Mafia Movies
Goodfellas
The Yakuza
Greetings, family. You come to me on the day of my double feature blog, wanting some kind of entertainment: a cinematic spectacle of blood, sweat, and the corruption that built this country. I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse, and present to you a mob movie double feature, fit for our crime-and-violence-obsessed culture. I’m pretty sure I learned what the mafia was before I learned that Santa isn’t real, because these stories of loyalty and greed are such a staple of our media and pop cultural history. Like any good cinephile, I’ve seen The Godfather, and for this blog I’ve watched various mafioso movies like The Departed, Romeo Must Die, Feeling Minnesota, The Cook The Thief His Wife and Her Lover, Summer of Sam, The Devil Queen, Sorcerer, Coffy, Foxy Brown, King Creole, Sister Act, Some Like It Hot, Gloria, Bound, Connie & Carla, A Most Violent Year, and probably more that could be classified as “mob movies” but I’ve forgotten because this premise is just so prevalent on screens big and small. In 2020, I began my COVID-lockdown-existential-nightmare by fully immersing myself into two gripping and iconic pieces of New Jersey and mob media—The Sopranos and The Real Housewives of New Jersey—and ever since, I am incredibly intrigued by this world. The fierce loyalty, the shocking betrayals, the understandable disdain for the feds and the narcs, the desire to protect one’s family and community by any means necessary—it all just makes sense, and it is always thrilling to watch unfold. The mafia feels like something that could be made up solely for narrative excitement, like quicksand or hitmen, but it is very much real. The mob empire as we once knew it is not nearly as powerful as they once were thanks to the RICO Act, but also due to the fact that some of their greatest economic ventures have dwindled as a result of technological evolution. Less cash businesses exist, less black markets exist in the flesh, and most forms of gambling and sports-booking are legal now. The history of the mob is one of American progress and capitalistic change, for better or worse. It’s the story of immigrants, of how they built this country and found ways of survival within the impossibly narrow scope of the American dream. The mafia may not exist in the same capacity they once did, but their presence is still profound, as the mob aesthetic and premise persists in our culture. I still have plenty of mafia movie blind spots, but tonight I plan to remedy this slightly, by diving deep into a classic mafia film and a lesser-known mafia film.
Up first is a film I probably should’ve watched for my Scorsese double feature, because it’s likely his most beloved film, but I just had to save for a night of proper mafia movie madness, this is Martin Scorsese’s 1990 film Goodfellas. I am, of course, familiar with this movie, due to the Animaniacs’ classic characters—Goodfeathers—but I had to visit the actual material and see what all the fuss is about. Goodfellas, based on the non-fiction book Wiseguy, follows the true story of Henry Hill, a well-connected associate of the New York City faction of the mob. As Henry (played by Ray Liotta) narrates, “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster. To me, being a gangster was better than being the President of the United States. Being somebody in a neighborhood full of nobodies, they could do anything they wanted: double park anywhere and not get a ticket, play loud card games all night and no one called the cops.” As a teenager in 1950s Brooklyn, he starts small, valeting cars for the toughest wiseguys in his neighborhood, and little by little, petty crime by petty crime, he builds up his resume. Henry buddies up to the boss, Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino), fellow novice wiseguy Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci) and especially Jimmy Conway (Robert DeNiro), and when school begins sending letters to Henry’s house about his truancy, the wiseguys rough up the mailman to ensure his house stops receiving those letters. At 13 years old, Henry is making more money than any upstanding citizen in his neighborhood, and by the time he grows up, he’s fully part of the family—even though his half-Irish heritage prevents him from the honor of becoming a “made” man. As dishonorable as this profession may be, Henry is about as honorable as one can be, but his buddy Tommy has already developed a flair for taking advantage of the system. Tommy even uses his friend Henry when Tommy’s gal refuses to go out with him alone, so Henry has to go on a double date with them and another “Jew broad” named Karen (Lorraine Bracco.) Though Henry is incredibly rude and disinterested in Karen at first, the two hit it off the second she yells at him and puts him in his place—a true hot-headed Italian stereotype if I ever did see one. The rest of the film follows Henry and Karen’s love story and Henry’s descent into shadier and shadier business, as cocaine becomes more en vogue and Henry’s interests develop beyond wanting to take care of his family. Goodfellas is a fascinating and enthralling portrait of mid-century America, and the grimy climb to the top of the food chain. I had no idea that Samuel L. Jackson, Debi Mazar, Ileana Douglas, and Kevin Corrigan were in this, but I did know that Scorsese cast his mom in this, and she did a phenomenal job. In addition to the super fun cameos from 27 Sopranos alumni like Tony Sirico, Frank Vincent, Michael Imperioli, Suzanne Shepherd, Vincent Pastore, Frank Albanese, Tony Daro, Tony Lip, Frank Pellegrino, Chuck Low, and more, I was blown away by how aesthetically perfect this film was. The tacky 50s furniture to the tacky 80s furniture, the overpainted New Jersey women’s faces and shoulder padded garments, the red and white checkered tablecloths and lantern-lit restaurants and every bit of gaudy gorgeousness—not to mention the dynamite soundtrack—was all detailed and tailor-made impeccably. I’m shocked that Goodfellas didn’t even receive a nomination for production design because that was one of my biggest takeaways from watching it, just how divine the styling and set pieces were, but I’m not surprised that Joe Pesci won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor. Scorsese described his approach to making this film, “To begin Goodfellas like a gunshot and have it get faster from there, almost like a two-and-a-half-hour trailer… it’s the only way you can really sense the exhilaration of the lifestyle, and to get a sense of why a lot of people are attracted to it”, and I think this was done incredibly well. Scorsese and Liotta were both in contact with the real Henry Hill—who was, before his passing, living in Witness Protection—and the ex-mobster apparently loved the film. Stylistically, Goodfellas inspired many other films and the way they were shot (with the famous, continuous tracking shot inside the Copacabana having particular influence) and in terms of narrative, it only fueled our culture’s obsession with organized crime further. I really enjoyed Goodfellas, the folksy dialogue full of the word “fucko” and all of the dedicated performances. As chaotic and pulpy as this film is, it is all strung together elegantly by Scorsese’s longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker.
