro) has it all: a foolproof way to beat the odds whenever he bets, a kingdom in the form of the Tangiers Hotel and Casino, and a beautiful wife Ginger (Sharon Stone). His childhood friend Nicky Santoro (Pesci) doesn't have quite as much, but he comes to Las Vegas in order to take what he doesn't have. Ginger, meanwhile, has her jewelry, her former pimp (James Woods), and her problems with substance abuse. These three, against which is set the ultimate fall of Las Vegas from the Mafia's hands into the hands of corporate American tourism, have everything to lose, and their own personal ambitions make sure of it.

I've always thought of this film as the unofficial sequel to Goodfellas, both because of the DeNiro/Pesci/Scorsese reunion and because of blatant thematic similarities that make these two almost impossible to watch or review separately. Viewed almost back-to-back, I'm prepared to say that Goodfellas is the better of the two, but only in the same way that The Beatles are better than The Rolling Stones; that is, though both have undeniably epic qualities to them, there's something a little more polished about the former that makes the coarser qualities of the latter more difficult to appreciate. While Goodfellas is a 10 in my book, Casino hits closer to a 7 or an 8, for reasons to be discussed below. [Be warned that I'm going to begin discussing the film's main themes, which in turn involves some reveal of the film's ending. Though it pains me to do this for any who haven't seen the film, a) you already know my take on Casino, and b) Scorsese movies are always best discussed like Shakespearean tragedies instead of conventional Hollywood films - with full view of the ending, which is less about surprise and more about revelation.]

The atmosphere of finality pervades the entire film, so much so that its ending is entirely gloomy and perhaps unsettling for many viewers. Where Goodfellas ended on a sadly poignant note, marking one man's fall and the very personal toll it took upon him, Casino represents the end of an era - and not just in a metafictional kind of way, though this being Scorsese's final Italian Mafia picture counts, too. Casino is all about the ways that personal vice destroy lives, which are in turn interconnected with other lives. Sam, Nicky, and Ginger represent a precarious pyramid perched atop an even larger pyramid, and the actions of one could topple the whole thing like a house of cards. Nowhere is this more apparent than in a key scene in which one mob underling's grumbles in his family's deli end up on an FBI wiretap, which subsequently leads to increased federal scrutiny, which then leads to the fall of the mob's control of Las Vegas. Yet within this issue is the microcosm of Sam Rothstein and his own personal trials - very few of which he passes in the long run.

Not to mention that almost everyone ends up dead at the film's conclusion. Where prison and ignominy awaited the Goodfellas, almost all the characters in Casino who don't go to prison wind up buried in a hole in the desert - a denouement composed in montages of operatic brutality which reflect none of the lighthearted sensibilities that governed Goodfellas. Perhaps, then, my comparative favoring of Goodfellas over Casino stems from the degree to which the respective endings leave me feeling fuzzy; there is very little joy in Casino, which plays out much more like an epic tragedy than a personal narrative about individual consequences.

The performances aren't quite as good as in Goodfellas, due in part to the conspicuous absence of the uber-talented but perenially underused Ray Liotta. DeNiro isn't as strong here as previously, though he's a few steps above phoning it in; his portrayal of Rothstein is believable but not layered enough to be abundantly interesting. His character is one-note and a little predictable, making the film overall less enjoyable. Pesci, though, steps his game up a notch; where Tommy DeVito was unpredictable in terms of his violence in Goodfellas to the point of being surprising each time he lashed out, Nicky Santoro is a con man of the first order, never telling anyone but the audience what he thinks and what his angle is. Scenes where he tries to play Sam and Ginger against each other mark high points in his deception, and his cognizance of his own culpability in their collective fall is sterling - not to mention the fact that he's angrier here than ever. Don Rickles and James Woods turn in small parts, with Rickles revealing he's actually a talented dramatic actor while Woods is perfectly sleazy and entirely loathsome. And major props to Ms. Stone for making Ginger out to be a wholly repulsive character; she's a few levels above merely irritating because her acting allows us to understand her character (though we certainly shouldn't agree with her).

