"Casino" is the rise and fall of the Mob in Vegas - the rise is depicted as a form of entertainment that you would find on the Strip. The fall is depicted as a tragedy of limitless power - how much is enough? In a way, "Casino" is the equivalent of high-speed cocaine, an addictive drug with a major high and such a major low that you feel the loss of a kingdom in a vivid, visceral manner. Since "GoodFellas," Scorsese has taken on the interior emotional states of his characters by making us feel the way they do. For example, in "GoodFellas," we witness the coke-fueled paranoia of Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) in such a subjective way that we feel as paranoid about helicopters and pasta sauce as he does. The Age of Innocence has a two-act structure where one feels as much despair as Newland Archer (Daniel Day-Lewis) does from never having the woman he so desires. In "Casino," the loss of a casino empire is felt as the downward spiral begins. You keep hoping that there will be a return to the initial high but the rhythm changes, the stakes have changed and the chips fall where they may. Critics and audiences have confused the change in tempo as a sign of weakness or overlength. Not so as you will see.

The first half of "Casino's" three-hour running time focuses on the glitz and the lure of Vegas (there are more shots of money than any film I can think of). It is the attraction of Vegas and all the money that instantly grabs your attention, as well as the documentary-like scenes of backroom intrigue. Sharon Stone's own attractive poses as Ginger steals and cheats her way to Ace's marriage proposal qualifies as pure eye candy (Madonna and Traci Lords were previously considered for the role of Ginger). We also have the rattling of slot machines, the high rollers, the pit bosses, "the eye in the sky" camera and monitors watching everyone, the rooms full of money, the swanky hotel suites and vulgar interior decor (thanks to production designer Dante Ferretti), the numerous lights that catches attention even on the Strip, and so on. Music complements the allure of Sin City as we hear Moonglow and the Theme from Picnic (during the count room scenes), Louis Prima, Les McCann, Little Richard, even Love is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia when Ace first discovers Ginger. Still, despite an entertaining first half of "Casino," something seems slightly amiss amidst all the glitz. When we are introduced to Nicky, he jams a pen in an unidentified man's neck who insulted Ace without warning. The scene ends with cigarette smoke rising in the foreground as Nicky holds a bloodied pen while the Stones' Satisfaction echoes - a pure vision of Hades. Then there's a later scene where a gambler's hand is severely pummelled with a hammer - this cheating gambler was caught by Ace and his casino manager, Sherbert (Don Rickles in a largely mute role). Yes, all of the glamour of Vegas looks enticing but a sickness already seeps in - it is a spotlight on Vegas with blood just boiling under the surface.

The second half begins after a horrible vise sequence with the firing of Don Ward over three slot machines hitting the jackpot in a short amount of time. This works in tandem with the first act where Nicky's vicious pen stabbing incident is followed by Ace's disapproval of the "dumb white man," Don Ward - both scenes of Don show Ace and his casino manager, Sherbert. Thus, we get a recapitulation of similar scenes from the first half where tempo and rhythm change dramatically. We hear "Moonglow" again as we see the skimming from count rooms except our Mormon guy is now skimming from the skims; an inebriated Ginger in bed arguing with Ace, the very same bed she laid in with Ace trying on all the gold bracelets; Nicky's pal, Frankie, visiting Gaggi with shorter and shorter stacks of cash; Ginger's key to Ace's safety deposit box transformed into a beeper so he can watch her; Ace's car explosion shown at the beginning and in the climax from various angles; and Nicky's ranting to a wounded man about crying leads to a scene where he sobs over his brother's death. There are other various repetitions of individual moments but the pace slowly gets tighter, sometimes looser as in two significant trailer scenes with Ginger and Nicky (there is one other moment in a hotel where Ginger has visible bruises after an S&M encounter with Nicky).

Screaming matches between the characters begin and end with great velocity, as in Ginger's repeated foul-mouthed screams to Ace at their house, Nicky shouting at Ace in the middle of the desert, Ace as intense as ever in a restaurant with a visibly drunk, stoned Ginger, the constant surveillance and snapshots from the FBI, Nicky screaming and slapping Ginger, and so on (Believe it or not, actor Robert Blake had a problem with the screaming matches, saying it had nothing to do with the acting style he knew). The music amplifies the tension and becomes more erratic as we get the Animals' "House of the Rising Sun," Devo's cover of "Satisfaction," B.B. King's appropriate The Thrill is Gone, a live version of the Stones' "Gimme Shelter," the furious energy of Cream's Toad, the melancholic Stardust and the theme from Contempt, even Devo's Whip It. Devo's version of "Satisfaction" sums up the characters' trials and tribulations - Nicky, Ginger and Ace simply can't get any satisfaction from Vegas anymore.

