The opening 30 minutes or so of "Casino" embodies everything that I adore about pre-21st century Martin Scorsese cinema, most particularly the excellent craftsmanship he seems to have lost his grip in on recent years. As the picture begins, we get this fabulous quasi-documentary narrative with Robert De Niro, as the film's protagonist—nobody with any sense of morality can call a mob figure a hero—providing us all the details. What he's been given to say is fascinating, and the way Scorsese coordinates his camera is superb. The technique is pure, the edits are crisp and clean (there are none of those horrendous, in-your-face jump cuts that stabbed his 2006 film "The Departed" clean through the heart), and the amount of detailed information presented in an entertaining way. Scorsese and his co-screenwriter, Nicolas Pileggi, both of whom collaborated on the 1990 gangster masterpiece "GoodFellas," are certainly to be commended as researchers. In this fabulous first half-hour, they know just when and where to tell us data about how the mob ran a Las Vegas casino and when to show us. They tell us who watches who during a big gambling night, and show us, in splendid detail, how to get rid of a cardsharp by giving him a bogus heart attack.
Unfortunately, for me, once Sharon Stone, as a prostitute who sets the protagonist's heart aflame, enters the picture, everything begins to drag. This is not a negative reflection on Sharon Stone's performance. Not only is this her best piece of work that I'm aware of—I personally do not think she's untalented as an actress—but she gives the best performance of the entire movie. There isn't a bad performance, really, but she does dominate everybody else in "Casino." So it's not her acting that wears out the movie for me; it's the pretentious and uninteresting melodrama that follows in her tracks.
The pseudo-romantic dynamic between De Niro and Stone is, at heart, just an old-fashioned gangster-and-his-moll story, with the feisty woman first being pushed around, then pushing back, standing up to the boyfriend with the gun. Why does this dynamic go wrong? Because the screenplay tries to make something monumentally important out of it all. It tries to go deep, explore the psyches of both characters, takes them out of the casino and into the deserts and apartments of Las Vegas, and attempts to bring a psychologically fascinating angle to their relationship. Here, it completely falls apart, and the remaining two and a half hours of the movie—the middle in particularly—really begins to drag. The other problem with this relationship is that De Niro's character is not interesting when the movie tries to explore his depth as a person. He's much more interesting in the old-fashioned personality of the 'rough-and-touch, silent but deadly' casino manager who, save for his cameras, supervises everything that goes in his establishment. Once he gets all mucky and muggy with Stone, the fascination is wiped clean from the slate. As was my ability to stay interested.
I wish that "Casino" had stayed inside the casinos and not gone into the deserts, apartments, swamps, of outer Las Vegas. For me, the heart of the movie was contained in that big, luxurious building with the omnipresent colors. And I do not see why the movie could not have just stayed there and told its story from that setting, venturing outside only when necessary. Obviously, it's based on true events, but since the true events, as told on screen, become this dull, what's the point? Even Joe Pesci, essentially repeating his performance from "GoodFellas," seems to have little purpose outside the casino. There's some promising sequences with him forcing De Niro to come down in the middle of the night to get him fifty million-dollar chips for a gambling rage, but, once again, once the story leaves the casino and starts getting involved with all the other stuff, it goes downhill.
But to the filmmakers' credit, having Pesci narrate part of the story does make his denouement all the more surprising. I will not give away exactly what happens, but the way things unfold toward the end, with Pesci's narration almost completely eradicating De Niro's, really does leave the audience unexpected for what eventually turns out. It's a brilliant touch.
I admired the physical production values of "Casino" as much as any great-looking movie I've ever seen, and Scorsese's flair as a director is very impressive. But even though the technique is pure, the storytelling seems half-baked and uninterested in itself. And that's the coldest feeling a movie can possibly give you. Whether it's representational or not, when you get the notion that the filmmaker lost interest in the story he was telling, it's all for nothing.
Unfortunately, for me, once Sharon Stone, as a prostitute who sets the protagonist's heart aflame, enters the picture, everything begins to drag. This is not a negative reflection on Sharon Stone's performance. Not only is this her best piece of work that I'm aware of—I personally do not think she's untalented as an actress—but she gives the best performance of the entire movie. There isn't a bad performance, really, but she does dominate everybody else in "Casino." So it's not her acting that wears out the movie for me; it's the pretentious and uninteresting melodrama that follows in her tracks.
The pseudo-romantic dynamic between De Niro and Stone is, at heart, just an old-fashioned gangster-and-his-moll story, with the feisty woman first being pushed around, then pushing back, standing up to the boyfriend with the gun. Why does this dynamic go wrong? Because the screenplay tries to make something monumentally important out of it all. It tries to go deep, explore the psyches of both characters, takes them out of the casino and into the deserts and apartments of Las Vegas, and attempts to bring a psychologically fascinating angle to their relationship. Here, it completely falls apart, and the remaining two and a half hours of the movie—the middle in particularly—really begins to drag. The other problem with this relationship is that De Niro's character is not interesting when the movie tries to explore his depth as a person. He's much more interesting in the old-fashioned personality of the 'rough-and-touch, silent but deadly' casino manager who, save for his cameras, supervises everything that goes in his establishment. Once he gets all mucky and muggy with Stone, the fascination is wiped clean from the slate. As was my ability to stay interested.
I wish that "Casino" had stayed inside the casinos and not gone into the deserts, apartments, swamps, of outer Las Vegas. For me, the heart of the movie was contained in that big, luxurious building with the omnipresent colors. And I do not see why the movie could not have just stayed there and told its story from that setting, venturing outside only when necessary. Obviously, it's based on true events, but since the true events, as told on screen, become this dull, what's the point? Even Joe Pesci, essentially repeating his performance from "GoodFellas," seems to have little purpose outside the casino. There's some promising sequences with him forcing De Niro to come down in the middle of the night to get him fifty million-dollar chips for a gambling rage, but, once again, once the story leaves the casino and starts getting involved with all the other stuff, it goes downhill.
But to the filmmakers' credit, having Pesci narrate part of the story does make his denouement all the more surprising. I will not give away exactly what happens, but the way things unfold toward the end, with Pesci's narration almost completely eradicating De Niro's, really does leave the audience unexpected for what eventually turns out. It's a brilliant touch.
I admired the physical production values of "Casino" as much as any great-looking movie I've ever seen, and Scorsese's flair as a director is very impressive. But even though the technique is pure, the storytelling seems half-baked and uninterested in itself. And that's the coldest feeling a movie can possibly give you. Whether it's representational or not, when you get the notion that the filmmaker lost interest in the story he was telling, it's all for nothing.