ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA: Blu-ray (Alan Ladd Company 1984) Warner Home Video
Conceived over
a span of roughly 20 years, meticulously shot on locations in New York,
Montreal and Venice, but alas, unceremoniously butchered (‘re-edited’) for its
North American release, Sergio Leone’s Once
Upon A Time in America (1984) has been long since considered as ‘the one that got away’; a would-be four
hour epic about the transient nature of man’s own brief span of years on this
planet; his disillusionment with the follies of life, and penultimate
acceptance of the tragedies endured and triumphs achieved along the journey.
Never before, and arguably never since, has such a clear-eyed vision of what
Leone himself coined, ‘the loss of time’
been so clairvoyantly accomplished on the movie screen. Once Upon A Time in America is undeniably a movie very close to Leone’s
heart; a reflection fraught in bittersweet reminiscences for a time
unflattering and un-glamorous, yet given over to Leone’s exquisite penchant for
resurrecting life as art, and employing his own surrealist beauty to achieve a
near-impossible coup. It seems grossly unfair to refer to Once Upon A Time in America as a ‘gangster picture’; its patina occasionally
transparent as gushing praise for the Cagney/Raft/Robinson/Bogart pictures of
the late 1930’s and early 40’s. And yet, like the other six movies in Leone’s
all too brief canon, Once Upon A Time in
America remains an ambitious masterwork with an extraordinary vision at its
center, unlike any other ‘gangster’
movie before or since.
As was
something of a habit with Sergio Leone, Once
Upon A Time in America had a lengthy gestation; Leone already begun to
ferment the kernel of an idea in his creative genius while still shooting Once Upon A Time in the West (1969).
Leone briefly toyed with the idea of actually casting the aged Cagney as the
elderly David ‘Noodles’ Aaronson (the part would eventually go to Robert DeNiro
– a formidable ‘second choice’). Delays abounded, Leone dissatisfied with
various drafts of the screenplay, based on Harry Grey’s ‘The Hoods’; the first, written by Norman Mailer, the ultimate
‘working script’ a compendium cobbled together by no less than eight writers
(including Leone); most of them long-time and greatly admired colleagues from
his early years (Franco Arcalli, Leonardo Benvenuti, Piero De Bernardi, Franco
Ferrini, Ernesto Gastaldi, Stuart M. Kaminsky, and, Enrico Medioli).
By the time Once Upon A Time in America went before
the cameras it had been over ten years since Leone’s last picture – a lifetime
in the movie industry where an artist (even one as universally respected as
Leone) is no better than the reputation of his last commercial success or flop.
Hence, Leone found it difficult to find backers for this pet project, conceived
as the last chapter in his trilogy of tomes to the America that was sadly, or
perhaps mercilessly, is no more. In producer, Aaron Milchan, Leone was to
discover something of a kindred spirit; certainly one who allowed him to make
the movie he wanted, without the usual egregious input from a front office
unaware, and unsuspecting of the artistic merits of any project. As Leone
prepared to delve into this meticulously recreated living tableau, inspired by
the photographic accounts of immigrant life taken by famed photographer, Jacob
Riis, Once Upon A Time in America
drew hushed curiosity from industry insiders; admirers, sycophants and
detractors alike, all eager to embrace and/or criticize Leone’s latest project.
No one then knew it would be his last.
Over the years
rumors have abounded about the various casting choices, and indeed, Leone had
bounced around all sorts of whimsical notions as to who would star in his opus
magnum; the considerable passage of time between his idea for the movie and the
actual shooting of it necessitating a revolving roster of endless possibilities
and a few dalliances along the way, with actors who, with all due respect, had
no hope in hell of making the grade; like Gérard Depardieu, who spoke zero
English at the time, but professed a fervent determination to master the
language – and with a Brooklyn accent no less. I shudder to think how Once Upon A Time in America would have
turned out had he succeeded; Depardieu’s foray into English-speaking movies having
since illustrated how impossibly heavy his own accent has remained. There were
others in the queue; Jean Gabin for one; Richard Dreyfuss for another, and of course
the aforementioned Cagney, who by 1982 was ailing and unable to partake. To say
Leone saw every major and rising star of the time is an understatement; Paul
Newman, Dustin Hoffman, Jon Voight and John Malkovich all interested in
stepping up to the plate.
