Director: Martin Scorsese
Writers: Nicholas Pileggi, Martin Scorsese
Photography: Robert Richardson
Music: Martin Scorsese’s record collection
Editor: Thelma Schoonmaker
Cast: Robert De Niro, Sharon Stone, Joe Pesci, James Woods, Don Rickles, Alan King, Kevin Pollak, L.Q. Jones, Dick Smothers, Frankie Avalon, Frank Vincent, Don Ward, Melissa Prophet, Vinny Vella
I believe the general knock on Casino, the one I seem to hear a lot, is that it’s too much like Goodfellas—long movie, sprawling story, voiceovers propelling the action, big lively cast, Joe Pesci a terrifying ankle-biting purveyor of extreme violence. I guess that’s fair enough but I’m still a fan—maybe just a reflection of how much I like Goodfellas. For me, Casino is like getting seconds at the banquet, detailing another big story. Both are from books by cowriter Nicholas Pileggi. This time it’s the attempt of organized crime (aka the Mafia, etc.) to take over Nevada’s gambling industry in Las Vegas in the 1970s and 1980s—the attempt, and the failure. The big narrative arc of Casino was written up by Pileggi, director Martin Scorsese’s screenwriting collaborator here and on Goodfellas, and published the same year the movie came out as Casino: Love and Honor in Las Vegas. That’s the big picture context of everything going on here, but I suspect the plot points involving the characters are more on the fictional side.
The cast is undeniable, delivering on the high tragedy of a doomed love story, which feels like it comes from someplace ancient. Robert De Niro is Sam “Ace” Rothstein, a seemingly mild-mannered genius of a bookie. For much of the first two-thirds of the picture De Niro plays against type. We’ll get back to that. Joe Pesci is Nicky Santoro, childhood friend of Sam and a made mobster who sees Vegas as a vast opportunity for wealth by whatever means necessary. Sharon Stone is Ginger McKenna, a call girl who is beautiful (well, she’s Sharon Stone) but primarily into money. And James Woods is Lester Diamond, her one-time pimp. Sam falls hard for Ginger and marries her. Ginger just can’t quit Lester, but Sam says love will come in time. What could possibly go wrong?
I believe the general knock on Casino, the one I seem to hear a lot, is that it’s too much like Goodfellas—long movie, sprawling story, voiceovers propelling the action, big lively cast, Joe Pesci a terrifying ankle-biting purveyor of extreme violence. I guess that’s fair enough but I’m still a fan—maybe just a reflection of how much I like Goodfellas. For me, Casino is like getting seconds at the banquet, detailing another big story. Both are from books by cowriter Nicholas Pileggi. This time it’s the attempt of organized crime (aka the Mafia, etc.) to take over Nevada’s gambling industry in Las Vegas in the 1970s and 1980s—the attempt, and the failure. The big narrative arc of Casino was written up by Pileggi, director Martin Scorsese’s screenwriting collaborator here and on Goodfellas, and published the same year the movie came out as Casino: Love and Honor in Las Vegas. That’s the big picture context of everything going on here, but I suspect the plot points involving the characters are more on the fictional side.
The cast is undeniable, delivering on the high tragedy of a doomed love story, which feels like it comes from someplace ancient. Robert De Niro is Sam “Ace” Rothstein, a seemingly mild-mannered genius of a bookie. For much of the first two-thirds of the picture De Niro plays against type. We’ll get back to that. Joe Pesci is Nicky Santoro, childhood friend of Sam and a made mobster who sees Vegas as a vast opportunity for wealth by whatever means necessary. Sharon Stone is Ginger McKenna, a call girl who is beautiful (well, she’s Sharon Stone) but primarily into money. And James Woods is Lester Diamond, her one-time pimp. Sam falls hard for Ginger and marries her. Ginger just can’t quit Lester, but Sam says love will come in time. What could possibly go wrong?
The picture is buoyed and its length justified by all the details of the gambling industry and the ways of organized crime. Here, again, it is much like Goodfellas. Sam and Nicky trade off narrative duties on the voiceovers and they are just as compelling. Scorsese is breaking all the rules about avoiding voiceovers in both pictures, and in both pictures it works very well because the story is so fascinating. Here we are learning about how a casino operates, protects its cash, works to catch cheaters and punish them. We are also watching a conflict develop between Sam and Nicky. Sam operates a large casino in Las Vegas (reportedly based on the Stardust) and wants to do things by the book as much as possible. Nicky is a full-on degenerate and has no use for or interest in any proprieties—you know, it’s Joe Pesci, reprising Goodfellas—and he’s starting to draw too much attention to Sam.
