At the very least, it resonates within a context of Scorsese's own: as De Niro's puckered Hale plots the destruction of the same Osage Nation families who saw him as a benevolent intermediary to white America, you might hear echoes (or pre-cursors) of the same disassociation that coursed through the likes of “Casino” and “The Wolf of Wall Street.”
So many of Scorsese's movies have ended on a gut punch: films like Gangs of New York and Casino take us inside the fiercely beating heart of the past, only to end by showing us history being unceremoniously flattened over and forgotten by the future, while movies like The Wolf of Wall Street leave us with ironic, depressing reminders that the bad guys don't always lose.
Scorsese's still urgent, still angry – the film's jabs of violence are as blood curdling as anything in Taxi Driver or Casino – and still driven by his deep-seated sense of morality and justice.
Still, at its core, according to Scorsese, this is a love story centered on Mollie's disastrous relationship with Ernest, making it one more of his perverse romantic couplings or folies a deux, as seen in films ranging from Taxi Driver (1976) to New York, New York (1977), from Raging Bull (1980) to Casino (1995).
Goodfellas, Casino, even The Wolf of Wall Street don’t deploy brutality and bloodshed to simply entertain, but deploy them in a flashy manner precisely to leave us in a complicated emotional state—what if we look past the glitzy, dynamic pop filmmaking and think about the reality of what we’ve seen?