Funny, I was just thinking that I should re-watch Goodfellas to see whether I’d like it this time around. Thinking about it reminds me of how similarly empty The Aviator felt. A friend said of the latter film that Scorsese doesn’t know how to end a movie. But I think the real problem is that he frequently doesn’t know what to say about the crazy people whose stories he loves to tell.

In my more limited experience of Scorsese, this seems pretty accurate. Only Raging Bull seemed to have the kind of insight required to elevate a film to greatness. All the others seem lost in the particular details and interest of their narrative, details which are always entertaining, but not always particularly revelatory.

I figure it’s notable when we agree. I have only seen one of these movies, so it’s a brief agreement, but still. I hate Goodfellas. I hate gangsterism in general and I really hate movies that glorify it. I also hate The Godfather, which seems to be generally more controversial than hating Goodfellas.

seem lost in the particular details and interest of their narrative

I think this helps explain why The Departed worked, although it was far from great: as Scorsese has said, he made it just as a B movie, without all the deliberation about importance of particular history or especially “deep” characters. As a result, that movie became much more about plot and suspense, such that it was pleasant in a sort of Hitchcockian way.

Julia: I come from much the same disposition. I’ve grown to appreciate, however, at least two things about gangster stories—the good ones, that is. (To my experience, that includes The Wire and probably the first Godfather movie, with a smattering of others, including, I suppose, The Departed.)

First, gangsters provide a convenient mode in which to tell tight, plot-driven stories. On its own, I don’t really care about this characteristic. But, you know, it’s useful, especially in light of the next thing.

Second, when properly done, such stories provide a useful look at more essential elements of human life than we’re used to thinking about. The character of a gangster—someone who still wants to be a king—is a useful and necessary opposition to our experience as moderns. Unless we can know and sympathize with him, we won’t fully know his danger or the more seductive danger of being too democratic and legalistic. That second danger might be harder to see: I mean that we might be tempted to believe that the founding myths of America and modernity are scientifically true, bedrocks of the universe and human nature. But they most certainly are not: it is better to live as though all men are created equal even though they manifestly are not, and the material world is not in fact fully knowable or conquerable. By dealing with some of titanic forces that surround our sphere of civilization, gangster stories help us recall the true limits of our knowledge and power, and remind us of how much work is required to keep together this life we’ve chosen.

That said, lots of people like gangster stories because of their adolescent enjoyment of violence. Those people suck.

In some coincidental procrastination, I came upon this brief but chilling article. It’s essential to understand this phenomenon, doubly so because, as The Wire points out, such people exist all around us.