| How
many times have you come home late at night, intoxicated
or otherwise, and popped this movie in the VCR -
only to remember around 4 a.m. that it's actually
3 hours long? How many of you then watched the entire
thing anyways? Why? Because it's Goodfellas ya fuckin'
prick, ya!
If none of this sounds familiar,
you're in the right place. Cancel your plans for
the next little while (146 minutes to be exact,)
and sit yourself down with this Hallmark of American
cinema.
The teaming of Martin Scorcese
and Robert De Niro have brought me more cinematic
joy over the years than any other duo, or individual,
that I can recount. Mean
Streets saw the first pairing of Marty and Bobby
in 1973, the year I was born. Taxi
Driver came next, solidifying their respective
skills, styles and importance. Raging
Bull is considered by many to be the best film
of the 1980's and even threw Joe Pesci into the
mix after the two noticed him working in a restaurant
and liked the way he looked. Then came the piece
de la resistance: Goodfellas.
I won't bore you with trivia you
can find a million other places - I've already established
that's not what these pages are for. I'll list a
couple of moments I especially like and either you'll
agree or you'll get real curious and go rent the
fuckin' basstid.
-Henry Hill, as worried about
his pasta sauce as he is about getting rid of a
mountain of cocaine and selling guns to `the Pittsburgh
People."
-The scene where Henry, Tommy
and Jimmy stop off at Tommy's mother's house to
get a knife to kill Billy Batts who's locked in
their trunk. She wakes up, cooks them dinner and
shows them all one of her paintings. "Looks
like somebody we know," remarks Jimmy. Genius.
I could go on for another 500
words. The movie is full of little scenes guys like
to talk about when they're doing guy things. Lines
from the movie (i.e. "What the fuck is so funny
about me?") have absolutely permeated pop culture.
I hope you take some time out to let them permeate
you - like an icepick through the back of Morris
Kessler's skull.
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