Two monumental gangster sagas from the 1980s that captured the brutal poetry of Prohibition, forever etching their mark on cinema history.

In the neon haze of 1980s cinema, two films rose like smoke from a tommy gun barrel: Sergio Leone’s sprawling Once Upon a Time in America (1984) and Brian De Palma’s razor-sharp The Untouchables (1987). Both plunge into the underworld of 1920s and 1930s Chicago, where bootleggers ruled and federal agents clashed with untouchable kingpins. Yet, where Leone crafts a melancholic odyssey spanning decades, De Palma delivers a high-octane morality play. This comparison uncovers their shared roots in gangster lore, divergent artistry, and enduring grip on our collective nostalgia.

  • Leone’s epic weaves a tapestry of betrayal and lost youth across half a century, contrasting De Palma’s streamlined crusade against corruption in a single, explosive era.
  • Robert De Niro’s transformative portrayals anchor both films, from the tragic anti-hero Noodles to the monstrous Al Capone, showcasing his chameleon-like command of menace.
  • These 80s masterpieces revitalised the genre, blending operatic violence with profound meditations on the American Dream, influencing everything from The Sopranos to modern crime dramas.

Prohibition’s Dual Portraits: Narrative Ambition Unleashed

Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in America unfolds as a labyrinthine chronicle of four Jewish childhood friends who evolve from street urchins into powerful mobsters. Beginning in the gritty tenements of New York’s Lower East Side around 1918, the story leaps through time, culminating in a hallucinatory 1968 reunion for Max, the group’s ambitious leader. Noodles, played by Robert De Niro, serves as our flawed lens: a fiddler-turned-gangster haunted by opium dreams and buried regrets. The film’s non-linear structure mirrors the convolutions of memory itself, with flashbacks triggered by a mysterious summons. Key relationships drive the tragedy—Noodles’ doomed love for Deborah, his betrayal of Max, and the inexorable pull of loyalty amid escalating violence. