Matteo Garrone
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Finally, theres Marco (Marco Macor) and Ciro (Ciro Petrone), two adolescents obsessed with Scarface, who reenact acts of violence and goof around guns, but, soon enough, they get caught up with the real violence of the Camorra.
Two young friends, Marco (Marco Macor) and Ciro (Ciro Petrone), play at being Tony Montana, Al Pacino's character from Scarface.
Story No. 3 tells of two cocky friends, Marco (Marco Macor) and Sweet Pea (Ciro Petrone), idiots who act out scenes from Scarface and have more or less internalized every Hollywood mafia cliché that Garrone’s film rejects.
While the movie is yet another saga of killing and corruption, unlike so many of its forebears, from "Scarface" to "City of God," there appear to be no spoils.
Through films such as “The Godfather” and “Scarface,” along with the television smash “The Sopranos,” there’s been a definite glamorization of life inside the deep layers of the mafia.
Two charismatic but woefully foolish boys, Marco (Marco Macor) and Ciro (Ciro Petrone) hang out in a disused building acting out scenes from Brian De Palma's "Scarface," and dreaming of creating their own two-man crime syndicate.
The main cast is back, but without Emily Blunt (who must have been busy remaking "Mary Poppins"), and with Italian director Stefano Sollima (known for the raw "Gomorrah" television series) replacing French-Canadian director Denis Villeneuve.
Though the film is the follow-up to 2015’s ultra-violent crime/thriller Sicario, it stands on its own as an intensely intricate exploration of the blurry lines that separate criminality and law enforcement, a theme often explored by the director whose past works include the Italian television series Suburra and then later, Gomorrah .
“Sicario: Day of the Soldado” isn’t so much a sequel as a pilot for an entirely new cycle of “Sicario” movies centered on the characters of the 2015 film (minus Emily Blunt), directed by the man responsible for the gritty “Gomorrah” series for Italian TV, Stefano Sollima.
They do, though director Stefano Sollima (whose resume includes the excellent TV series "Gomorrah") doesn't have the visual flair Villeneuve brought to the first film.
Writer Taylor Sheridan (Wind River, Hell or High Water) is once again at the keyboard, but this time Stefano Sollima (Gomorrah, Suburra) is behind the lens.
Before then, all you can do is marvel at how the reconfigured Sicario team — new director Stefano ‘ Gomorrah ’ Sollima, incoming cinematographer Dariusz ‘ The Martian ’ Wolski and returning screenwriter Taylor Sheridan — have managed to build on the militarised drug enforcement purgatory rendered first time around.
Between Francis Ford Coppola’s mafia as Greek tragedy, The Godfather, and Martin Scorsese’s high strung Manhattan goombah’s (Mean Streets, Goodfellas), La Cosa Nostra has become synonymous with flowered filmmaking.
In such entertainments as "The Godfather," "Goodfellas" and "The Sopranos," the Italian-American Mafia, or Cosa Nostra, is depicted as a strongly hierarchical institution governed not by the laws of society but by its own strict codes of ethics and conduct, including a strict delineation between insiders (that is to say, crooks) and civilians.
And they’ve had to since, no matter what price their characters end up paying, movies like Scorsese’s Goodfellas and Casino, and Coppola’s Godfather trilogy inadvertently glamorize gangster life.
To lump it in the same category as Scarface or GoodFellas would be misleading.
Visually, Garrone cites Goya , Fellini and Mario Bava as key inspirations, in addition to which I spied traces of the magical realism of Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth , the skin-peeling horror of Clive Barker’s Hellraiser, and the ambiguous monsters of Wes Craven ’s The Hills Have Eyes , with just a touch of the bug-like weirdness of Vincenzo Natali’s Splice .
Directed and co-written by Matteo Garrone from the book by Roberto Saviano (who now has a permanent police escort), Gomorrah depicts Italian clan violence so far removed from the late-Romantic shadings of The Godfather — or the rich suburban irony of The Sopranos — that it might as well belong to another genre completely.
Through films such as “The Godfather” and “Scarface,” along with the television smash “The Sopranos,” there’s been a definite glamorization of life inside the deep layers of the mafia.
Between Francis Ford Coppola’s mafia as Greek tragedy, The Godfather, and Martin Scorsese’s high strung Manhattan goombah’s (Mean Streets, Goodfellas), La Cosa Nostra has become synonymous with flowered filmmaking.
“Gomorrah” is possibly the most authentic representation to date of the depth and influence of organized crime, but it will likely disappoint fans of “The Godfather” trilogy or “The Sopranos.”
In such entertainments as "The Godfather," "Goodfellas" and "The Sopranos," the Italian-American Mafia, or Cosa Nostra, is depicted as a strongly hierarchical institution governed not by the laws of society but by its own strict codes of ethics and conduct, including a strict delineation between insiders (that is to say, crooks) and civilians.
Not unlike the mafia operations we've become familiar with ("The Godfather" series, "The Sopranos," etc., etc.) this one includes drugs, prostitution and a corner in local garbage dumping.