Ultimately,
Leone went with Robert DeNiro and James Woods, the latter not an obvious choice
since he had yet to carve a niche for himself in the movies. However, Woods was
hardly a novice to his craft, having performed the lead in 36 plays and also
briefly appeared on the big and small screens, underused, rather than
prominently featured. In the wake of DeNiro’s iconic performances in other
gangster movies we’ve come to take him for granted as the quintessential
Mafioso. But Once Upon A Time in America
would solidify this impression like no other contribution made by the actor
before it – save, perhaps Mean Streets
(1973); DeNiro assuaging into the role of God’s lonely outcast with a sort of
sad-eyed slickness; careworn, corrupt and occasionally contemptuous. It’s a
hell of a performance, DeNiro’s descriptive visage capable of looking perfectly
in place as both the young rumrunner and the elder statesman on the lam and in
hiding.
While it was
shooting, Once Upon A Time in America
was to acquire a rather unflattering reputation as a runaway production given
over to Leone’s excesses. Lest we remember, the film began shooting in 1982,
just two brief years after cost overruns and a lengthy shoot on Michael
Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate (1980) had
bankrupted the venerable independent film-maker’s studio, United Artists. And
to achieve the sort of verisimilitude Leone was ultimately after took time –
and money; eating up a lot of both and, on occasion, trying everyone’s
patients; Leone shooting and re-shooting until it was exactly right to satisfy
his camera eye; his cinematographer, Tonino Delli Colli recalling how one day
all he and Leone photographed was 26 takes of a single master shot: extras
parading up and down the street before the inevitable shift of natural sunlight
forced Leone to concede he already had it in the can. “I don’t think Sergio wanted to finish it,” DeNiro would later
profess, “I don’t think he ever wanted to
stop shooting…I understood that.”
Incredibly,
Leone was left mostly to his own accord, achieving a level of artistry unheard
of in the cost-cutting 80’s, unaccustomed to such lavishness; the resultant
footage truly a throwback to another era in film-making when the impeccable
visualization of every single frame was of paramount concern. Viewing Once Upon a Time in America today, the
film has not dated – perhaps because it was always intended as a period piece
out of step and sync with its own time. Even so, it bears the hallmarks of
another time and place entirely, as though Leone has somehow managed to rewind
the counter of his life, step back in a magical time machine and make it back
to 1969 as he always hoped to and had earnestly begun.
Alas, what
ought to have been Leone’s crowning achievement (the movie was, in fact, hailed
as a masterpiece when screened at Cannes), ironically, in America, became
something of a grand disappointment. The picture’s lithe continuity was
destroyed after Warner Bros. executives, utterly baffled by Leone’s daring to
juxtapose moments from the past, present and future out of chronology, elected
not only to pare down Once Upon A Time
in America’s run time to a staggeringly truncated 139 minutes – and this,
after Leone had already been convinced to cut the film from 270 to 229 minutes
(working from a surplus of nearly 10 hrs. of footage) – but also rearranging
the footage into what was then perceived as a more linear format. In
retrospect, these decisions proved lethal; the cadence, mood and flavor of the
piece utterly evaporated.
Viewed in its
proper order of continuity, that is to say, Leone’s cut, Once Upon A Time in America has been interpreted as an opium-induced
hallucination. In this regard, the movie’s non-linear timeline makes perfect
sense; one man’s bittersweet and understated indictment on his squandered youth
and misguided, lifelong – though ultimately fruitless – investment in organized
crime. Leone’s impressions of the ‘immigrant experience’ are perhaps the most
honest ever committed to film; imperfect, occasionally playful snapshots of the
squalor in both pre and post-Depression era America; tracing the elemental
decline of the unfulfilled promise of the ‘American dream’ and its inevitable
backlash and fallout chronicled in the passage of the years, the loss of loved
ones and the blight of urban decay, mirrored in the heart and mind of our aged
protagonist.
