Post by StevePulaski on Jun 19, 2018 18:35:10 GMT -5
Gotti (2018)
Directed by: Kevin Connolly
Directed by: Kevin Connolly
![](https://i.imgur.com/dJikjPx.jpg)
John Travolta is John Gotti, right, in Gotti.
Rating: ★½
Gotti is a film lobotomized, or to put it more specifically, the result of a project eight years in development hell, with a record 41 credited producers (one of them Mitch Lowe, CEO of MoviePass), and no voice nor perspective whatsoever. It cycles through almost four decades of John Gotti's life, jumping over a significant amount of time in the process, and introduces far too many characters to profile adequately in 105 minutes. Sure, John Travolta as the Teflon Don has some grin-inducing lines, but imagine if Martin Scorsese's Casino was so brutal in characterizing the life of Lefty Rosenthal and his Las Vegas empire that the best compliment you could pay were to Robert De Niro's suits.
Indeed, Travolta takes on the titular role in a performance he clearly enjoys, likely for the freedom to bookend the film by speaking directly to the audience and saying lines like, "I'll shove a bus up your ass f****** sideways." Even in a good film about Gotti, he'd likely be able to land the leading role because he does have charisma and poise playing a mobster. The issue at hand, however, is Gotti has no poise itself. It's a discombobulated mess of mob cliches and history entangled together in a film that begins by attempting to forgo the notion it has any discernible plot only to conclude as if it had just been a completionist biopic. I lamented last year's LBJ for disappointingly shortchanging the impact and character of the 36th President of the United States. I wasn't prepared for how ineptly Gotti was going to try to summarize the legacy of one of the most iconic American gangsters.
Directed by Kevin Connolly ("E" from HBO's Entourage), the film is all over the place, essentially following three separate narrative threads. One involves Gotti Sr.'s attempt to get his son (Spencer Lofranco) to become a made man, training him young to understand that cops are pigs not to be trusted and members of the government are the real gangsters. Gotti does this all under the nose of his wife (Kelly Preston) after he promises he'll keep junior out of the family business. Another shows Gotti's partners throughout his ascendance in the Gambino crime family, the most notable being Angelo Ruggiero (Pruitt Taylor Vince) as well as his own mentor, Aniello Dellacroce (Stacy Keach). Both men side with their most reliable confidant with things begin to get super serious with the Don, Paul Castellano (Donald John Volpenhein). Then there's the narrative involving Gotti as top-dog, working alongside his son to become one of the most powerful individuals in New York City.
These three storylines coincide, jostle, and clash with one another in such a disjointed manner they go beyond the doings of editor Jim Flynn, who I suppose wasn't more than a gun-for-hire employed to salvage the project however he could. The crux of the film's failure lies at the feet of screenwriters Lem Dobbs and Leo Rossi, who do a miserable job at trying to depict the life of Gotti with any sense of coherency. It begins almost classically with the choice to introduce the project with a facile framestory of the elderly, ailing Gotti in prison speaking to his son (who ages inconsistently throughout the film), urging him not to accept a plea deal, and then entirely abandoning it as a point-of-return after the first act. From there, Dobbs and Rossi hopscotch from the 1970s to the early 2000s, providing the Cliff Notes of the Cliff Notes of Gotti's life and his many relationships. Most of these relationships are anecdotal; we're told the beefs he has with Castellano and the wrongdoings of Angelo, but we never get a sense of them because neither do the writers. For example, "The Angelo Tapes," which are reportedly countless hours of conversation between Angelo and others that the feds obtained from wiretapping mob hotspots, are prolifically discussed but never played. In terms of the more basic parts of the script, Dobbs and Rossi just assume we're fluent in broken mob-speak and proficient in deciphering atrocious structuring.
As a writer myself, I was always told to mind my pronouns. "Make sure your audience knows who the "he" and "she" you're referring to is," I recall one of my favorite journalism teachers saying. That imperative could easily be modified in order to serve screenwriters as well. Make sure you characterize your settings, conflicts, and actions of your individuals appropriately, or you'll end up with a film that looks a lot like Gotti.
Bad movies are sometimes made more watchable by their perplexing inclusions, and I'm thankful to report Gotti has its share that it least keeps it slightly unpredictable. The most notable is its soundtrack, which features Pitbull despite taking place in the 1970s and 1980s. Mr. Worldwide's obnoxious shouting and eardrum-bruising synths clash in the background of a film, as do other songs such as "House of the Rising Sun" during Gotti's real-life funeral procession and The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian." It's as if the music choices are trying to embellish the excessive traits of Gotti and his lifestyle (which aren't really shown) yet fails to do so, sort of like how a parent might embarrass their child(ren) at a school dance by dancing in an old-fashioned way. It's dreadful, even if it is mildly amusing.
For those that will like the film, and I'm sure there will be a few, one of the defenses, which doubles as an attempt to soften harsh criticism, will be how Gotti isn't trying to be The Godfather and succeeds on its own merits. To respond to that: what a relief, for if it was, we'd have an even graver problem on our hands.
Starring: John Travolta, Kelly Preston, Spencer Lofranco, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Stacy Keach, and Donald John Volpenhein. Directed by: Kevin Connolly.