Melancholia seeps in as Ginger gets more drunk, more boorish, and even ties her own daughter to the bed! Stone is so good in these scenes, even foreshadowing Ace's near-demise ("Who blew you in the parking lot?"), that some felt she was too repetitively annoying - well, that is the point. Nicky also gets drunk to the point he can't punch a craps dealer and he also grows boorish, irritable, as well as unstoppable in his thirst for violence - you want someone to just shoot him and Ginger and get it over with. Curiously, Ace stays the same - he never seems affected by the chaos. He feels every problem can be solved like a game of poker - life to him is a crap shoot. Ace realizes he can't control Nicky or Ginger as they are doomed in the no-exit trajectory of life they have pursued. The problems get worse and nobody wants to leave - Ginger keeps returning to Ace despite marital problems, to say the least. Nicky is banned from every casino yet still walks into one just to annoy Ace (Nicky is listed in the dreaded Black Book). Ace also refuses to leave, thinking that the Supreme Court and his own TV show will help him gain tenure. Eventually, all the familial and mob-related stupidity resort to Ace nearly getting burned to a crisp in a car explosion gone awry, Ginger dying in a hotel corridor as she exits her room (actually, the real Ginger died screaming outside a hotel until she collapsed in the lobby), a number of casino executives shot or bludgeoned to death, and Nicky and his brother stripped and beaten to death with baseball bats (they were found three years later buried in an Indiana cornfield). Afterwards, a lot of the old casinos are demolished and bought out by the corporations, turning the old Vegas into Disneyland. Or as Ace says in voice-over, "it is like checking into an airport." The tragedy is that the one survivor of a lost casino empire never learned his lesson - he is still an unredeemed bookmaker with giant spectacles and that's that. Such a cold, detached finish left many viewers with no emotional surface to cling to, which is precisely the point. The first screening I recall attending, the audience got up in great haste and left as soon as the end credits came up.

Critical perception of "Casino" was mixed. The late Gene Siskel felt that as a love story, it didn't work (though the love story is really about the mob's love for money in Vegas). David Denby of New York magazine, among other critics, felt the relationships between Ace and Ginger and Lester made no sense since they lacked depth. There's a lack of depth in terms of character but not in terms of emotion, though Ace seems more like a calculating, analytical humanoid than a man - his past remains enigmatic. Ace expresses emotion when seething at Ginger who continues to support Lester, saying he wants to literally kill her. Most of the time, he is a vigilant robot who gathers no joy from his work. As Entertainment Weekly's Owen Gleiberman pointed out, "he may as well be running a bank." His control-freak demeanor, particularly at having the same amount of blueberries in every muffin, or his need to check his tie in every mirror he comes across, or keeping a series of monitors in his bedroom to keep track of the casino, or keeping his trousers in the closet in his office, remind one of Howard Hughes's own obsessive-compulsive needs (it is no accident that Scorsese later made a film about Hughes called The Aviator.) Though I generally agree with the criticisms, people forget that Ace was emotionally bankrupt to begin with. As Sight and Sound's Jonathan Romney wrote: "Ace inherits his paradise at the cost of 18-hour working days, and consequently has no time to be a person." But check out the scenes toward the end where Ace argues vehemently with Ginger, and even has a tiff with Nicky - De Niro proves his element in his slow burn routine in one of the last great performances he gave. Also, notice the visual sense of a king ruling over his empire - almost every shot of De Niro is at a low-angle accentuating the sense he's above all. He's not so above Don Ward who is visibly taller than Ace is (one of two scenes that shows Ace could lose what he gained). Sometimes a king can lose stature.

Most critics agreed that Sharon Stone turned in a highly credible and nuanced performance playing Ginger, from a gold-digger who seems to be having a good time to a drug-addicted mess who dies a lonely death (though earlier shots show her vacuity and loneliness when surrounded by gold jewelry). Stone is the emotional center of the movie, from a giddy, glamorous hustler (who is as vigilant in her line of work as Ace is) to a screaming, frantic woman who gets plastic surgery and snorts coke in front of her daughter (a scene improvised on the spot by Stone). The Golden Globes and the Academy Awards nominated her, and she did win the Golden Globe for Best Actress.

