Martin Scorsese isn’t a misogynist. Kapeesh?
“As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.”
Henry Hill, the man who guides us through the gripping, violence-fueled riot that is GoodFellas (1990), lays out his entire life in front of us in the film’s opening scene. Henry wants respect. He wants to be a gangster. A wise guy—a goodfella.
GoodFellas revolves around Hill’s 20+ year progression from regular Brooklyn-born hood to high-ranking associate in New York’s criminal underworld. Unlike most films in the gangster genre, GoodFellas isn’t about rising to the top of the food chain ala The Godfather or Scarface. Instead, GoodFellas is about what it means to be a gangster. A life in the criminal underworld affects everyone involved in different ways. GoodFellas indulges us on how everyone from wannabe thugs to the gangsters' wives are affected by the mob's system of patronage.
Throughout GoodFellas, we are constantly reminded of what it means to be a made man in the mob. The men’s actions and how those actions are perceived are used to teach us 'proper' behavior. In the Mafia, murder, adultery, and, above all, loyalty, are expected. This is how you gain respect within the Family. If you stray from this path, not only are you not a man, you’re a rat. This ruthless culture is detrimental to the gangsters themselves. He see this as Henry, Jimmy, and Tommy's lives fall out from under them. But the culture just as pertinently affects the women in their lives—their wives, and in most cases, their mistresses as well. They are eager bystanders of the mob's culture. No matter how much the gangsters’ crimes escalate, the women remain loyal. The women’s fatal attraction to the gangsters keeps them constantly waiting in the fold.
Is this bias towards men of action healthy for a relationship, or even entirely realistic? No. x2. But that doesn't stop Scorsese from poking fun at it.
Marty's depiction of gender is as varied as his filmography. The eye behind modern masterpieces including Raging Bull, The Last Temptation of Christ and Cape Fear has proven over the years that his unique documentary-esque trailing lens is suited for more than just gangster films. Scorsese films are subject to their fair share of criticism, and oftentimes controversy. His most disruptive film, Taxi Driver, still resonates in 2020—and not necessarily in a good way. Travis Bickle is oftentimes regarded as a source of “inspiration” for the pathologic mass murderers that plague much of our society today. A more consistent critique of his films though is his supposed anti-feminine direction. In the same film a notoriously young Jodie Foster plays an underage prostitute who Bickle develops an unhealthy obsession with. The role earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actress; but the decision to cast Foster was seen by many as a step too far into the psyche of a young actress. Years after the film's release Foster detailed the discomfort she oftentimes felt on set while in costume. This established Scorsese's alleged misogynism, which was later fueled by drug issues in the late 70's and multiple divorces.
Today Scorsese continues to be ridiculed for his presentation of women in film. His most recent release, 2019's The Irishman drew sharp criticism for Anna Paquin's role as Peggy Sheeran. Paquin's character's limited dialogue was framed as "proof" that Scorsese devalues his female characters. A Daily Mail article that attempted to spread the "outrage" over her six lines of dialogue in The Irishman prompted the actress to respond directly on social media.
“Nope, nobody was doing any ‘ordering’… I auditioned for the privilege of joining the incredible cast of ‘The Irishman’ and I’m incredibly proud to get to be a part of this film.”
- Anna Paquin
Peggy’s silence is actually an indictment against her father Frank Sheeran's failures. She is repeatedly shut out by matters of greater importance to him—such as serving the mob.
Though the attempted cancellation of Scorsese didn't wind up going anywhere (the film was purportedly streamed 26 million times in its opening weekend), the attempts to vilify Scorsese have not stopped. Just as this article glorifies Scorsese, there are thousands of other writers who are instead trying to incur damage on his work.
One of the most egregious accusations is that Scorsese's GoodFellas is nothing more than masochistic pornography, jack-off material for the man's supposed hidden misogynism. The film actually serves as a lesson, a warning against such behavior. It denounces half-baked masculinity. For that reason GoodFellas is a generational masterpiece. As complicated and provocative a relationship Scorsese has with gender, his films are repeatedly mislabeled as misogynistic. Which is a shame.
Hyper-masculinity isn’t inherently ‘good’ or 'bad'. Nor is hyper-femininity. To view the world through either of these lenses is frankly odd though, because, well, the genders were designed to coexist. Of course there are dynamics across the globe which affect the genders differently, that benefit or detriment one or the other. Some men are demeaning towards women. Some women demonize men. The reality? Neither is more righteous than the other. It’s impossible to coexist without one other.
GoodFellas suggests that strict, predefined gender roles are detrimental to ourselves and to each other. The gangsters’ hyper-masculinity leads to their own demise. The women support the men and their actions, no matter how out of control they become. Their downfall is a result of theirs. This broken gender dynamic creates a repeatable system that implodes. GoodFellas teaches us this lesson both vulgarly and subtly. By the time the end credits roll, we see the consequences of the system.
