Gotti (2018) - Movie Review

 

Crime stories tend to appeal to a rather seedy part of the human fascination. Something about tales of men who took their own piece of the world by force, obeying no law other than their own, is somewhat appealing in a morbid way. As a result of this, although crime dramas can result in highly potent storytelling, there needs to be an understanding of the moral ambiguity of the subject and their actions. An acknowledgement that, no matter how squeaky-clean they may have appeared as people to whom family meant everything, they are still criminals. This film, a biopic on legendary underworld figure John Gotti, made with the blessing of Gotti Jr. himself, fucks that up worse than any other crime flick I’ve sat through.

Even with John Travolta being in the undeniable twilight of his career, he is honestly a decent choice to play one of America’s most famous gangsters. The words he’s been given reek of artifice, but as a wiseguy, he handles the character as well as can be expected. The genuinely good makeup work helps with that, although I wish that some of that was spared for Spencer Lofranco so that Junior didn’t look like he was younger than his own kids near the end.

And the positives well and truly end there. Everything else about this movie is completely wrong. The visuals are embarrassingly sanitised, not even allowing for a bare minimum of grim or grit to make this crime story feel authentic. That combined with the sporadically purple dialogue make this feel like a front, like we’re being shown a very specific version of Gotti. One where, no matter how much blood ends up on his hands, he is the guy we’re supposed to be rooting for.

And not even in a fun villain way; there is more time devoted to the people defending Gotti’s actions and building him up as a force for good in their neighbourhood than we ever get of his actual criminal activity. To say nothing of the ending, which makes such a point to paint the witnesses that testified against Gotti in the worst light possible that it becomes quite sickening.

Not that I particularly blame Junior for wanting this vision of his beloved father. Family is emphasised in virtually all mafia stories for a reason, as it is seriously important to them, and even with the shaky turns his and Gotti Sr.’s relationship went through, it’s clear that he still respects the man. I might even be willing to accept the more anti-hero portrayal of Gotti, since it’s not like the U.S. government’s dealing with criminals is entirely without fault. I could even see some truth in the discrepancies between critics and audiences on Rotten Tomatoes, given Gotti’s portrayal here as a friend of the people.

But that angle would only work if this film had a shred of honesty to it, if there was genuine admission that Gotti made his mark on the world through blood and vice. That’s not what we get here, and as a result, all of the rather ugly aggrandising comes across as both forceful and highly distasteful. This is the hip-hop version of Gotti, where the fact that he made money overshadows how he did it, something that is itself foreshadowed by how Pitbull contributed music to this thing.

Having looked at quite a few films on this blog that got a whopping 0% on Rotten Tomatoes, this is the first one I’ve covered from that infamous collection that wholeheartedly, unmistakably, flat-out deserves that rating. Get all the way out of my face with this shit.