Leone, who had
established darker themes in his revisionist spaghetti westerns, carries over
similar ideals into this more contemporary tale; in essence, illustrating the
futility of man’s desire to change and rise above his own fallibility. It’s a very astute observation when you think
about it; as not much has changed in
man’s evolutionary chain; the ever-evolving technological aspects of our society
merely advancing man’s opportunity to pursue the same tired, old and easily
corruptible ambitions of his ancestors. At its core, Once Upon A Time in America is still very much a version of these
ensconced principles; like the solitary ‘man
with no name’, unprincipled and merely passing through this vast landscape
of time and space without making much of an impact on it; Leone trades in the
towering buttresses and craggy, cavernous rock formations of Monument Valley
for a metropolitan ‘wilderness’; amoral, decadent and unruly – a wild thing
that cannot be tamed by these teeming masses who have come to America under
that false promise, the proverbial bubble in their dreams for a new beginning
about to be burst.
In 1997,
American audiences at last saw an approximation of Leone’s vision for Once Upon A Time In America; re-screened
at 229 minutes to universal acclaim. Now, Warner Bros. has elected to go back
to the wellspring yet again, this time reinstating nearly 20 additional minutes
of footage. I find it somewhat facetious to refer to this 251 minute re-edit as
‘the director’s cut’ – since, Leone’s original edit ran 270 minutes. Still,
there is little to deny this version replicates more fully Leone’s original
intensions for the movie; getting closer to satisfying the completionist’s
verve to absorb every possible nuance and moment in its fullest flourish. At
229 minutes Once Upon A Time in America
was already a masterwork. At 249 min. it has evolved into an enrichment of
Leone’s innate love for storytelling so obviously imbued within every fiber of
his being. At 270 minutes, undoubtedly, the movie would have ranked right up
there with cinema perfection itself.
For the
purposes of expediting a summary of the film’s plot, this review will attempt
to explain it in a more linear fashion, something I strongly suspect Sergio Leone
would have absolutely hated. Yet, to try and write any viable or even valid
critique about Once Upon A Time In
America as it occurs on the screen is, I believe, to equally bastardize the
director’s vision with sing-song shifts back and forth to mark these
transitions. Leone does, in fact, begin his story in the middle; David
'Noodles' Aaronson (Robert De Niro) eluding Mafia hit men, but unable to
expunge his memory even under the powerful influences of opium inside an
Oriental flophouse. We’re in the 1930’s, Noodles slipping in and out of his
drug-induced stupor as he grapples with the various aspects of his delinquent
youth that, indirectly – or perhaps directly – have made him the sloppy mess of
a man he is today.
The opening
sequence to Once Upon A Time in America
has a dreamlike quality; albeit with more of a nightmarish slant; the
assassination of Noodles’ girlfriend, Eve (Darlanne
Fleugel); the discovery of charred bodies being pulled from a fire, the
pummeling to a bloody pulp of Fat Moe Gelly (Larry Rapp) by a trio of Mafia hit
men attempting to snuff out Noodles’; a hidden briefcase inside a locker at the
train depot, alas - emptied of its stash. In this initially chaotic fantasia of
images, Leone gives us what is perhaps the greatest singular snapshot of a
failed hoodlum; a sort of text book example for all the reasons why crime
really doesn’t pay – except in dividends of grief, sorrow and abject
misery.