Blood Romance
The characters in GoodFellas, male and female, think being a gangster is sexy. This belief is engrained in the men and picked-up by the women. Henry becomes enamored with the mob's glamorous lifestyle as soon as he is introduced to it as a teenager. "Here I am, this little kid; I can't even see over the steering wheel and I'm parking Cadillacs," Henry remarks via the film's unconventional narration.
These experiences have a lasting effect on Henry. As he becomes entangled in the mob his responsibilities expand. His job title changes from valet to thief to assassin. The benefits of the jobs change accordingly; Henry does what he wants with little to no consequences. He goes, gets, and does where/what he wants. Henry becomes enamored with himself and his way of life;
“For us, to live any other way was nuts. To us, those goody-good people who worked shitty jobs for bum paychecks, took the subway to work every day and worried about their bills were dead. I mean, they were suckers. They had no balls. If we wanted something we just took it. And if anyone complained twice they got hit so bad, believe me, they never complained again.”
There is one thing Henry wants that he still doesn't have. Someone to idolize him. Someone who needs him. He finds both these things in Karen. Karen willingly sells herself to Henry and his way of life. But this process does not occur automatically. Initially she is revolted by him; Henry totally ignores her on their first date, and stands her up to play poker on the second. As a result, Karen tracks down Henry and berates him, calling him a liar and a cheat. Henry discovers something new, something different, to steal. After just a few months of dating, they are married.
Once he finds someone who will depend on him unconditionally, Henry has to let the world know. He gets the chance to do so when Karen reveals that her neighbor tried to make a move on her. Henry reacts like any wise guy should—he walks across the street and pistol whips the guy half to death. Having defended Karen’s honor, Henry orders her to hide the gun just in case the guy goes and calls the cops. He places the gun into Karen’s reluctant grasp; she looks at him in disbelief. The narration shifts. Instead of Henry’s voice, we get Karen’s take on the on-screen action.
“I know there are women, like my best friends, who would have gotten out of there the minute their boyfriend gave them a gun to hide. But I didn't. I got to admit the truth, it turned me on.”
Karen chooses the criminal underworld despite all all its faults for its sexiness. Sharp editing helps bring meaning to the scene; what is presented on the screen is just as essential as how it is presented. We first see the brutal beatdown Henry conducts on the neighbor-guy, his testosterone-fueled march back to the front door, and finally Henry forcing the gun into Karen’s hand. Finally, she grasps the trigger, swearing an eternal oath to Henry and the Mafia. It happens in just short 70 seconds start-to-finish, yet it’s one of the most memorable scenes in a film that’s really just a compilation of memorable scenes. It quickly and effectively demonstrates Karen pulling the trigger on Henry.
Karen remains loyal to Henry even after his, uh, lifestyle, lands him in prison for 4 years. She is left to raise two children by herself. But she still relies on Henry, economically and spiritually. She even makes weekly visits to smuggle in salami and Italian bread for Henry. Karen knows that she cannot live without the mob’s structure.
Once Henry gets out of jail he gets compensated for his loyalty. But money doesn’t cure their marriage. In other words, nothing changes. Henry lies, cheats and kills while Karen continues to worship him. Eventually karma catches up to Henry and he’s busted again, this time by the feds and for dealing coke. They raid their house while Karen frantically tries to hide any evidence—coke, guns, cash. Karen tries to help Henry even though his clumsiness was the reason for the feds to begin with. While Karen frantically flushes coke down the toilet, she hides a gun in the only spot that’s really available at the time:
The shot is a literal and intentional a representation of the gender dynamic in GoodFellas. What repeatedly finds its way into Karen’s sexuality is the mob's overt masculinity. The gun is the mob. The gun is Henry.
The feds bring Henry in and nail him with 25+ years. He accepts a spot in the witness protection program, and rats out his friends to save his own ass. As it turns out, Henry isn’t really a goodfella. In a flash, all Karen has sacrificed for her knight in shining armor is gone, worthless, spent energy. No more wads of cash, no more 5-star meals, no more thrills. Their willingness to stick to their preprogrammed roles leads to their demise. Once the system is gone, they have nothing to fall back onto.
When Push Comes to Shove
Is there a limit to one’s masculinity? Does there come a point when all the violence and stealing (“Real greaseball shit,” as Liotta’s character puts it) becomes too much to handle? GoodFellas teaches us from the beginning that the rules to the game are simple; you follow them, you get rewarded. You break them? You get whacked. But humans are far from simple. The male characters in GoodFellas mask their weakness with violence. The men are too afraid to confront their own weaknesses by other means.
At his core, Tommy is insecure. He is short and unassuming. Un nano. Whenever Tommy’s masculinity is put into question he answers with violence—because violence is currency in this system. The mob’s viewpoint on masculinity proves violence as a tool for gaining respect. What Tommy fears is anyone who breaks down or questions his tough-guy facade.
