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Gotti: Is It As Bad As They Say?

June 22, 2018

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So I took my son to see Gotti — and before you charge me with child abuse, you should know he’s 22. Yes, John Travolta’s Mob biopic got 0% on Rotten Tomatoes, but I should also mention my son, Jed Fretts Howard, is a very funny stand-up comedian, so I figured we’d have a blast taking shots at it.

But here’s the thing: It’s not bad. It’s so not-bad, it’s not good. It’s just thoroughly mediocre. I’ve seen Travolta give worse performances — most notably and recently, his inexplicably acclaimed, Kabuki-esque turn as Robert Shapiro in The People vs. O.J. Simpson. His John Gotti is like a lukewarm version of Chili Palmer in Get Shorty. Which is to say, it’s like his performance as Chili Palmer in Be Cool.

The movie’s structure makes no sense. It starts and ends with Travolta speaking directly into the camera, presumably as the ghost of Gotti from beyond the grave. Then he occasionally narrates the action (to use the term very loosely), which jumps around between the terminally ill don sharing tough-love wisdom with his namesake son (Spencer Lofranco, who seems more suited to Jersey Shore than a gritty mafia movie) and the greatest hits of his criminal career.

The director Kevin Connolly — best known as “E” on Entourage (think about that phrase for a second) — has no feel for the material, and he seems to have chosen the soundtrack by hitting shuffle on his iPod. There’s the expected Dean Martin and Perry Como, but why the theme from “Shaft”? “West End Girls”? “Walk Like an Egyptian”?

He also was apparently incapable of casting any actual Italian-Americans aside from Travolta and Leo Rossi (who co-wrote the scattershot script with Lem Dobbs). Pruitt Taylor Vince, Stacy Keach, Chris Mulkey — they’re all fine character actors, but they seem like the kind of people who would say “mozzarella cheese.”

Travolta’s real-life wife Kelly Preston goes the full Lorraine Bracco as moll Victoria Gotti, but her character remains one-dimensional, along with everyone else in the supporting cast. The only scenes where she really makes an impact are after the accidental death of the Gottis’ 12-year-old son, Frank, which play with added resonance knowing she and Travolta lost their son, Jett, when he wasn’t much older.

The rest of the movie just plods along. Connolly confusingly intersperses actual news footage of Gotti with the dramatized scenes, and the documentary sequences prove more compelling. John Gotti was famously known as the Teflon Don, and this is a Teflon movie. Nothing sticks to it — or with you. It’s NotBadFellas.

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