Many critics felt that Joe Pesci, as effectively hateful as he was, merely did a reprise of his Tommy DeVito character from "GoodFellas." The main difference is that his Nicky Santoro speaks with a vague Chicago accent and is far more sadistic and irritable. Pesci is also allowed some sense of humanity, as previously displayed in "GoodFellas." He is seen cheering his son at a baseball game, cooking pancakes for him, sobs at his nearly-dead brother, and even feels bad at squashing a guy's head in a vise ("Don't make me have to do this, please. Don't make me be a bad guy.") This is not an ordinary psychotic gangster - he simply gets carried away with his willful power. Jennifer Santoro (Melissa Prophet from "GoodFellas") is Nicky's wife, mostly seen sleeping on the couch or listening for the FBI's clicking sounds on their tapped phone or mouthing off to the FBI. She has a funny scene where her hairdo conceals some stolen diamonds, and one of them gets stuck in her hair. She is subservient to Nicky's needs, though her character remains largely in the sidelines. After all, Nicky Santoro is a busy man, especially at requesting oral sex from other women. The joke is that Nicky and Jennifer are introduced into town by Ace as "regular Ozzie and Harriets."

Nearly all critics felt that Scorsese had made one gangster movie too many. First of all, Mean Streets and "GoodFellas" were the only two gangster pictures he made before "Casino." Scorsese's debut picture Who's That Knocking at My Door didn't qualify as a gangster picture per se - hoods that appear in the film are only incidental to the personal story at hand. Raging Bull happened to have Mafioso characters in it yet they were not central to the story. Perhaps following the civility and good manners of The Age of Innocence with a gangster picture was seen as a commercial move and a case of a director merely repeating himself (although "Casino" was not a substantial hit, it has gained some status in the Scorsese canon).

No one felt that Scorsese lacked directorial prowess. His signature camera moves were all there, including extensive Steadicam work, zoom-ins, fast tracking shots, etc. What was new was the look of the film, as bright as the neon lights of Vegas thanks to the burnished lighting design patterns by cinematographer Robert Richardson (who has lensed many of Oliver Stone's films). Editing by Thelma Schoonmaker, with the usual hand of Scorsese, was as always electric. There were mini-dissolves within the same shot, swish pans galore (effectively used during the montage of who's looking at whom in a casino), freeze-frames (particularly telling during Frankie's fib to Gaggi about Nicky), jump cuts, etc. As Chicago Tribune critic Michael Wilmington said: "the blazing style suggests a hopped-up rock n' roll film noir documentary."

There is also great beauty throughout, something almost mystical and transcendental in the adoration of Vegas and its characters. An overhead shot of the city of Vegas at night is followed by an aerial shot of the desert floor. Overhead shot of Ace as he watches all the gaming tables, later followed by an atypical overhead shot of a large pool area where Ace meets with Andy. Overhead shot of Ginger tossing chips up in the air followed by Ace's freeze-frame of her. The luxurious bedrooms, dressing rooms, swimming pools, hotel suites, rolling coins on a conveyor system and other luxuries that no one ever seems to enjoy (decorative clothes is another matter). Sometimes, the beauty is tarnished by dutch angles and stark lighting. A scene of heightened violence with Nicky's crew is followed by a hallucinatory, impossible point-of-view shot inside a cocaine tube. The pristine, grayish backroom with overhead lights where a guy's hand is struck with a mallet looks rather uninviting. Other moments of violence are sometimes shown in silhouette, as in the executions towards the climax. Even a straight sequence of baseball bats pulverizing bruised bodies is almost haunting in a way, as we hear the crickets and nothing else except for Nicky's moans.

Scorsese's own knowledge of the mob thanks to his own childhood past and crime writer Nicholas Pileggi's own book lent a major hand to the authenticity of a world that longer exists (no doubt helped by the casting of actual FBI agents, croupiers and even hit men like Frank Cullotta, a former mob crony of Tony Spilotro's!) Also on hand was Scorsese's acute ability to direct his actors. He could probably direct De Niro and Pesci in his sleep, but the surprise was the dynamite performance by Sharon Stone. At least most critics agreed that "Casino" was hardly the precipitous low of The Godfather Part III, which disappointingly closed Francis Coppola and Mario Puzo's own gangster trilogy.

