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Remembering Ray Liotta in “Good Boys”

There is a moment in the beginning of Martin Scorsese’s 1990 gangster classic “Good Boys” that always pulls my heart. Scorsese’s film is brutal, clear and unsentimental, yes. But Ray Liotta, like Henry Hill, an associate professor in the underworld, brings a touch of tenderness that is even more effective at getting out of the mouth of a slippery sociopath. (The film is based on the book about the real crime “Wiseguy” by Nicholas Pilege; the real Hill acquired a certain personality after the release of the picture.)

It was during a behind-the-scenes voice-over when Henry remembered that as a boy he envied the sages who hung out at the pizzeria and the taxi rank opposite his house. The man who runs the pizzeria is Tudy Cicero, the brother of mob boss Polly Cicero, for whom Henry will soon be working. The narrator Henry says the gangster’s full name and pauses. Then, on an exhalation that has low but strong notes of love and nostalgia, he adds, “Taddy.”

Keep in mind that in the end, Tuddy is revealed to be as ruthless and cold-blooded a gangster as they come. He is the one who puts the bullet in the back of Tommy De Vito (Joe Pesci) at the fraudulent ceremony in which Tommy must become a “made man”. But here is Henry Liot’s Henry Hill, apparently still obsessed with the childhood and life idol he shared with the man. Liotta, who died this week at the age of 67, fills Scorsese’s film with dozens of equally revealing touches.

When researching “Made Men: The Story of Goodfellas”, my book about the 2020 film, I asked about this moment in the film several times. The pause and repetition of Taddy’s name was not in the draft of the script I saw. That was Liota’s touch. No one I spoke to remembered whether Liotta had suggested it during the behind-the-scenes voice recordings or simply added it himself. In any case, it works. Maybe too good for people who believe that depiction is approval. In a film that relentlessly explores the lure and transgressive thrill of immorality, portraying Hill of Lyota is the hook that draws the viewer.

If you’ve watched Hill on TV or listened to one of his Howard Stern appearances, you’ll probably get the impression that Henry Hill is what your grandmother might call a snook. Although he has committed acts of violence, both gang-related and domestic, he is not intimidating. Edward MacDonald, the prosecutor who included Hill and his family in the witness protection program and who plays himself in “Good Boys,” told me that Hill was a mafia clown jester rather than any major criminal. .

But Scorsese’s film is not just about real-life gangsters – it’s about how we mythologize them. Muscle Movie Stars is how Hill characterizes his team. And Liotta was the perfect Henry, able to turn a penny from dry charm to deadly rage. In one of the famous footage of the film, when Henry accompanies his future wife Karen (Lorraine Braco) to the New York nightclub Copacabana through a side entrance, Liotta invents all the parts of the charming business that a man like Henry would use: advice porter here, call to the cook there, set your date slightly for the elbow, act as if you need it when the waiter flies off the wings and places a personal table on the side of the stage. Lyota received suggestions from Hill himself – and more from Hill’s audio recordings of talking to Pilegi. But Liotta’s research into Hill’s world and the inner work she did were crucial.

The role came at a time when he may have turned to a career as a character actor. He was memorable in Jonathan Dem’s Something Wild as Melanie Griffith’s ex-boyfriend, whose ownership erupted into still shocking violence. And in “Field of Dreams” he played a reincarnation of the disgraced Shoeless football player Joe Jackson. Sometimes the wrinkle in his eyes reminded the viewer of the man’s corruption, but his portrayal was mostly of awe-inspiring love of the game, which could now play forever in a cornfield in the Midwest turned into a stadium.

When Goodfellas was announced, more than one potential cast member told me that this was the film that every actor in New York and Los Angeles wanted to see. And Liota was no exception. Everyone liked him for the role, except producer Irwin Winkler. He did not see the charm of the actor. In his book, Life in Movies, Winkler recalls that Liotta came to his table at a restaurant in Santa Monica and asked to speak. “In a 10-minute conversation, he (with charm and confidence) told me why he should play Henry Hill,” the producer wrote. When I interviewed Winkler, he said rather embarrassed, “Did you hear the story that I don’t want Ray?” I told Winkler I had, and said, “I don’t see anyone else doing it.” Winkler replied, “Neither can I.”

As it happened, I was unable to interview Liota myself about my book. Early conversations with his publicist were promising. I may be able to find some time with him when he was in New York promoting the Marriage Story at the New York Film Festival; it wasn’t then. We were both represented by the same agency; without dice. He was in a movie in which several of my close friends were crew members. I can’t go there. And while I was working on the book, I heard a few stories about an intense, serious actor who, after deciding not to do something, sticks to it.

He had spoken of Goodfellas in other interviews, including an oral story that aired on GQ in 2010. The photos had their challenges: he suffered the death of his mother in the middle and felt at least slightly excluded from colleagues such as Robert De Niro and On foot. While reviewing De Niro’s papers at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, I came across a thank-you card from Liotta, and inside was a handwritten note: “Bob, now I can tell you how much travel I had to work with you. You are the best. We hope to do it again. But I really mean Do it! ” Liota’s impatience is palpable. The two work together again at Copeland.

But Good Guys was unreproducible. Because it really showed its scope and it’s a landmark film. Liota’s distinctive role is one that any actor would hope to be remembered for.

Glenn Kenny is a critic and author of “Made Men: The Story of Goodfellas.”