The camerawork by Scorsese is as stylized and stunning as before, with quirky camera angles, inventive use of freeze-frame (although one moment freezes almost too long, to the point where I actually got up and walked over to my DVD player to check for scratches), and helpful employment of multiple narrators to enrich moments on screen; though DeNiro and Pesci provide the bulk of narration, the most useful voiceover comes from Frank Vincent as Frankie Marino, who complements his own performance by letting us know why he's lying to his boss and informing us about the kinds of emotions that are being concealed by a suspiciously stony exterior. If I had a complaint about the direction of the film, it's that Casino is three hours long. The story sprawls (but never stalls), making itself into an epic (there's that word again) that feels complete. Consequently, though I'm griping about length, I'm not sure what I'd cut; Scorsese has kept everything essential in the film, and so all I'm left to grumble about is an abbreviated attention span. Good work, Scorsese, but I as a viewer will take the heat for the film's runtime.

This is starting to sound like a bad review, but it's really not. Casino has less to immediately enjoy and more to savor in the long run. With the end in sight, multiple viewings help the perspective and the focus become clearer. What's more, I think this movie lends itself more to thoughtfulness than to appreciation. Where it's easier for me to gush about the things in Goodfellas that I love, Casino makes me pause and reflect a bit more. In the moment, there aren't as many gut-busters - though there's no shortage of moments where you'll say, "Rock on, Scorsese" - and so I encourage you to go thoughtfully to Casino, ready to think before you can fully enjoy the filmic bouquet.

Though not quite as magical as Goodfellas and perhaps a bit too long for some viewers, Casino is nevertheless a fine outing for Scorsese and a more than adequate swan song for many of his collaborators.
No surprise, Casino is rated R "for strong brutal violence, pervasive strong language, drug use and some sexuality." This one is even more violent than Goodfellas, with incredibly violent and gruesome moments littered with more than 400 F-bombs (and a few C-bombs tossed in for good measure), as well as substantive abuse of drugs, alcohol, and chain-smoking. and several characters are depicted having sex though brief rear nudity is shown once out of focus.

Goodfellas (1990)

Every once in a while, I like to cleanse my palate by watching a really good movie, a tried-and-true classic, a flick that deserves to be on a "greatest movies of all time" list (a category so rare I don't have a tag for it, but I probably should). This time around, the entry is Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas.

The true story of the rise and fall of American mobster Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), Goodfellas is a biopic that borders on the epic. It begins with the simple declaration, "As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster." Soon Hill's dream comes true: he finds himself a mobster in league with the legendary Jimmy Conway (Robert DeNiro) and the unbalanced heavy Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci, in the role that rightfully earned him an Oscar). Life is glamorous, and times are good for Henry Hill - his suitable-for-a-romantic-comedy courtship with Karen (Lorraine Bracco) even results in an initially happy marriage. But soon the walls start closing in - financial and domestic pressure make him take bigger and bigger risks, Tommy's encounter with an old rival (Frank Vincent) culminates in disaster, and members of a significant heist start getting sloppy - and Henry begins to crack under the pressure of the crumbling Mafia institution.

The plot may seem formulaic by now, twenty years on, but that's because Goodfellas set the standard for what a gangster biopic needed to be in much the same way that The Godfather (another Greatest Movie) had defined what a Mafia epic looked like. As such, the only word I can think of to describe Goodfellas is "definitive." (Well, that's actually not true. I can think of many more superlative adjectives, so stay tuned.) Everything about this movie - the performances, the script, the direction, the soundtrack - just clicks, and the two-plus hours simply fly by. As with all of Scorsese's great movies, there's not a scene here that's wasted, not one moment where you think, "I could go to the bathroom here and not miss a thing." Though not every scene is of critical importance to the film's plot, there's something to enjoy in each moment; if the plot isn't at the forefront, it's a knockout performance or dynamite direction to hold your attention.

In praise of the performances, I can only say good things. Each actor/actress, big role or small walk-on (keep your eyes peeled for an early Sam Jackson), is incredible in his/her part. The three leads - DeNiro, Liotta, and Pesci - are all at the top of their respective games here. While I loved him in The Godfather, Part II, here DeNiro is at his best: mildly subdued but with a simmering don't-cross-me attitude that conveys menace with each insincere smile. Liotta, of course, is the undisputed star (despite what movie marketing might suggest), and he's explosively exciting; even his narration (a cinematic technique I often find heavyhanded and lazy) is entertaining in a way that propels the movie forward while often providing an ironic counterpoint to the events on-screen (as when he narrates about the respect and happiness his new career brings, while showing us his unique way of destroying a parking lot filled with cars). And if DeNiro and Liotta are "simmering" and "explosive," Pesci is downright nuclear, a full-on H-bomb on two legs; though small on stature, Pesci is big on energy and absolutely lethal if provoked. Each of his scenes is unforgettable, the very definition of a supporting character who almost steals the show. That much of the film's dialogue was improvised is an even greater testament to the skill of the actors at play.