One night when the group gathers to play poker, the kid bartender, Spider, insults Tommy by telling him to “Go and f**k” himself. The men laugh it off initially and even toss money at Spider for having the guts to say such a thing. But Tommy can’t take the affront on his masculinity lightly; doing so would be a show of weakness. Whenever Tommy risks being embarrassed, his only response is to eliminate the threat. So he shoots Spider. Kill him. Just like that—in the middle of a poker game.
This is how the men in GoodFellas react when their masculinity is put in question. Selfishly. The realization momentarily strikes Henry. He tries to help Spider, but it’s too late; the damage is done. “He’s dead,” Henry declares matter-of-factly. Silence occupies the space; Tommy asks if anyone has a problem with what he did. No one does, of course. The concern in the room shifts to who’s responsible for burying the body, the logistics of the situation. No condolences are made for the lost life; according to Tommy, Spider “Would’ve grown up to be a rat," anyways.
This is being a man according to GoodFellas.
It’s easy to misjudge this testosterone-fueled, winner-takes-all portrayal of masculinity as glorification. But the message is the opposite. Although the film’s sweeping pace and colloquial dialogue make the action on screen look glamorous, its purpose is not strictly to entertain. It is also used to highlight the anesthetic regard with which the men justify their actions. The men in GoodFellas have no awareness of the real-life consequences of their actions, and that is what makes them weak. Via this central theme, the music, camera movement, and the onscreen performances, Scorsese expresses his position.
The Shot
GoodFellas is a loosely strung together montage. The film is not structured around plot; instead, the narrative is fed to us in a series of moments highlighting the mob’s absurd violence. It’s a pretty remarkable feat in editing. Each scene in the film is watchable on its own. So many shots from GoodFellas are instantly recognizable because of this. One such comes after Karen discovers Henry’s ongoing affair with his mistress. At this point in the film, Karen is already enchanted by Henry’s swagger and the world he occupies. Still, she treats Henry to a surprising wake-up call.
The shot elicits a unique feeling in the audience. Rather than opt for a shot showing Karen pointing the gun at Henry, Scorsese puts us, the audience, directly in the line of fire. The shot sends a clear message; Don’t f**k with me, mister. This could be seen as empowering to the female viewer and terrifying to the male—or vice-versa. But the meaning of the shot changes as the scene progresses.
Is Karen really going to shoot Henry, her fatal attraction, just because he’s ruffled up a few skirts? Is she willing to abandon the thrill of being in bed with the Mafia? Henry’s reaction tells us all we need to know:
“Karen, take it easy. Okay?... Karen, Karen. I love you; you know I love you… Karen, just put it down. You know I love you, don’t you? You’re all I want, Karen.”
Henry knows exactly what to do in this situation. The odds are in his favor. Henry is the driving force in the relationship, the alpha; he is in control because his life that dictates the marriage. Karen assumes the same role as the other wives; a pretty, reliant thing that puts up with the atrocities of the men, because, well, they need them.
Victory goes to whoever’s quicker to lie, cheat and kill. The losers, the schmucks, are the ones who hesitate.
Karen isn’t willing to give up the fantasy she lives in. She puts down the gun, and Henry beats her in return. He points the gun in her face and threatens to kill her. And she apologizes. The women in GoodFellas are willing bystanders, accomplices to the system that the men use to mask their weakness.
These stagnant and uniform gender roles are ultimately detrimental to both sexes. We see hyper-masculinity lead to the anesthetization of events which carry real-world, emotional consequences. The women’s hyper-dependence on the men reinforces the validity of those broken conventions, causing more damage to themselves and those around them. By the end credits we see the system destroy the people behind it’s existence. Sure, we as the audience (and perhaps the filmmakers themselves) enjoy watching the narrative unfold. GoodFellas is fast-paced and full of snappy dialogue and a floating sense of lawless abandon. It’s fun to watch; it fulfills many of the guilty pleasures we seek as theatregoers and as human beings. But ultimately, Henry Hill ends up nothing more than another average nobody. A schnook.
Is masculinity dead? Are men doomed to become crotchless, fanny-pack wearing rubbernecks? Will being masculine someday be a punishable offense?
Is it now?
Masculinity is changing. It has always been changing. Femininity does the same. In GoodFellas, it's the unwillingness to change that leads to catastrophe. Martin Scorsese is not a misogynist. He is not a bigot or dismissive of women. He's the opposite. He has his own point of view on gender. He's a man with something to say about men. And women. A critique. Justices; injustices.
God, does he make it entertaining.
Sources:
https://www.theverge.com/2019/12/10/21005121/netflix-the-irishman-watch-numbers-26-million-streams-martin-scorsese
https://www.wmagazine.com/story/forty-years-after-taxi-driver-and-her-first-oscar-nomination-jodie-foster-recalls-the-making-of-a-classic/
https://www.indiewire.com/2019/11/anna-paquin-responds-irishman-no-dialogue-controversy-1202188617/
