CASINO (1995)
Martin Scorsese’s Obituary For Old Las Vegas
In 1995, after making the period drama/Edith Wharton adaption of THE AGE OF INNOCENCE, Martin Scorsese returned to familiar territory with CASINO. The movie was co-written by Scorsese and Nicolas Pileggi, the author of the book Casino: Love and Honour in Las Vegas. The book lays solid bones for the filmmaker to follow and, like a hero at the height of his powers, Scorsese melds everything into a spectacular ode to the end of the mafia dream in the city in the desert.
When the movie premiered, the comparison to Scorsese’s earlier masterpiece GOODFELLAS was both easy pickings and inevitable. The two films shared many of the same actors, much of the same choreographed violence, unsavoury characters you want to root for despite their obvious flaws. But, to me, CASINO, while owing much to that 1990 film, does an excellent job of differentiating itself from earlier films in Scorsese’s career. It isn’t an easy task to achieve, but the maestro pulls it off beautifully, writing a eulogy for old Las Vegas.
CASINO is interested more in the three central characters and how their relationships evolve and intertwine than it is about the rise and fall of a mafioso empire. This feels like Scorsese deglamorizing the whole notion of American crime. It spends the first 40 minutes breezily feeling out the audience, by introducing the three leads. The first of which is Robert De Niro as Sam ‘Ace’ Rothstein. Before the opening credits roll, he drops a voice over about how love only works if you trust someone completely...then we see him nearly get blown to kingdom come. After the credits roll (with excellent work from Saul Bass), Scorsese lets us know who the three leads are: Rothstein is a bookmaker of much renown, considered by many to be the best in the country at the time. He is a tightly wound character who sees all the angles, thriving on insider knowledge so every bet he makes is as close to a sure thing as can exist in a world based on long odds.
Next, we meet Joe Pesci’s Nicky Santoro—arguably Pesci’s most terrifying role (which is saying something). I know the comparison gets made to his GOODFELLAS character, but Nicky Santoro seems even more vicious than Tommy DeVito. As brutal as some DeVito’s actions are, none of them come close to arguably the most violent scene in any of Scorsese’s films: during a two-day interrogation of a rival who had shot up one of Nicky’s former boss’s restaurants, Santoro actually attempts to crush the rivals head in a vice to get what he wants. Tommy DeVito may have been feared and a little crazy, but he never seems willing to go to that extreme, even with the various murders.
After the film firmly establishes the rationale and relationship between Nicky and Sam and the world they occupy, Scorsese introduces us to the third player in this drama, in the most sublime way. We are introduced to her through Sam’s eyes, and it feels the most wonderfully playful Sharon Stone has ever been on screen. The scene is electric, watching her work the hustle, tossing a gambler’s chips in the air with aplomb when he tries to stiff her on her share of his winnings. What makes it work is she does it all in Sam’s face, her eyes almost asking, “what are you gonna do? arrest me?”, reminding the viewer of Stone’s turn in BASIC INSTINCT. But what’s great about Stone’s turn as Ginger is how he she fully explores the character, never shying away from the damage the character inflicts upon others and herself. It’s a tour de force performance from Stone, and maybe one of the finest female performances Scorsese has ever captured om screen.
CASINO’s pacing is also a strength, especially for a film of its run time. Clocking in at a shade under three hours, the time flies in a way that seems effortless. This is no doubt due to Scorsese’s long history of collaboration with one of the best editors in the game, Thelma Schoonmaker. For a film of its length to still feel as tight as it does is not something which can be accomplished by just anyone, and Schoonmaker and her long history with Scorsese is surely the reason. Her work makes what has the potential to be a long, self-indulgent mess into near cinematic bliss for the viewer.
Another aspect of CASINO that I feel like doesn’t get enough credit is Robert Richardson’s cinematography. From the incredible trip around the Tangiers (the casino that Sam is given to run) to certain shots like Same watching through his sunglasses as Nicky races out to meet him. It’s a beautiful sequence filmed expertly by Richardson. Every shot in the movie is designed to make the city of sin look like the most glamourous city on earth.
Finally, the supporting cast is just as integral to the success of CASINO, as De Niro, Pesci and Stone. There are too many to mention individually, but Joe Bob Briggs, playing the incompetent slot machine manager Ward—delivers a hilarious part that ends up being secretly pivotal as he, in no small way, is responsible for the end of the mob-controlled casinos of Vegas vanishing. Then there is James Woods, who is never more unsavoury than he is under Scorsese’s direction as Lester. Woods plays his card cheating hustler to perfection, imbuing him with an infuriating unearned arrogance. My favourite supporting character, though, is Don Rickles as Billy Sherman, the casino manager. He is at once hilarious and believable in the role of De Niro’s closest confidante in the gambling world.
CASINO is a sublime picture. One that flies by with ease allowing the audience the vicarious thrill of watching De Niro, Pesci, and Stone set the screen on fire, as they struggle to hold on to a way of life in Vegas that was never meant to last. CASINO is a perfect obituary of a place in time that eventually would fall away leaving behind myths, legends, and forgotten graves.