But I've long contended that Scorsese is the real star of his movies, because all his films have an undeniable stamp of Scorsese-ness that's compelling in a way that isn't showy (I'm looking at you, Tony Scott). With Goodfellas in particular, I found myself sitting up straighter - even though I've seen this movie dozens of times - and saying to myself and to the fellow viewers who straggled in after being seduced by the film's siren-like magnetic allure, "Man, Scorsese is directing the daylights out of this picture." Goodfellas features one of my all-time favorite scenes of any movie ever: a three-minute take (with no cuts or tricks) in which Liotta and Bracco stroll through a nightclub's side entrance, mingling with gangsters and the kitchen staff before getting a front table at a Henny Youngman show. It's a mesmerizing scene, made all the more breathtaking once you realize midway through that all you see has been coordinated in one Steadicam shot. And the movie is littered with moments like this that prove what a stellar director Scorsese truly is and how brutally mistreated he was by an Academy that honored the snoozefest Dances with Wolves and its "director" Kevin Costner.

But if you're not up for all that aesthetic mumbo-jumbo -- if you're just looking to have a good time with a movie -- Goodfellas is a perfect choice, because it's a lot of fun. Even many viewings and several years down the road, the film is nuanced enough that there's still something to excavate, digest, and enjoy. The film has a strong sense of humor, balancing dramatic gravitas with comedic levity, the perfect hybrid of which comes in Pesci's iconic "How am I funny?" scene; here Pesci grills Liotta about a glib remark of "You're funny" and quickly takes a bawdy laugh fest from zero to "ruh-roh" with speed that'll give you whiplash. The scene rebounds and oscillates several more times before its end, which solidifies it as one of the most audacious examples of cinematic synecdoche, perfectly summing up the movie's attitude about its characters and about itself. But what separates this from any other mob movie is the moral compass which governs Goodfellas and its director Martin Scorsese; violence has consequences (guilt being the worst of all), and no one lives "happily ever after" in a world of all take and no give. So while we can laugh at absurdly violent moments like Henry Hill walking brusquely across a street to bludgeon a would-be rapist, the repeated violence and the recognition that this is part of a cycle makes the laughter uncomfortable, opening our eyes to the idea that this isn't all fun and games.

But it is still exuberantly fun. There's something funny in almost every scene - a discreet look, a clever delivery, an editing cut that punctuates with (often dark) irony - and if you're not enjoying yourself on a visceral (much less intellectual) level, the fault lies not in the film but in yourself.

Often readers disagree with my take on the movies I review here (most recently, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind sparked a bit of online and offline debate), but on this subject there can be no debate. Goodfellas is a fantastic film, one of the greatest ever made.
Goodfellas is rated R, undoubtedly for its nearly 300 uses of the F-word, grisly graphic violence, implied sexual (mis)conduct, and general not-appropriate-for-the-kiddies quality.

Public Enemies (2009)

Take two of my favorite actors - Johnny Depp and Christian Bale - have them adapt a stellar piece of history, and throw in Michael Mann, gangsters, and machine guns for good measure. Sounds like a recipe for success. Certainly expectations are high on this one. After all, the true story of John Dillinger is the stuff of legends - the Crown Point prison break, Baby Face Nelson, the lady in red (actually orange).

It took me all of a week to devour the 550+ pages of Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34, a top-notch work of nonfiction by Bryan Burroughs. The book focuses on a curious time in American history, when Bonnie & Clyde, the Barkers, John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, and Alvin Karpis were headlining the criminal culture - all at the same time. (Think about that: all these "yeggs" running around in the same two years.) At that moment in history, J. Edgar Hoover proposed converting the Bureau of Investigation into a more powerful organization, which would come to be known as the FBI.

The movie limits its scope somewhat, focusing primarily on the escapades of Dillinger (Johnny Depp) and the FBI's pursuit, led by Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) and bureaucratic brass Hoover (Billy "Dr. Manhattan" Crudup). Following Dillinger from an early prison break through his romance with Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) and up to the fateful night at the Biograph Theater. Mann's film is a curious mix of docudrama, gangster/G-man combat, and ruminations on mythologized figures - never quite sure what it wants to be.