We advance to
the 1960’s; David having successfully eluded the Mafia for nearly four decades,
now returned to his old haunt, discovering Moe still the proprietor of a bar he
inherited since his father’s time; very little changed in the memories he holds
dear from his imperfect youth. We regress to the turn of the century; Young
David ‘Noodles’ Aaronson (now played by Scott Tyler) an awkward ruffian, lives
in New York’s Jewish ghetto community. His days are spent roughing up rummies
for a few bits of spare change, along with his fellow mugs; Patsy (Brian
Bloom), Cockeye (Adrian Curran) and Domenic (Noah Moazezi). Fat Moe (Mike
Monetti) works in his father’s deli. Moe’s sister, Deborah (Jennifer Connelly) is
a rather priggish, though ambitious young girl with dreams of becoming a
professional dancer. She has little interest in David, who finds other ways to
satisfy his burgeoning sexual urges; chiefly, with Peggy (Amy Ryder), the
trollop living in his tenement. Peggy is not terribly discriminating when it
comes to giving it up. Hell, she can be had for the price of a creampuff.
Noodles and
his gang inadvertently meet up with Max Bercovicz (Rusty Jacobs) - a bigger
operator on every level, who helps them frame Officer Whitney (Richard Foronjy),
the policeman standing in their way.
Whitney gets caught with Peggy; Max taking a compromising photo to mark
the occasion and use as leverage in their blackmail. Afterward, Max convinces the boys to take up
with him and together they quickly set themselves up, using common, though
clever thievery to procure the luxuries only someone else’s money can afford. Alas,
this fledgling organization is in direct conflict with Bugsy (James Russo); a
ruthless Mafia point man. To mark his territory, Bugsy murders Domenic in cold
blood. The assassination sets Noodles off – our first glimmer of his soon to be
famous temper. In retaliation, Noodles not only stabs Bugsy to death, he also
wounds Officer Whitey.
Spending the
rest of his youth incarcerated for murder as a juvenile, upon his release in
the early 1930s, Noodles (now played by DeNiro) discovers his ever-devoted pal,
Max (now played by James Woods) waiting for him on the outside. Better still,
in Noodles absence, Max has taken over their modest crime syndicate, parleyed
into a fairly lucrative bootlegging operation. True to their friendship, Max
makes Noodles his partner. He rejoins the rest of the old gang who run a
popular speakeasy. Noodles is also reintroduced to Deborah (now played by
Elizabeth McGovern). She’s as distant and aloof as ever, having invested her
time in advancing her career. There’s no getting around it. As a priggish girl,
Deborah was mildly unattainable. As a young lady of culture, she’s evolved into
a respected dancer/actress completely out of Noodles’ league, likely to have
all of her childhood dreams fulfilled – and not about to let Noodles stall any
of her plans for continued success.
The boys are
hired by big time Mafioso, Franki Manoldi (Joe Pesci) to assist his mobster
brother, Joe (Burt Young) in smuggling some diamonds from Detroit. Noodles is
not entirely certain Max should partake in this venture; a suspicion confirmed
when the exchange of money for diamonds at an abandoned ship's graveyard turns
bloody and murderous. Following the gruesome assassination of Joe and all his
men, Max confides in Noodles he was told in advance by Franki to murder his
brother and collect the precious cargo for himself. At the same
time Max, Noodles and the rest of the gang are prospering from their
bootlegging operation, Max also hooks up with corrupt union boss, Jimmy Conway
O'Donnell (Treat Williams); the boys providing thug muscle for hire.
Everything
seems to be going their way. However, from this moment forward, Noodles and Max
will steadily begin to grow further and further apart; their mutual interests
diverging on a basic ideology. Noodles believes they should work for themselves
and remain small but owe their destiny to no one. Alas, Max has allowed greed
to clutter his mind; his ambitions preceding sound logic. He thinks the only
way to rise to the top is to organize with a more prominent criminal element;
erode it from the inside and gradually rise to the top by any means necessary.
