When I first moved to Los Angeles a few months ago, I had romanticized visions of an exciting, larger-than-life existence. Yet, so far, my days here have been a monotonous grind. The hustle of LA—its sprawling freeways and its shallow promise of dreams—has been a far cry from the electrifying universe Martin Scorsese brought to life in GoodFellas. Watching that movie again this week, I felt a pang of yearning, not just for New York, but for the audacious, technicolor lifestyle of Henry Hill and his wise-guy friends. In a city where I’m just another transplant trying to survive, GoodFellas feels like an escape hatch into a world where survival isn’t just living; it’s thriving—with style, swagger, and danger.
The first time I saw GoodFellas was back in India, where it played on a grainy DVD my cousin lent me. Even then, as a teenager in Chennai, it was a revelation. Scorsese’s vivid, kinetic storytelling felt like a portal into a reality entirely alien yet intoxicatingly seductive. Now, watching it again as a 32-year-old man trying to make sense of his existence in Los Angeles, it hit differently. The allure of belonging, the pull of camaraderie, and the dark thrill of rebellion against societal norms all felt deeply personal—even if I’m worlds away from the mafioso culture of 1970s New York.
The film’s protagonist, Henry Hill, is introduced with one of cinema’s most iconic lines: “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.” This declaration resonates deeply with anyone who has ever dreamed of breaking free from the ordinary. Henry’s ascent into the world of organized crime is portrayed with such exuberance and allure that it’s impossible not to get swept up in it. As he struts through the Copacabana, the camera tracking him in an unbroken shot, you’re not just witnessing his rise; you’re living it.
But the genius of GoodFellas lies in its unflinching honesty. For every glamorous moment, there’s a counterweight of brutality. The charm of the wise guys, their devil-may-care attitudes, and their tight-knit loyalty are juxtaposed with the violence, paranoia, and betrayal that inevitably come with the lifestyle. It’s this duality that makes the film so compelling. Scorsese never lets you forget that beneath the veneer of swagger lies a dark, destructive reality. Yet, as someone trudging through the banality of survival, I couldn’t help but envy Henry Hill’s defiance of the rules, even knowing his ultimate downfall.
Joe Pesci’s Tommy DeVito is the perfect embodiment of this duality. His wild unpredictability and explosive temper make him both magnetic and terrifying. The infamous “Funny how?” scene is a masterclass in tension and character study, and it’s moments like these that remind me why I’d rather be in the smoky back rooms of GoodFellas’s New York than the sunny sterility of my LA neighborhood. At least in that world, life is lived at full throttle, consequences be damned.
Then there’s Ray Liotta, whose performance as Henry is the beating heart of the film. His journey from starry-eyed teenager to paranoid wreck mirrors the film’s overarching message: nothing in this life comes without a cost. Liotta’s narration is infused with both wonder and regret, making you feel complicit in his journey. By the end, as Henry laments his mundane existence in witness protection, I felt a pang of recognition. I’m no wise guy, but his lament about becoming “an average nobody” struck a chord. Isn’t that the fear we all carry—to live and die without making a mark?
And perhaps that’s why GoodFellas endures for me. It’s a reminder of what’s possible when you step outside the confines of the ordinary. Sure, it’s a cautionary tale, but it’s also a celebration of audacity, ambition, and the human desire to carve out something extraordinary in an indifferent world. Scorsese’s film captures the contradictions of life in a way that feels universal: the beauty and the horror, the camaraderie and the betrayal, the ecstasy and the despair. Sitting in my small Los Angeles apartment, far from the mythic streets of Scorsese’s New York, I felt both inspired and hollow. My life may lack the drama and flair of Henry Hill’s, but watching GoodFellas, I’m reminded that there’s more to life than just survival. Perhaps I’ll never be accepted by the wise guys, but their world will always be there for me on the screen, offering a taste of what it means to truly live—if only for two and a half hours.
