One Paragraph Movie Review: Goodfellas

One hundred and ninety-sixth film: GoodFellas. As far back as I can remember, I have loved this movie. By far my favourite Scorsese and probably in my top five movies of all time, it has everything I love in a gangster movie: violence, suits, a decades-spanning plot, a killer cheesy soundtrack, wiseguy accents, and instructions for making pasta sauce in prison. I can and do watch this movie at least once a year for my fix of perfectly told rise-and-fall of a gangster story, from the teenage Henry Hill parking Cadillacs to the strung-out, sweaty mess who cries on the floor with his wife after she flushes sixty grand worth of cocaine down the toilet, or as members of the mob call it: ‘Tuesday’. I try to make these things only a paragraph, but I can crap on for a very long time about this movie, as if I was Ray Liotta or Lorraine Bracco narrating it myself. If you’ve never watched GoodFellas, you’re wasting my time, like I’m a clown, I’m here to amuse you? I love it. Five wind-proof wigs out of five.