Martin Scorsese's Casino (1995) lives in the shadow of Goodfellas, understandable if not entirely fair. After all, both films are sprawling gangland epics based on Nicholas Pileggi books, with near-identical casts and a similar profanity quotient. But Casino feels more ambitious, overreaching and flawed but different enough to stand on its own.Sam "Ace" Rothstein (Robert De Niro) runs the Tangiers casino in 1970s Las Vegas, earning money for the Mob and himself. Things go smoothly until Ace's benefactors dispatch Nicky Santoro (Joe Pesci), Ace's friend-turned-enforcer, to oversee his operations. Nicky's impulsive violence causes Ace both media and legal issues, earning FBI attention. Ace grows ensnared in a disastrous marriage to Ginger (Sharon Stone), a hustler who seems the ideal wife until she starts abusing drugs and stealing her husband's money. Then Ace crosses County Commissioner Pat Webb (L.Q. Jones), who turns local authorities against him.
Scorsese and Pileggi envision Casino as a Greek tragedy, each character doomed by their personality. Ace can ferret out card cheats and obsesses over blueberry muffins, but remains blind to Ginger's shortcomings until she grows psychotic. Massively arrogant, he rebuffs local officials and stages a TV show to promote himself. Meanwhile, Nicky's impulsiveness dooms the operation before it begins. After he's banned from Vegas casinos, he initiates a robbery-and-murder spree that disgusts even his bosses. It's only a matter of time before everything collapses into a bloody mess.
Though Scorsese depicts the nuts-and-bolts of gambling, much of Casino's a torrid domestic drama. Ace's love for Ginger is sincere: introduced tossing chips into the air, Bathsheba Everdeen-style, she's initially a gorgeous free spirit. Soon enough she's exposed as a vapid gold-digger, who can't escape her past with two-timer Lester Diamond (James Woods) or drug problems. Things escalate to attempted kidnappings, child abuse and domestic violence, worsened when Ginger hooks up with Nicky. These scenes are uncomfortable to watch, undermining the outward glamor. Casino lacks Goodfellas's affinity for its criminals: the protagonists aren't remotely likeable, there's little humor and the violence is even more extreme. Goodfellas presented rough shake downs and occasional murders; Casino piles on the grisly killings, from a man crushed in a vice to murder-by-pen, capped by a climactic beating and premature burial. If the bloodshed seems excessive, it serves a purpose. One could imagine hanging with Henry Hill and Jimmy Conway, even if Tommy De Vito lurked scarily nearby. No one wants Ace or Nicky as friends.
At three hours, Casino feels overlong with digressions on Mafia dealings, FBI investigations and Ace's war with local officials. Yet Scorsese's direction redeems its rough patches. Cinematographer Robert Richardson emphasizes the glitz of Vegas nightlife, conveying a perfect mixture of seedy glamor and brutality. Techniques which stood out in Goodfellas (relentless period music, Steadicam tracking shots) are woven into Casino's fabric, less showy than assured. Scorsese indulges in auteur moments elsewhere, sometimes successfully (a murder montage scored to House of the Rising Sun), others not (Nicky's car reflected in Ace's sunglasses).
Robert De Niro anchors Casino with a rock-steady performance. Wearing gaudy colored suits, De Niro's flamboyant yet understated, allowing Ace's arrogance and greed to overcome his better judgment. One of De Niro's last roles before sliding into self-parody, it's also among his best. He's matched by Joe Pesci, whose full-throttle nastiness makes Nicky an intolerable monster. Sharon Stone does career-best work, transitioning from charming gold-digger to debauched wastrel with shocking ease. Never considered a dramatic heavyweight, Stone earned an Oscar nod.On the negative, James Woods verges on self-parody, manically mumbling through several inconsequential scenes. Alongside regulars Frank Vincent (exacting karmic revenge for Billy Batts) and Clem Caserta, Scorsese adds Kevin Dunn (Nixon) as Ace's front man, Don Rickles, effectively against-type as the crusty manager and L.Q. Jones (The Wild Bunch) as a crooked county commissioner. Amusingly, Dick Smothers' Senator appears modeled on Harry Reid; lawyer-turned-Vegas Mayor Oscar Goodman plays himself.
Despite their similarities, Casino plays like the anti-Goodfellas. It's less exploration of the gangster life than a requiem for greed: criminals, conmen and crooked politicians destroying each other. It isn't pretty or uplifting, but it's fascinating to watch.