The Burroughs book was exactly the same, its principal ambition to set the record straight and postmodernly demythologize the criminal figures dominating our cultural imagination. Yet Burroughs has nearly 600 pages to meander through the story. Mann's got two hours, which he uses to hit the high notes of the Dillinger-Purvis battle though the movie suffers from some heavy Hollywood romanticization. I don't want to be one of those "The book was much better than the movie" people (thank you, Jim Gaffigan, for identifying those irksome folks), and I'd hate to be the kind of guy who nitpicks and condemns the movie for failing to depict verbatim the source material on the screen. Remember, I'm the guy who was okay with the new Watchmen ending (Moore's original ending being something of a grail among literature). But whether you bring it into the theater with you or come out looking for it, make sure you get your mitts on a copy of the source material.

The good news is that Depp and Bale are sterling as ever, though Bale turns it down a notch and wisely allows the picture to be Depp/Dillinger's. Depp is as good as he's ever been, albeit somewhat restrained, with the perfect balance of charisma and anxiety. Crudup simmers as Hoover, suggesting with furrowed brow and impatient staccato delivery the depth of his desire (explored at length in the book) to be a powerful law agency. And Cotillard is drop dead gorgeous (something the real-life Frechette couldn't exactly claim), though a little empty in key points with her native accent slipping through at distracting moments; we can see clearly, though, what Dillinger sees in her - the chemistry between the two is touching, charming, and completely believable.

The film tries to tell all of these stories in a way that only an epic could. This is a very good movie, but like Brokeback Mountain it could have been great. Mann's direction is fine, especially in shoot-outs and heists, but the screenplay (as aforementioned) is a little confused (and, I speculate, could be confusing for novices of G-man lore). There's just something a little bit off besides the sour historical notes. It just doesn't break a whole lot of new ground; it's like The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford mixed with The FBI Story. The documentary feel of the film does exactly what it sets out to do, albeit with a little unnecessary Hollywood glitter sprinkled on. With another half hour to tell the stories more fully, Public Enemies could have been great.

As it stands, it's very good. (Keep reading for a fuller analysis, for those interested, of diversions from fact.)
Public Enemies, predictably, is rated "R for gangster violence and some language." The violence pervades the movie, with blood and guts following almost every gunshot in the film. Language didn't seem too bad to me, but maybe I'm saltier than I'd like to admit.

As for the historical issue, the film's principal "sin" is the romanticization of the Dillinger/Frechette... well, romance. Burroughs doesn't provide the sort of Hollywood "enduring love, never forgotten" subplot the film does, suggesting instead that Dillinger really did eventually let Frechette go. The film also curiously puts the closing act of Purvis's FBI career - the death of Pretty Boy Floyd - in the first reel of the film. Doubtless this is to gussy up Purvis's somewhat lackluster talents as an investigator; the book documents quite a few flubs on Purvis's part while the movie paints him as a more able G-man than perhaps he deserves credit. Like the film, Purvis was good - perhaps very good - but not great. The film also embellishes a Frank Nitti connection with Dillinger's eventual death.

Trailer Park: Public Enemies (2009)

I can't say how giggly it makes me to type "Johnny Depp" and "Christian Bale" in the same sentence. I can't say how much these two trailers - especially the first one - make me smile. I can't say how sorry I am that I'll be out of town and will have to miss opening day for this one by about two weeks.

That said, Michael Mann's true-story-biopic of the highly public rivalry between John Dillinger (Depp) and Melvin Purvis (Bale) is getting a whole lot of play, not just for the fact that Depp traveled to Crown Point, Indiana, to film in the actual prison from which Dillinger escaped (spoilers?). It's a powerhouse duo (accompanied, I'll concede, by recent Oscar winner Marion Cotillard) that is guaranteed to excite filmgoers. The potential for greatness here is high, and with a stellar cast and director (as well as the riveting true story behind it all) it's difficult to imagine it won't succeed.

This is how a trailer should be done - capturing in a heartbeat both the main personalities and the main conflict between them, all without giving away too much. The second trailer (as second trailers do) reveals a bit more of the plot, but since this is a true story fronted by A-listers it's doubtful anyone's buying a ticket solely for the twists and turns of the story.

Public Enemies holds up theaters on July 1.