Dropping us in the middle of Italian slum Scampia, itself smack dab in the middle of nothing, Matteo Garrone's Gomorrah (Gomorra) is the Hud of gangster flicks, all deglamourized, harsh, expressionist stripping-away of illusions and idealism to reveal the gasping, grasping emptiness underneath.
Between Francis Ford Coppola’s mafia as Greek tragedy, The Godfather, and Martin Scorsese’s high strung Manhattan goombah’s (Mean Streets, Goodfellas), La Cosa Nostra has become synonymous with flowered filmmaking.
Matteo Garrone's Gomorrah is a jolting and utterly original take on the gangster movie — or would be had it been made 35 years ago, before Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets.
Gomorrah's episodic, mosaic structure is in some ways comparable to Steven Soderbergh's Traffic, but Garrone is not so much interested in diagramming a process as mapping a specific terrain.
Gomorrah (the original Italian title left off the "H," to pun on the name of the iniquitous biblical town) makes up for lost time by following at least five separate narrative threads — à la Traffic, Syriana, etc. — about dirty deeds spiraling around each other in the weed patches and disco-bars.
It also has the loose structure of Steven Soderbergh's coke-trade chronicle, "Traffic," although it's even looser.
His previous features, beginning with "Little Odessa" in 1994 and continuing with "The Yards" and "We Own the Night," have all been crime films.
In contrast with the interweaving threads of Alejandro González Iñárritu's "Babel" and "Amores Perros," which "Gomorrah" recalls, Garrone's characters neither cross paths nor are doomed to some inevitable horror by a filmmaker's stylish fatalism.
Garrone focuses on five intertwining storylines in a patchwork film not unlike Crash or Robert Altman's Short Cuts in the way characters bounce off each other and their actions have ripple effects on one another.
Much as we may love Martin Scorsese, you have to appreciate Italian-made films about the Mafia such as the 2008 film Gomorrah , or Marco Bellocchio’s The Traitor .
How I wish this had been made by Gomorrah’s Matteo Garrone, who brings more verve to a story this populated and complicated, yet this mob tale steals our attention.
In contrast with the interweaving threads of Alejandro González Iñárritu's "Babel" and "Amores Perros," which "Gomorrah" recalls, Garrone's characters neither cross paths nor are doomed to some inevitable horror by a filmmaker's stylish fatalism.
Like Scorsese's film, Gomorrah tells tales of initiation and disillusionment, five of them in this case, all extrapolated from anecdotes in the book, and loosely connected, like the narratives in Babel — it's another look at international misery named after a Biblical disaster area.
Directed with terse muscularity by Stefano Sollima (TV series Gomorrah ), Suburra will command your attention all the way to its bloody and operatic finale.
Like Gomorrah and the superior City of God, most of these films are set in crowded slums.
While the movie is yet another saga of killing and corruption, unlike so many of its forebears, from "Scarface" to "City of God," there appear to be no spoils.
The look and feel of “Gomorrah” closely resembles the recent work of director Fernando Meirelles (“City of God”), taking a semi-documentary approach to the drama to best grasp the frightening authenticity of it all.
Applying a City of God, neo-realistic style to his interlocking stories of youth caught up in the corruption of the area, the film mixes narratives to show us how deep the roots of evil actually go, and how futile it seems to try and eradicate this mob-rule menace from its firmly ensconced arenas.
Not for him the panicky, catch-me-if-you-can approach of a film like “City of God”—or, indeed, like “Slumdog Millionaire,” which next to “Gomorrah” seems like an adventure vacation.
Gomorrah is as bleak and sober as the lives of the people that it portrays - it makes City Of God look like The Chronicles Of Narnia.
His previous features, beginning with "Little Odessa" in 1994 and continuing with "The Yards" and "We Own the Night," have all been crime films.
Similar to the style of director Matteo Garrone and his Italian crime film "Gomorrah," director Demange hustles behind his actors like an eavesdropper or a battle correspondent, giving each new scene and set of characters a chance to register without letting them derail the narrative locomotive.
Though the adaptations are not literal and you’ll be hard pressed to find moral lessons in these fantasies, the film is cinematic eye candy — not as spectacular as the more fanciful works of Terry Gilliam (“The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus”, “The Brothers Grimm”), more on the order of Tarsem Singh (“The Fall”).
And they’ve had to since, no matter what price their characters end up paying, movies like Scorsese’s Goodfellas and Casino, and Coppola’s Godfather trilogy inadvertently glamorize gangster life.
The end result has the stark grittiness of Matteo Garrone's Neapolitan crime story Gomorrah (2008), captures the dangers of a teeming slum with the veracity of Fernando Mereilles and Kátia Lund's City of God (2002), and chronicles the end of innocence as harrowingly as Cary Joji Fukunaga's Sin Nombre (2009) and Beasts of No Nation (2015)—all of which used nonactors to great effect.