I’m tired of being lectured by mobsters. If you’re that intent on imparting the collected wisdom of underworld enforcement, go teach a course at Kingsborough CC and leave me alone. According to this particular biography, the most common phrases in the lexicon of John Gotti are: “Lemme tell ya somethin’ ” and “Let me explain something to you.” What follows these phrases might be considered a wealth of knowledge to a toddler or one suffering from massive head trauma, but I found the repetitive rhetoric of John Gotti (John Travolta) to be no more illuminating than instructions on a pack of chewing gum.
From hours upon days of mobster film viewing, I know that mobsters like to give me life lessons. Now, I give one back: avoid Gotti. There is no part of this film that will leave you satisfied.
Challenging the traditional notion that a biopic should cover a person worth knowing, Gotti struggled to find a reason why anyone might be watching other than “Teflon Don” –cuz the charges never stick, get it?- made headlines in the 1980s. The unreflective and poorly considered picture methodically works through the elements of Gotti‘s adult life, skimping but never skipping. Do you remember the part in Wonder Boys where Michael Douglas is -writing-wise- accused of not choosing anything? That’s how this picture feels — here’s the day John Gotti lost his son. Aw, isn’t that tragic? No time to mourn; let’s move to a year later when he has to discipline Angelo (Pruitt Taylor Vince). And Gotti himself comes off as a mobster caricature; the speech is cliché, the demeanor is standard, the thoughts are shallow. Remember that explaining you had to do, John? Feel free to include the part where you became Don, because even vacuum-hating nature wants somebody with a little savvy, knowwhatimsayin’?
Having established an unappealing hero in a film badly in need of a re-edit, Gotti next went for the triumvirate of bad story-telling: detail-free namedropping. You’re gonna think I’m kidding here, but every new scene provides a new location, a new year, and a new supporting cast. Time after time, the camera meanders into a new location, spots a few guys and names them, not unlike Frankie “The Deconstructionalist” Manicotti and Bob “Jungle Death” Gerrard, subsequently expecting us to know who these guys are?! Gotti producers, you have sure selected a niche audience, haven’t you? It’s hard for me to remember what films I saw last week, but you want me to call upon my cornucopia of treasured memories about mob informants, hitmen, and lowlifes from New York City during the post-disco era.
Of course, none of that much matters. The largest conflict in the film is not Gotti v. fellow mobsters or Gotti v. law enforcement, it’s old dying Gotti from an interrogation room trying to keep John Gotti Jr. (Spencer Lofranco) from taking a plea deal. God help me if the film
isn’t completely on junior’s side, too. How does that argument go? “Oh, come on, he only did a wee bit of mobsterin’. He only had, like, two or three guys killed. Give ‘im a break, huh?”
I’m kinda speechless. Martin Scorsese -who has nothing to do with this film- has made what? a dozen (?) movies with a mob-sympathetic POV, but he never once imagined these guys were innocent. Is this what we get from the Trump era: crimes aren’t crimes any longer? I’m sorry for, once again, invoking the “T” word, but there are few more apt comparisons – larger-than-life NYC personality and newsmaker, adored by a throng of goggle-eyed sycophantic celebrity hounds, each man big on ambition yet short on brains, and having a complete void where any sense of morality or social obligation ought to be. No, Gotti doesn’t actually feel like the Trump story; after all, Gotti actually worked his way to the top; he wasn’t handed it by dad. And if that made me care any about this particular guileless ape, as opposed to the one in the White House, I might have something delightful to say about this guy or his progeny. As is, I do not.
See John ‘splain.
‘Splain, John, ‘splain
See John whack
Whack, John, whack!
See John act.
Act, John, act!
Naughty haughty Gotti
Ought he thought he sought he?
Not he.
Spotty plotty
Rated R, 105 Minutes
Director: Kevin Connolly
Writer: Lem Dobbs and Leo Rossi
Genre: Forgettable biographies
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: Sycophants
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Rival mobsters still awaiting their own biopics
