Scorsese, born to working-class Italian-American parents in Queens, brings an insider's intimate understanding to this adaptation of Nicholas Pileggi's "Wiseguy." The film embodies his career-long fascination with power, masculinity, Catholic guilt, and the dark underbelly of the American Dream. "Goodfellas" represents Scorsese at the absolute zenith of his powers, wielding every cinematic tool with breathtaking confidence to create a descent into the mafia underworld that feels simultaneously mythic and devastatingly real.
The film's propulsive energy stems from its revolutionary approach to narrative structure and visual language. Scorsese's camera never rests—it glides, swoops, and prowls through the criminal ecosystem with hypnotic fluidity. The legendary Copacabana tracking shot alone stands as a masterclass in technical bravura serving thematic purpose, as Henry Hill's seductive entry into the privileged realm of mobsters unfolds in one unbroken movement that pulls us into his intoxicating new reality.
Ray Liotta delivers a career-defining performance as Hill, capturing the character's evolution from wide-eyed aspirant to paranoid cocaine addict with remarkable precision. His voiceover narration—intimate, conspiratorial, and increasingly frantic—creates an unsettling complicity between protagonist and audience. Robert De Niro brings frightening stillness to the role of Jimmy Conway, his understated menace a perfect counterpoint to Joe Pesci's explosive Tommy DeVito—a performance of such volatile unpredictability that scenes vibrate with the possibility of imminent violence. Who can forget the‘How the fuck am I funny?’ routine.
The film's brilliant use of music deserves particular note. Rather than commissioning a traditional score, Scorsese weaves a tapestry of period-specific pop songs that function as emotional timestamps, charting the narrative's progression from the romantic doo-wop of the 1950s to the paranoid chaos of the 1980s.
"Goodfellas" transforms the gangster film from romanticized mythology into visceral anthropology. It depicts the mafia not as a shadowy organization of masterminds but as a dysfunctional workplace populated by volatile personalities governed by Byzantine codes of conduct. The film's genius lies in how it seduces us with the glamour and camaraderie of mob life before methodically stripping away the façade to reveal its hollow core.
Thelma Schoonmaker's revolutionary editing creates a rhythm that mirrors Henry's psychological state—elegant and measured in the glory years, increasingly fragmented and chaotic as his world disintegrates. The cocaine-fueled final day sequence remains an unparalleled depiction of paranoia, with its frenetic cutting and disorienting perspective shifts.
Three decades after its release, "Goodfellas" continues to reverberate through contemporary cinema and television, its DNA evident in works from "The Sopranos" to "Breaking Bad." Scorsese's masterpiece stands as both definitive gangster film and searing deconstruction of the genre.
As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.’ Ray Liotta’s opening line is the crime movie equivalent of ‘Once upon a time…’, and what follows is Martin Scorsese’s version of a fairy tale – the story of a starry-eyed Brooklyn kid who realises his boyhood dream and still comes out a schnook in the end. Based on the true life of mobster Henry Hill, Goodfellas was born in the shadow of The Godfather, but as the years go on, the question of which is more influential becomes mostly a matter of generation. Certainly, the former is more easily rewatchable, owing to its breakneck pacing – its two and a half hours (and three decades) just whiz by. And for a movie about violent career criminals, it’s also strangely relatable. Where Coppola went inside the walls of organised crime’s one percent, Scorsese’s gangsters are more blue collar. And as it turns out, working for the mafia isn’t much different than any other job - you spend 30 years busting your hump to climb the ladder, only to end up face down on a bloody carpet in some tacky house in the burbs. — Matthew Singer
Sure, it’s a rush – but is that enough? ‘Goodfellas’ is often heralded as Martin Scorsese’s masterpiece, and there’s no ignoring the full-throttle intensity and bravura visual style that underpin the real-life tale of small-time gangster Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) as he rises and falls through the ranks of the New York mob. It’s a film of perfect moments: Henry’s ‘As long as I can remember’ voiceover at the start; a breathtaking tracking shot through the back rooms of a nightclub; Joe Pesci’s unforgettable ‘How the fuck am I funny?’ routine.
But it’s hard to shake the feeling that, rather like its characters, ‘Goodfellas’ lacks heart. This is a story of awful creeps and the women who love them, so it was never going to be a festival of feelgood. But the sinuous coldness of the camerawork, the viciousness of the violence and the depth of the degradation all make it easy to admire, but hard to really love. In ‘Mean Streets’ and even ‘Taxi Driver’, Scorsese made his loser heroes relatable. In ‘Goodfellas’, they’re just a bunch of well-dressed dirty rats.
Written byTom HuddlestonMonday 16 January 2017