To suit his
flashier lifestyle, Max takes up with Carol (Tuesday Weld); a sadomasochistic
creature who previously helped the boys rob the jeweler for whom she works,
encouraging Noodles to beat and rape her as part of the scam; supposedly to
throw her bosses off the scent of the fix. Actually, Carol fairly enjoys
herself with Noodles and shares in the loot later on. Solvent for the first
time in his life, Noodles decides to pursue Deborah once again. Too bad he
hasn’t the faintest idea how to go about it; still the gawky preteen in his own
mind and feeling ever so much more emasculated by the airs Deborah puts on to both
impress and humiliate him in tandem. Tragically, each has underestimated the
other; Deborah allowing Noodles to wine and dine her at a palatial seaside
resort, only to put the brakes on when he attempts to get frisky in the
backseat of their chauffeur-driven car. Unable to take ‘no’ for an answer,
Noodles forces himself on Deborah, taking from her what she is unwilling to
give and leaving her tearstained and demoralized afterward with no hope now of
Noodles ever making Deborah his wife.
The last act
of Leone's saga plays fast and loose with the narrative timeline. Noodles and
his pals become embroiled in a botched stickup job on the U.S. Federal Reserve
- the aftermath only briefly glimpsed in the prologue; the charred remains of
presumably Max, Cockeye and Patsy lying on the cold wet pavement. Prior to this grizzly end, Max and Noodles
had taken a vacation to Florida where each learns prohibition has been
repealed, thereby putting an end to their lucrative bootlegging and speakeasy. Leone
now leaps ahead to 1968. Having discovered a briefcase containing the stolen
treasury money, Noodles, now a middle-aged man, reunites with Deborah
backstage. She has become a successful film and Broadway star in the interim,
but has since married Secretary David Bailey - currently suspected of city
corruption. Noodles tells Deborah he has been invited by Bailey for a house
party. Nervously, Deborah pleads with Noodles not to go. Instead, Noodles
learns Deborah has a son, also named David (also played by Rusty Jacobs who
played young Max); the presumed implication being Max and Deborah have had an
affair and young David is their lovechild.
Arriving at
Bailey's Long Island estate, Noodles is in for an even bigger shock when he
discovers Secretary Bailey is actually Max. Having escaped the rap for the
Federal Reserve holdup, he has lived obscurely with a name change; his lie for
half a century about to be exposed; exploiting his contacts in organized crime
to advance to his political rank. Unable to accept his inevitable demise, Max
encourages Noodles to shoot him in his study, even providing him with a foolproof
plan of escape so the crime can go unpunished. Instead, Noodles refuses,
recognizing that if he were to comply with Max's request he would forever
destroy the second half of his life as surely as the first half was turned to
excrement by their association.
Walking away
from the estate in the dark, Noodles takes notice of a garbage truck parked
nearby. The truck begins to follow him down the street and from behind it there
emerges a shadowy figure - presumably, though perhaps not entirely - Max (Leone
is particularly evasive about showing us Max's demise). As the truck passes by
Noodles, the shadowy figure is momentarily obscured from his view and afterward
has altogether vanished. If this is Max, then we must assume he has thrown
himself into the rear compactor as a final act of insane self-destruction. We
return to the opium den first seen at the start of the film; Noodles shown to a
bed by the proprietor who also helps him begin his hallucinogenic descent.
Noodles reclines on his back with a queer, faintly disturbing grin; Leone
freeze-framing on this ambiguous moment as the credits begin to roll.
Once Upon A Time in America is fancifully
told. Even its title suggests a fairytale. Like the best from the Brothers
Grimm, this story is imbued with transient episodes of madness and elation; the
mediocrity of daily life forever in danger of succumbing to omnipotent and
peripheral darkness. It clings to the edges of uncertainty; only occasionally
and all too briefly permitted to bask in the stark and unflattering pall of
broad daylight. The only way this film’s ephemeral timeline works is if we
assume the story being told is entirely the product of Noodles’ opium-induced
hallucinations and/or fertile imagination. Having seen the original truncated
and re-edited North American print on its initial theatrical release back in
1984, I recall how nothing about Once
Upon A Time in America then made any sense. But in reassembling the movie
the way Sergio Leone would have wanted it we get an even more phantasmagoric
experience; the pieces never neatly fitting together.