THE AUDIENCE

So why were audiences not lining up to see such an amazing movie? The major drawback was the excessive, grisly violence that scared them away. Those who like their violence sanitized and cartoonish were given a cold slap in the face by Scorsese - the violence in "Casino" is never gratuitous and is honestly presented. The vise scene is easily the most disturbing and nightmarish footage ever shot by Scorsese but it illustrates a point about Vegas. As Scorsese said, "it underlies the entire structure that creates something like Vegas. The more cash, the more blood. The more shining gold, the more blood, the cracked skulls, the more heads they find in the desert. That's the basis of it. And it gets me angry." It is all about excess, excessive pride, excessive arrogance, excessive blood. And when the baseball bats are used to kill Nicky and his brother, we sense that there's nothing left - this is as far as one's loss of humanity will go. These scenes inexplicably led Entertainment Weekly critic Owen Gleiberman to pronounce that Scorsese was getting off on the violence. Gleiberman could easily accuse Tarantino of the same with Pulp Fiction, which he gave a higher grade than "Casino."

Speaking of Tarantino, another reason audiences weren't ready for such honesty is that the year before we had Natural Born Killers and "Pulp Fiction," both of which were trendsetters for ironic, cartoonish violence. Scorsese didn't quite fit in. An example of what some exhibitors remarked at a ShoWest screening of "Casino" were that it was either too dark or the kind of thing that they know happens, but they rather not see it. The first screening I attended, people were complaining about the violence (though most of the patrons remained quite silent during the truly graphic beatings at the end). One person walked out during the vise scene. I have seen these walkouts before, particularly in "GoodFellas," and have come to expect and understand that Martin Scorsese doesn't make films for the average viewer. The appropriate reaction to realistic, honest violence is nausea and shock, and Scorsese is one of the few that can manage to portray it so vividly (though he has said since that he no longer wishes to play it straight). Heck, he was from the mean streets and had seen a corpse or two.

Another drawback may have been the length of the film and the immorality of the story - not many will sit still for a 170-minute movie unless it is Titanic or Lord of the Rings. A nearly three-hour elegy about the mob is not exactly brisk, sentimental entertainment - Scorsese may be too heavy-hearted and unsentimental for most audiences. "Casino" has no sense of redemption, no happy resolution (hell, it is based on a true story) and none of the characters are people you'd want to invite for dinner. Film narrative in America often means employing a sense of hope circulated around likable characters with a comprehensible three-act structure. "Casino" is about the corruption of the human soul, showing unsavory characters getting their comeuppance from indulging in money, drugs, murder, more drugs and more murder. No limits, too much money and no sense of joy from it all, all told in two acts with a three-character structure.

AND THAT'S THAT

"Casino" is not a reworking of the themes of "GoodFellas" and it is not a remake, despite the similar cast. "GoodFellas" showed that crime does pay for the mob. Its central character, Henry Hill, felt that he could work his own business drug deals and get away with it, regardless of the objections from the don, Paulie (Paul Sorvino). And when Henry sells out everyone in his crew, he relocates and only wished he kept living the life of a gangster - it is all he knew. With "Casino," Ace Rothstein survives a near-fatal car explosion but it doesn't qualify as a rude awakening - he is still a bookie by the end and only wishes he could keep his job in Vegas (apparently, the real Ace still frequents Vegas in disguise). He thought he could control Ginger - his one long shot that didn't pay off. Sadly, only number crunching means anything to Ace. At the end of the film, he stares at the audience with his oversized spectacles, as if to say that he could bet your money would disappear if he was given the chance. Everyone to him is a sucker. Like most of Scorsese's antiheroes, Ace never has to justify himself. He just forgets he lost everything.

Trivia not listed on IMDB:

1.) Martin Landau was offered a role in "Casino" but declined, saying there was nothing to the part. I wonder what role it was, but my sneaking suspicion was that it was the Andy Stone role played by the late Alan King.

2.) Don Rickles aka Sherbert has actually appeared on the Lefty Rosenthal show, thanks to a recent clip shown on the Biography channel.

3.) During the scene where Nicky spies on the FBI who's spying on him, Sammy Davis Jr.'s song "EEE-O-Eleven" can be heard in the background. The significance of this song is that it was sung by Sammy during a scene from the original Ocean's Eleven. "Ocean's Eleven" is one of Scorsese's guilty pleasures, and the attitude and look of it was one of the inspirations for "GoodFellas."

References:

Jonathan Romney. Review. Sight and Sound. 1996.

Owen Glieberman. Dicey Proposition. Entertainment Weekly. November, 1995.

David Denby. Married to the Mob. New York Magazine. November, 1995.

Scorsese and Pileggi. Casino: screenplay. Faber and Faber Limited. 1996.

James Kaplan. The Outsider. New York Magazine. March, 1996.

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