Gangs of New York (2002): Epic Yet Empty

I love Martin Scorsese. In the last forty years few, if any, directors have put together a more distinguished, or more consistently excellent portfolio of films, among them: Taxi Driver (1976), Raging Bull (1980), The King of Comedy (1983), Goodfellas (1990), and The Departed (2006). Scorsese is passionate about movies,  movie history, and the power of the big screen motion picture, and it shows in all his work – most memorably, his recent Hugo (2011) or his fascinating exposition on Italian Film, My Voyage to Italy (1999). Scorsese also clearly loves New York City, which is featured in many of his best movies.  

Both of these passions are brought together in Gangs of New York.  The movie is based on the 1928 non-fiction book, Gangs of New York by Herbert Asbury, and, although the film is a work of fiction, it certainly aspires to historical accuracy in look, feel, and sweep.  It’s story focuses on the clash between gangs of xenophobic “Nativists” and Irish Catholic immigrants in the mid-nineteenth century. At that time, New York’s population was around 800,000 souls of which Irish immigrants already represented about twenty-five percent. Their presence – and their “popist” religion - was deeply resented by many; and this animus spawned the Know Nothing political movement in the mid-1850s and the many rival gangs that are at the core of this movie.

The film opens in 1846 with an epic and bloody rumble between a gang called the Natives led by Bill

“The Butcher” Cutting (Daniel Day Lewis) and an Irish gang called the Dead Rabbits (true gang name, by the way) lead by “Priest” Vallon (Liam Neeson), at a place called Paradise Square in the Five Points District of Manhattan.  City Hall and Chinatown occupy that territory today, but at that time the district was brimming with tenements, brothels, saloons, shops, and tens of thousands of natives and immigrants alike. Scorsese and his team rebuilt a facsimile of this area at the massive Cinecitta studios in Rome, and together with cinematographer Michael Ballhouse (The Departed), they try mightily to bring the teeming streets to vibrant life, as the two gangs pour into the square, face off and go at each other, while the cameras sweep in and out, back and forth across the battleground and surrounding area. This is not to say that the scene looks real. There’s a theatrical artificiality to it all. Nevertheless, the battle is a fabulous and brutal set piece, ending with the killing of Priest Vallon by The Butcher. Vallon’s young son, Amsterdam (!), somberly watches his father die.

We jump forward sixteen years to 1862, and Amsterdam, now a young man (Leonardo diCaprio), is being released from the Hellgate reformatory, intent on revenge against the Butcher.  But he has to be careful: times, and the old neighborhood, have changed; The Butcher is more powerful, tied in with William “Boss” Tweed (Jim Broadbent) and the Tammany Hall political machine, his former gang developing into a burgeoning crime syndicate - very much in the ascendancy. Amsterdam finds an old childhood chum, the weak, amiable Johnny (Henry Thomas); he meets a fetching, but dangerous young pickpocket/grifter named Jenny (Cameron Diaz); and he insinuates himself into the Butcher’s good graces, joining his gang, biding his time, waiting for the right moment. But a strange thing happens: Amsterdam and the Butcher develop a wary bond, which starts to resemble the father-son connection Amsterdam has been yearning for his whole life. Things get complicated. Unfortunately, things also get heavy-handed and disjointed.

Scorsese hangs his history of mid-century New York onto this frame. The effete, insulated, privileged class lives uptown in lavish, gilded mansions, a world apart from the roughhewn characters in Five Points, and believe (with some justification) that they own New York. The gangs are convenient political pawns. But the times are a-changing, and Bill Tweed knows it.  We see him building the future Tammany power base by appealing to the Irish newcomers, buying their votes and loyalty – to the disgust of The Butcher and his minions. There’s also a little thing known as the American Civil War going on, and troops are needed to replace the thousands of Yankees already slaughtered on distant Southern battlefields. Tweed and his crowd are signing up Irish lads right off the boat for the union army. The Nativists not only hate immigration and the Irish, they oppose the war, oppose the emancipation of the Negro, and most of all, oppose the newly announced Union army draft.

