This blog post explores why Martin Scorsese’s film Goodfellas is regarded as his masterpiece and analyzes its impact on the gangster genre.

Goodfellas: Setting a New Standard for Gangster Films

Imagine Scorsese’s filmography without ‘Taxi Driver’. It’s unimaginable. Even now, the film that comes to mind when you think of Scorsese is ‘Taxi Driver’. On the other hand, a Scorsese filmography without ‘Goodfellas’ is somehow, with some effort, imaginable. “Ah, Goodfellas. It’s a truly great film. I’ve seen it over twenty times. Hmm, but is it really that great? After all, there’s The Godfather?”
Some even rank this film above The Godfather. Considering its influence, this doesn’t seem entirely unreasonable. Truthfully, has any gangster film since Goodfellas ever truly escaped its influence? It still frequently lands on cinephiles’ all-time top ten lists.
The film is generally regarded as a modern reinterpretation of the gangster genre’s traditions. It’s an old cliché, but it’s true. After this film, gangsters in gangster movies could no longer be portrayed like the Corleone family in The Godfather. It’s hard to imagine them sitting in huge chairs obscured by shadows within stark black-and-white contrast, stroking a cat while offering an irresistible proposal to their enemies in a raspy voice after downing a bowl of cigarette ash. We now know. That world is clearly false.
Here, the greatest trap we simultaneously fall into is that by evaluating this film solely within the traditions of its genre, we often miss its other great qualities. Or, by placing too much emphasis on the film’s historical significance, we miss the pure pleasure the genre itself provides.
I want to see this film as it is. More precisely, I want to approach it unarmed, stripped of any tools, freeing myself as much as possible from the influence of past criticism or its place in film history. I want to handle it carefully, like a timid puppy, caressing it meticulously before setting it down. The original purpose of this piece is genre criticism, so the intended direction is clearly genre criticism. However, I do not wish to dogmatically exaggerate the film’s genre characteristics. Now, 34 years after its release, I want to revisit this film purely through my own eyes.

A Bold Deconstruction of Existing Genre Traditions

Henry Hill is Irish. The significance of this heritage is somewhat sad. Only pure Italian bloodlines can become true family in the mafia world. No matter how high protagonist Henry Hill climbs, he can never join the mafia’s mainstream. Henry Hill is an outsider even within the mafia. Yet, Henry Hill dreams of the mafia from childhood. Within the environment where he was born and raised, the mafia becoming his future aspiration seems a natural conclusion. This dream of Henry’s is conveyed through Henry’s own narration.
This narration is the first major distinguishing feature setting it apart from other gangster genre films. Most other gangster films have little or no narration. The primary purpose of narration is the ‘delivery’ of the story. The primary purpose of gangster films is to show audiences that brutal and despicable world. This world differs from the ordinary world audiences inhabit, and it is depicted not through language but through sharp observation. In other words, it does not aim for storytelling through verbal delivery. Consequently, most elements of the gangster genre contribute to depicting that world.
‘Goodfellas’ departs from this here. Within this film, narration and visuals serve distinct roles. Henry’s narration is perpetually chatty. He incessantly rants about how despicable and pathetic the mob world he inhabits truly is. Simultaneously, the visuals always show a different situation. Of course, these are other stories that fit the context of the narration. But they are not the very story the narration is telling. This is precisely where the film becomes astonishingly rich. The narration doesn’t visually represent the very story it’s telling; instead, it visually represents a different story within the same context. These two distinct narratives create a synergy, deepening the story’s rich texture severalfold. This narration is a truly brilliant choice by director Scorsese and screenwriter Nicholas Pileggi.
The second defining feature is characters that defy any established gangster subgenre or individual cinematic precedent. Characters in gangster films since The Godfather were mostly meticulously and thoroughly formulaic. They were all either first-generation Italian immigrants or descendants of the first generation. While men handled the gangster work, women held considerable sway within the family. They are tightly bound by blood ties, primarily feeding off other bloodlines, yet they don’t hesitate to prey on fellow Italians when necessary. Most have connections with corrupt cops, receiving tacit police protection and mutual support. And if needed, they can quietly dispose of anyone, no matter who they are. Their murder skills are so professional they leave no trace. Betrayal, a brutal backstab, is routine. Above all, they are unnecessarily talkative and strive to maintain their dignity as gangsters. They always treat the gangster profession as just another professional occupation.
‘Goodfellas’ subverts all these established gangster formulas. The Italian mob Henry belongs to is vile, lecherous, and stupid. Their lechery, vileness, and stupidity are so extreme it makes you wonder if these characters even think at all. In this film, Henry is arguably the character with the most semblance of sanity. Jimmy is smart but has absolutely no moral compass. Jimmy constantly, creatively, and persistently rips people off with all sorts of shady schemes. Tommy is a near-madman character with obvious anger management issues. You never know when Tommy will explode in rage and put a bullet in someone for the flimsiest reason. The organization’s boss, Paul Siso, is probably the character that most aligns with traditional gangster genre conventions. Paul is a man of few words. He seems to give little direct orders, yet manages the entire organization flexibly, keeping it running smoothly and consistently.
Each of these characters radiates a distinct presence from their respective positions, actively participating in the narrative. Compared to traditional gangster films, the character composition here is, to put it bluntly, more chaotic, or to put it positively, more polyphonic. And within this chaotic, polyphonic structure, the real, unvarnished face of gangsters emerges, stripped of the usual fictional aura.
The biggest weakness of portraying it this realistically is that it betrays both the genre’s established conventions and the audience’s expectations. Most audiences go to see genre films already familiar with the basic conventions of that genre. Even if they aren’t familiar, they still carry some assumptions and expectations, like, “This is a gangster movie, so it’ll probably unfold like this.” ‘Goodfellas’ doesn’t satisfy these assumptions or expectations at all. This film doesn’t feature a single gunfight scene, an essential element of gangster movies. What matters more than gunfights in this film is the characters’ chatter. It has no interest in creating a glamorous aura around gangsters; its focus is entirely on how realistically it can depict that filthy street world and how vividly it can make the characters’ personalities come alive.

