CRIMINALLY BAD
Travolta as ‘Gotti’ an offer you definitely CAN refuse
So, is John Travolta’s “Gotti” any good? Hey, fuhgeddaboutit. No, seriously. Forget. About. It.
Shot back in the summer of 2016, the movie was supposed to be released last December. After disastrous reviews at Cannes, that plan got whacked.
Now the movie’s back, supposedly in a re-edited version. It opened Thursday night. This time there were no screenings for critics.
Look, you’ve got to find some way to get money out of people.
Gotti isn’t just a godfather here, he’s a god. Carrying out hits, having his rivals killed, sneering at cops and slapping around his son – what, you gotta problem with that?
Because this ridiculous movie sure doesn’t. Based on a book by the gangster’s son, it worships the very ground this guy buried people in.
Admittedly, Travolta, who produced, is sure having fun. What ham wouldn’t? Chewing on the scenery like it was a meatball hero, he swaggers around in shiny suits and silver wigs, barking orders.
Clumsily following in his footsteps? Spencer Rocco Lofranco as John A. Gotti Jr. He’s such a mook of a mobster that, when Dad went to prison and he had to take over the Family business, the Daily News dubbed him “Dumbfella.”
“Gotti,” though, is mostly about the early days, when Dad was still walking free and his son was just an awestruck kid.
But while Travolta has a blast playing the father, Lofranco’s Junior looks like he’s auditioning for a “Jersey Shore” reboot. And bombing.
The only danger he projects is that he might forget his lines. The only sparkle comes from the fistful of gel in his hair.
Kelly Preston fails to convince as Travolta’s wife – weird, since that’s what she is in real life, too. A few veterans like Stacy Keach show up, and then wisely take a powder. Lurking in the background is multi-untalented actor Leo Rossi, who also gets a credit – some credit – for rewriting the screenplay.
Meanwhile, filmmaker Kevin Connolly – yeah, one of the “Entourage” boys – directs like he’s in a hurry to pick up Turtle for a hot-tub party. The cinematography is flat and washed-out. The fight scenes are rushed and unconvincing.
And as for realism, any New Yorker can tell you, no, that is not the Plaza onscreen, nor the late and lamented Cedar Tavern. (The film was mostly shot in Cincinnati).
There are, though, a lot of flattering news clips of the real John Gotti. Boy, they all seem to say, what a stand-up guy the Dapper Don was. Faithful to his wife, devoted to his family, charitable to his neighbors -- a real man.
Too bad he got sent up for five murders and died in prison. Now he sleeps with the fishes.
And his movie stinks like them.