Perhaps, this
too is Leone’s well-fermented point: that the circle of life is built with
imperfect spokes to support its wheel; the youthfully impertinent desire to
control our own destiny gradually getting away from us and spinning out of
control until we become mere travelling companions on its inevitable ‘journey’
instead of commanding the view from the driver’s seat. As a dream remembered, Once Upon A Time in America makes
perfect sense; the audience not entitled to have all the pieces of the mystery;
simply the ones marginally necessary to connect the dots between the past,
present and future.
Warner Home
Video's reissued 2-disc Blu-Ray is a minor revelation. I have a confession to
make and it’s that I remain a little disappointed with this release; my dissatisfaction
having nothing to do with the quality of the reinstated ‘lost’ sequences into the original 229 minute cut of the movie. To
be clear, Warner has given us a second opportunity to own the 229 minute
assembly; also the extended 251 minute ‘director’s cut’; both remastered in 4K.
Framed correctly in 1.78:1 the 1080p image reveals the same level of startling
clarity and sharpness as before. Colors are richly saturated with very accurate
flesh tones. The presentation of the extended cut tends to favor a less vibrant
palette; I’ll presume in keeping with Leone’s intent, but also to minimize the
jarring effect between the footage culled from stellar original camera negatives
and the less than perfect 35mm work print footage reinserted. Fine detail is
superbly rendered and contrast is bang on. You’re going to love this hi-def
presentation.
As per the
reinstated footage: basically a few choice scenes that augment and expand upon
our appreciation for the story and its characters; these have been culled from
inferior 35mm work prints; the worse of all possible source materials to begin
ANY restoration; regrettably, the only viable option in existence. Through a
grant from The Film Foundation and additional funding provided by Gucci, Warner
Home Video has achieved some fairly miraculous results with this imperfect
material. Honestly, there is nothing else the studio could have or should have done to improve upon what’s
here. Yes, it doesn’t match the quality of the rest of this presentation and –
yes – those with discerning eyes and monitors will undoubtedly poo-poo the
advancement of grain, the obvious loss in color saturation, and, the marginal
loss of fine detail; also the wan tonality and contrast. But we’ll simply go on
record as saying it’s damn fabulous to have more of Leone’s original vision
back up on the screen rather than the cutting room floor after much too long an
absence. There – enough said.
Moving on: we
get the same 5.1 DTS audio as before; the inserted elements only available in
2.0 and suffering for obvious reasons. Still, it’s a forgivable concession.
What is not forgivable, in my opinion, is the continued short shrift given
extra content. The theatrical cut retains Richard Schickel’s rather lumbering
audio commentary. The new ‘extended cut’ gets no such consideration. I would
have been contented if Warner Home Video had simply paused the Schickel track
to accommodate the 22 minutes of added footage (although, ideally it would have
been prudent of them to recall Schickel in simply to record some fresh
observations on this reinstated footage).
We get the same 20 minute ‘excerpt’
from the feature length documentary; Sergio Leone: Once Upon a Time. I’ll
just go on record as saying I’m not a fan of truncated documentaries or
excerpts of anything. What ought to have occurred here was a third disc option,
containing the full documentary and preferably, a brand new ‘making of’ bringing together the likes
of Bob DeNiro, Liz McGovern, James Woods and some of the other surviving cast
members. With so much PR buzz about this release, fans deserved at least this
much!
Warner has
handsomely packaged this disc with a pseudo-suede booklet filled with factoid
tidbits. I’ll admit, the booklet provides more info on cast and crew than other
similar offerings included with the likes of Casablanca, Citizen Kane
and multiple Oz reissues; but its’
still a junket offering at best instead of a comprehensive ‘look back’ piece to
be treasured for generations yet to come. Bottom line: recommended and given an
‘A’ for effort on the extended cut. Given an F- for practically everything
else. Buy accordingly.
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
229 min. version - 4.5
251 min. director’s cut - 5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
4
EXTRAS
1
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