People Without Will

Every artist in the world always returns to what he originally wanted to say—the seed idea. While styles change and evolve over time, the core theme he pursues remains constant. Let’s examine Scorsese’s filmography based on this premise. What was the theme of his early masterpiece, Mean Streets? What about Taxi Driver? What about ‘Raging Bull’? And the surprisingly overlooked ‘Aviator’? Charlie, the protagonist of Mean Streets, flounders between the worlds of crime and religion, unable to find his own path, and dies miserably and bitterly. Charlie knows his path leads to death, but he cannot overcome his innate temperament and environment, walking willingly down the road to death and rupture. Travis, one of cinema’s most famous protagonists suffering from severe delusions of grandeur, becomes a hero in the dead-end alley he created for himself and perishes heroically. The protagonist of ‘Raging Bull’ and Howard Hughes of ‘The Aviator’ are no different. Howard Hughes clings to his severe obsessive-compulsive disorder until the very end, rotting away in his mansion.
Thus, all of Scorsese’s protagonists voluntarily walk the path to ruin. They possess sufficient intuition to realize their path is wrong, yet lack the will to change its direction.
In this regard, watching the characters in Scorsese’s films evokes a sense of déjà vu, reminiscent of reading Émile Zola’s naturalist novels. Indeed, they are similar. Here is a human being. Due to biological and environmental factors, their entire life is strictly predetermined. They slowly die, stepping through each stage of their inevitable catastrophe. These characteristics are both the defining feature of Scorsese’s films and the most fundamental convention of the gangster genre. In this sense, one could say Scorsese has always been making gangster films.
“Intelligent men without will.” Henry Hill, the protagonist of ‘Goodfellas,’ is no exception. There’s no law stating that all poor Irish immigrants must turn to a life of crime. Henry offers no resistance to the fundamental environment and disposition he was born into. He steps onto the predetermined path without any resistance, then methodically follows each step. Starting at the very bottom of the organization, doing all sorts of menial tasks, he begins to get his hands dirty in the distribution line as he grows a bit, and then, as he ages and gains experience, he gets directly involved in the business.
Henry’s business gradually expands, and after going to prison, he gets involved in drug trafficking. Drugs bring in a lot of money, but the risk is too great. What Henry had done up until now was petty theft, but drugs are like robbing the mint itself. The organization’s boss, Paul, warns him sternly: Don’t try to deceive me; quit now. Henry pays no heed and continues. Finally, cornered by the narcotics squad with no way out, Henry spills all the organization’s secrets to the police, leading to the complete destruction of the entire mafia operation. Strictly speaking, it’s not his complete ruin as a human being. While the other mobsters are sentenced to spend the rest of their lives in prison, Henry, after going through the witness protection program, can live like an ordinary person. It’s as if he’s been given another chance. The idea that life grants one more chance is an ending uncharacteristic of Scorsese. Ah, but this film’s screenplay is based on a true story. If so, this ending makes sense.