I’m not sure if tonight’s next film has that same elegant organization, but it was still pretty fun nonetheless, this is Sydney Pollack’s 1974 film The Yakuza. Another longtime collaborator of Martin Scorsese’s, Paul Schrader, wrote the script for this film alongside his brother Leonard, with punch-ups by Robert Towne, and—to no one’s surprise—this story about the Japanese mob and a group of Americans who get involved in some international shady business wound up being a bit convoluted. I’ve covered the yakuza only briefly, in my review of Masahiro Shinoda’s film Pale Flower, but I am endlessly curious about the Japanese faction of the mob, how they operate, the code they abide by, and the even chicer aesthetics they occupy, so I had to explore this further. Perhaps a mostly-American-made film was not the best place to educate myself on the ins and outs of the yakuza, but I was far too intrigued to see this 1970s era of Japan to resist. Robert Mitchum stars as retired Detective Harry Kilmer, who receives a call from his friend, a businessman named George Tanner (Brian Keith) who is in a real tough spot. For reasons that are not fully disclosed until later, George is in cahoots with the yakuza, who just kidnapped his daughter. Both Harry and George were Marine Military Police during the post-war occupation of Tokyo, where Harry became inadvertently involved with the yakuza after he saved a woman named Eiko who was just trying to get black market penicillin for her daughter. The two swiftly fell in love, Harry moved in with her, and Eiko’s brother, Ken (Ken Takakura), became so tortured by his former-enemy-turned-savior living in his house, that Ken disappeared into the yakuza criminal underground and refused to see his family again. Harry now needs Ken’s help—even though he has since left the yakuza, and getting involved in their business now would be a death sentence—but Harry is most anxious to see his old flame Eiko again. Harry never stopped loving Eiko—he even gifted her a bar and coffee shop which she still operates—but things are different now, and the stakes seem even higher. Harry and Ken are able to successfully save George’s daughter from the tattooed clutches of the yakuza, but as the two men delve deeper into the criminal underbelly of Tokyo, they realize that everything may not be as it seems. The Yakuza is one of the slowest-moving action-packed neo-noir thrillers I’ve ever seen, and Robert Mitchum has slightly more grace but all the redness in his skin pigmentation as John Wayne in an old Western. It is at time sleek and effortless—as when a man tries to covertly shoot at our heroes, but one of them grabs a katana and slices his arm off, firing the gun as the arm floats mid-air—but it is also oddly-paced, stiff, and shot like a made-for-tv movie. As with the Italian-American mafia, the yakuza are bound by a code of honor, loyalty, and discretion, they respect their pecking order and economic interests, and they meet solely in shadowy, smoke-filled rooms and clubs where gambling is the least nefarious crime on the menu. Unlike the mafia I’m familiar with though, the yakuza has a certain refinement, a cohesion, and I’m sorry to my gabagools but, a certain coolness that cannot be matched. The bravado of chauvinistic macho men isn’t as prevalent in this realm of organized crime, which makes the sloppy, gun-toting, shoji-breaking antics of the American infantry here stick out like a sore thumb. Still, I was somewhat impressed by the twists in this movie, Robert Mitchum’s loose grip on the Japanese language, and the only minimal-cringe-worthiness of the weeaboo-old-dudes-who-killed-Japanese-men-in-the-war-then-fell-in-love-with-the-culture that is on full display here. The reviews of this film back in the 70s were way harsher than this film warranted, with Gary Arnold of the Washington Post referring to director Sydney Pollack as, “…sentimental about violent men, but (not) on their wavelength”, and I just don’t think it was that bad. It wasn’t that good, either, don’t get me wrong, but for a film like this to be made before the Western obsession with anime and Japanese culture really boomed is a feat in and of itself. It was almost directed by Martin Scorsese, it was Robert Mitchum’s last leading role in a film, and even though Warner Bros wanted a “strictly martial arts picture”, the team behind The Yakuza delivered something much more interesting and layered. While I never wish a remake upon any “older” film, I am kinda curious what a modern-day-but-maybe-still-set-in-the-70s version of this film would be. They’d probably find a way to mess it up, but I could picture a Josh Brolin-type stumbling his way through Japanese and bringing a gun to a katana fight pretty clearly. Well that’s enough chatter for one sit-down, but I thank you for stopping by and doing business with me. Until next time, you didn’t see nothin’, capisce?