Scorsese tries to show us all this – the melting pot that the city (and country) is becoming, the wide gap

between the rich and the poor, the coming together of a political machine, the opposing gangs (syndicates, tribes) that for much of the next century, in ever-changing forms, will define the budding metropolis. He wants this movie to be the epic backstory of the great city he loves. At the same time he wants us to believe in his characters - and especially Amsterdam, who’s supposed to represent the striving and toughness that defines New Yorkers for Scorsese - to feel their (his) struggle against corruption and oppression, their (his)  yearnings for a better life, and so forth. Unfortunately, Scorsese’s reach exceeds his grasp.

 

The actors do their best. Day-Lewis‘ Bill “The Butcher” Cutter is a larger than life character – not unlike his oilman, Daniel Plainview, in There Will Be Blood (2007). Day-Lewis commands our attention in every scene he is in. He affects a strange, wobbly accent that is part Brooklyn, part miscellaneous blue collar ‘merican, and part cockney or something. Still, The Butcher, in Day-Lewis’ hands, is a magnificent, malevolent presence. DiCaprio’s Amsterdam is earnest and dashing, and bitter and idealistic, all in a dirty, hardscrabble way. He is supposed to be our protagonist-hero, but it’s not very convincing.  In every scene where he is in the same room as Day-Lewis, he looks small and second rate. In other scenes, with his peers, with his love interest, he is fine, but we don’t care enough for diCaprio’s character to worry when he’s down or perk up when he does well. His story, like the movie itself, lacks depth and definition. 

Cameron Diaz is terrific as Jenny, the amoral grifter with a sordid past and a heart of gold. She is diCaprio’s love interest, but that digression is underdeveloped. She’s good enough that it’s a shame the screenwriters didn’t give her more to do. (Diaz is a wonderful comic actor, of course, but it’s also too bad she has not chosen or been offered more dramatic roles over the years. Gangs of New York gives us a glimpse of what she might have done.)

The supporting players also do workman-like jobs with what they are given.  Neeson is his usual sturdy, noble and tough guy during his fifteen minutes. We understand why the Irish gang followed his leadership, and can accept Bill Cutter’s acknowledgment that Neeson’s character, Priest Vallon, was his only worthy opponent. John C Reilly and Brendon Gleeson are always good and are fine here as stock characters.  The problem is that they don’t have a lot of meat to chew on.

Watching Gangs of New York, I felt like the writers and director got caught up in their desire to make an Important picture, a New York epic, and they lost track of the fundamentals. There’s clearly a desire to present a realistic portrait of the period: the costuming is a big deal, the interiors are a big deal, the make-up is perfect, and so on. There’s an effort to touch on big, nation building themes, such as immigration and xenophobia, the civil war and racism, the rise of the corrupt political machine; the struggle between the working class and the wealthy; but so what? Only through character development and story can this history lesson resonate and come to life for those of us in the audience. And this never really happens in Gangs.

There’s not a moment in this nearly three hour extravaganza where we get misty eyed, or where we’re emotionally involved.

The movie concludes with a second big rumble in the park, a companion piece to the opening scene. This time, the resurgent Irish, now led by Priest Vallon’s son Amsterdam, come together to avenge their earlier humiliation, to establish their historic legitimacy and to seek redemption via another battle  versus The Butcher and his mob. But then a funny thing happens: the Draft Riots of 1863 break out throughout New York, in a ferocious, bloody protest against the draft and economic inequality. Thousands take to the streets carrying banners, throwing rocks; federal troops move in, cannons blasting; citizens smash into mansions; blacks are attacked and killed. Our little group of Five Points combatants and their little neighborhood gang war, get completely dwarfed. The story we’ve been watching for so long is revealed as insignificant in the larger scheme of New York history. The story of the Draft Riots is not well explained or contextualized, either, but this event is obviously a much bigger deal than the Five Points set-to.

Scorsese underscores the insignificance of his main story in the fabric of New York’s history with the film’s final shots, from the Brooklyn cemetery where both Priest Vallon and Bill “The Butcher” Cutter are buried side by side, overlooking Manhattan across the river. Amsterdam remarks that pretty soon their lives and struggles will be forgotten, as if they never existed. Then, Scorsese shows us the cemetery becoming overgrown, as the city skyline gradually morphs into modern New York, complete with the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Gangs was released in 2002, one year after 9/11 and I guess this is supposed to mean something.