GANGS OF NEW YORK (Martin Scorsese, 2002)

Reviewed: December 21st, 2002

No one can accuse me of walking into Gangs of New York with even a smidgeon of defeatism welled up somewhere deep inside. I am not the person who dismisses Martin Scorsese as a has-been, who talks about how he's lost "it." Casino (1995) is one of my twenty-five favorite films of all time (yes, it kicks even Goodfellas' ass in my proverbial book) and I believe Scorsese's film prior to Gangs, Bringing Out the Dead (1999), to be nothing short of fabulous. Sitting in my seat, watching the opening, old-school credits roll, I was determined to cut the guy as much slack as possible. So with that in mind, take my next comment at full force since there is not even an angstrom of exaggeration hidden anywhere in its being: watching the first Gangs of New York battle sequence unfold was easily the most profoundly depressing experience I've had in a movie theater in as long as I can remember. From the man who single handedly invented much of the last two decades of film grammar, from the man who I feel secure in hailing as the most effective user of slow motion in motion picture history, comes a supposed-to-be epic fight scene that only consists of swift, horribly embarrassing, staccato slow motion swooshes as an insufferable techno/electronica thingamajig beats over the soundtrack. My mind flashed to Raging Bull and its glorious boxing scenes, perhaps the greatest fights every put on screen. I still can't believe both sequences came from the same director/editor (Thelma Schoonmaker) team.

The bright side: At least Scorsese got his movie's lowest point outta the way first. Sadly though, save Daniel Day-Lewis's masterful turn as a permanently uncoiled viper spewing each line with curdled conviction and the spectacular production design by Dante Ferretti, nothing about the overlong and inescapably dull Gangs of New York works. Scorsese and his collaborators (including screenwriters Steven Zaillian, Jay Cox and Kenneth Lonergan) have attempted the thankless task of imposing a trite revenge tale on a history lesson. Herbert Asbury's book "The Gangs of New York" (on which the movie is ostensibly based) has the obviously vast focus required when your subject is nothing less than the florid history of New York City. Scorsese set out -- under the provocative idea of numbingly vicious bloodshed by forgotten men shaped our greatest city and now these dudes need be remembered -- to translate Asbury's sprawling grandeur to film, but the only way for him to have had any hope at successfully achieving his aims was to make a sprawling Altman tapestry in the same vein as Nashville or Short Cuts. In other words: Don't worry about a "plot." The story is decades in the making, a story about the creation of a whole place. Tons of characters need to intertwine and vignettes are the appropriate course, not a stupid two-person revenge yarn that can do nothing but reduce. And not a detrimentally, absurdly undeveloped love story. And not a wholly unbelievable character arc, especially when the character is one of the most fundamentally banal protagonists of the year (played without an oz. of spice by Leonardo DiCaprio). And not awkward, occasional voice-over. Throughout all of Gangs you can see Scorsese floundering around, lacking all of his usual energy, the scale of his near impossible task visibly exhausting him. He uses painfully lazy dissolves and has Cameron Diaz's dialogue echo for no apparent reason other than Jesus Christ, let's get this fuckin' sound mix over with. Only during the film's final twenty-five minutes, when Scorsese eases off DiCaprio/Day-Lewis/Diaz and expands his vantage point by allowing riots and politicos to take a prominence they are never granted previous, does Gangs of New York offer a tantalizing taste of what could have been.

Return home.