In a way, Sam is doing the same thing as Nicky, but more from inside the system. He’s sending big cash payments monthly to his mob bosses in the Midwest. It’s fun to see De Niro so restrained and even deferential—Sam is Jewish and knows he can only push so hard against the Nevada good old boy network. His ethnicity is quiet here but insisted on at key points. He’s a character something like Jimmy the Greek, a wizard at odds-making and able to mix in company with his fine wardrobe, approximately one notch above Rupert Pupkin’s. But when the chips are down, as they say...
I do have some problems with Casino, of course—I know it’s well second behind Goodfellas. I see that point. Basically, the third hour reverts to a lot of familiar and somewhat unfortunate well-worked material. Sam Rothstein evolves into the Travis Bickle / Jake LaMotta control freak monster we know. Granted, he’s pushed to the edge by Ginger’s feckless inability to resist Lester. It’s not even really about sex with them, apparently, but only money, and relatively small amounts of money to a man as rich as Sam. Still, even now $25,000 is a substantial sum. Ginger wants it, Sam wants to know why, Ginger won’t tell him, he won’t let her have it, she steals it. Yes, of course, Lester is behind it.
Casino starts to feel like just nobody could help themselves. Pesci is constantly going over the top, though he can’t get quite as high as he did in Goodfellas. De Niro tries on a mild-mannered, under-control demeanor, which works as entertainment for much of the show. Check the glasses. Then it lapses into tried-and-true formula, which is one nice way of saying cliched. No complaints or notes on Stone or Woods. This tried-and-true formula of a story is somehow one I’m here for. The relationship between Ginger and Lester, which we learn started when she was 14, works for me as psychologically compelling and realistic, and incidentally contributing to the high suspense act of the picture’s biggest arcs. Maybe she’s a grown-up Iris, from Taxi Driver, but I’m OK with that. I am a little surprised, after all the complaints I hear about it, to find Casino ranked in the top 500 movies all-time at They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They? I mean, it’s a good bit off Goodfellas, up there at #60, but there it is, the second act, still faithfully shadowing and echoing its forebear.
In a way, Sam is doing the same thing as Nicky, but more from inside the system. He’s sending big cash payments monthly to his mob bosses in the Midwest. It’s fun to see De Niro so restrained and even deferential—Sam is Jewish and knows he can only push so hard against the Nevada good old boy network. His ethnicity is quiet here but insisted on at key points. He’s a character something like Jimmy the Greek, a wizard at odds-making and able to mix in company with his fine wardrobe, approximately one notch above Rupert Pupkin’s. But when the chips are down, as they say...
I do have some problems with Casino, of course—I know it’s well second behind Goodfellas. I see that point. Basically, the third hour reverts to a lot of familiar and somewhat unfortunate well-worked material. Sam Rothstein evolves into the Travis Bickle / Jake LaMotta control freak monster we know. Granted, he’s pushed to the edge by Ginger’s feckless inability to resist Lester. It’s not even really about sex with them, apparently, but only money, and relatively small amounts of money to a man as rich as Sam. Still, even now $25,000 is a substantial sum. Ginger wants it, Sam wants to know why, Ginger won’t tell him, he won’t let her have it, she steals it. Yes, of course, Lester is behind it.
Casino starts to feel like just nobody could help themselves. Pesci is constantly going over the top, though he can’t get quite as high as he did in Goodfellas. De Niro tries on a mild-mannered, under-control demeanor, which works as entertainment for much of the show. Check the glasses. Then it lapses into tried-and-true formula, which is one nice way of saying cliched. No complaints or notes on Stone or Woods. This tried-and-true formula of a story is somehow one I’m here for. The relationship between Ginger and Lester, which we learn started when she was 14, works for me as psychologically compelling and realistic, and incidentally contributing to the high suspense act of the picture’s biggest arcs. Maybe she’s a grown-up Iris, from Taxi Driver, but I’m OK with that. I am a little surprised, after all the complaints I hear about it, to find Casino ranked in the top 500 movies all-time at They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They? I mean, it’s a good bit off Goodfellas, up there at #60, but there it is, the second act, still faithfully shadowing and echoing its forebear.
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