The end cannot be the end

Let’s look at this film’s story. One of Scorsese’s major filmmaking tenets applies here too (though not to all his films): the absence of a main plot. If earlier and later episodes are connected, and this flow produces a certain effect, then you could say there is a plot. And most gangster films aim precisely for this plot effect. After all, the greatest pleasure of the genre often comes from subtly adapting established plots to fit individual films. ‘Goodfellas’ takes the opposite approach. This film has no desire to produce such effects, and more fundamentally, the episodes themselves lack any connection. In fact, this parallel arrangement of episodes is also a defining characteristic of what we commonly call art house films.
Wait, is Scorsese an art film director? While Scorsese has openly acknowledged significant influence from European art cinema, particularly the French New Wave, it’s difficult to categorize his films as art films. Positioned on the periphery of Hollywood while pursuing auteurism, this unique stance prevents his films from being neatly pigeonholed into a single category. Scorsese is neither a B-movie director nor a blockbuster director. While his clear intent to impose his perspective onto his films suggests an auteurism rivaling the French New Wave, actually watching his films reveals how the shells of genre or historical narratives make it hard to find Scorsese’s own consistent viewpoint. (He does pursue certain themes consistently, such as the life of Italian immigrants). Yet he is undeniably an auteur. Above all, this is because he strives to observe human life as it is and depict it transparently.
Listing episodes means rejecting the perspective that the protagonist’s life races toward a single purpose. The events in the protagonist’s life do not converge toward a single focal point created by the writer’s will; rather, they scatter based on centrifugal force. And these scattered episodes are not all retrieved at once through a dramatic reversal near the film’s end. Furthermore, each episode possesses its own self-contained completeness. It can exist independently, without needing the presence of other episodes.
Let’s examine it! The most frequently referenced scene in this film: Tommy’s “Tell me how I’m funny” scene. This scene demonstrates Tommy’s hot-tempered nature and how, in the mafia world, even the most trivial incident can get you shot dead at any moment. It begins with Tommy recounting his bank robbery and ends with him playfully charging at the protagonist, Henry. The very next scene shows the restaurant owner, unable to endure Tommy’s harassment, complaining to Boss Paul. These two scenes share Tommy as a common element but unfold as separate narratives. The latter scene ends with Tommy and Henry setting the restaurant ablaze. These two scenes are connected solely by the element of time passing. Ignoring this element and reversing the order of the scenes does not harm the essential narrative of either. And most scenes in this film are strung together like this. Other gangster films don’t cut scenes together this way.
At the film’s end, Henry picks up the newspaper left at his front door, stares directly into the camera with a strange smile, enters his house, and closes the door. We know Henry will continue living, but we don’t know how. The film ends abruptly, but Henry’s life does not. It’s not the ending we typically expect from a Hollywood movie. We ordinary moviegoers always expect a definitive conclusion. The episodes must be connected, however faintly, with a sense of plausibility, while simultaneously racing toward the end. And at the conclusion, the chain of episodes must be closed, definitively resolved, and deliver some kind of emotional resonance to the audience. Scorsese’s film betrays this audience expectation.

Again (as always?), life is the problem

In fact, this more closely resembles our actual lives. Our lives aren’t constructed like a plot to produce a single effect; individual events aren’t placed in appropriate positions considering clear effects; they’re disjointed and chaotic, with main and subplots scattered haphazardly. We cannot see the lives of those around us clearly. No, it’s hard enough to see my own life properly. We strive relentlessly to understand life, yet we always fall short of complete comprehension. And Scorsese’s films are the same.
Returning to the topic of parallel structure, each parallel episode does not claim superiority over the others. Because they don’t claim superiority, all episodes simultaneously hold equal value or differing values. In this situation, it’s difficult to make value judgments about which episode among them has a greater impact on the protagonist’s life.
Going further, I believe Scorsese doesn’t judge the protagonist’s life itself. I find it difficult to judge the value of the protagonist’s life not only in this film, but in every Scorsese film I’ve seen. The protagonists in Scorsese’s films are grumpy misfits and subhuman bastards, yet they are also fundamentally good people. Can we truly judge the value of our own lives? There is no hierarchy between the life of President Obama of the United States and that of an old man collecting scrap paper. The value of a life is proven in the process of its creation, and only we ourselves can judge our own lives.
In his films, we consistently see a fierce effort to question and answer what it means to be human. This makes Scorsese both an outsider in Hollywood and a true auteur. Ah, and at the same time, he’s also a genre film director.

Back to Genre

This film is unmistakably a gangster movie. Seeing how it borrows and appropriately utilizes established formulas, there’s no doubt this film derives from the influence of existing gangster movies. Above all, in depicting the rise and fall of this immigrant generation serving the dark world, it faithfully follows the conventions of established gangster films. Furthermore, this film twists many aspects of existing gangster conventions at various levels. Beyond the aspects mentioned above, even a single tiny scene or a single subtle camera movement pursues a different direction from established gangster films.
Stepping back to view the larger picture, it seems Scorsese borrowed the outward appearance of the gangster genre to either expand that genre’s outward appearance or purely create his own distinct gangster genre. Moreover, if you hold a magnifying glass close to the film and examine it meticulously, you can glimpse the rich camera techniques borrowed from existing film history. If you turn your attention to the way scenes are strung together or the ambiguous ending, you can also see the film’s art-house qualities. Yet, most audiences who see this film feel they’ve watched a great gangster movie. Wasn’t Scorsese’s aim to fuse these myriad diverse intentions and techniques within the single, broad framework of the gangster genre?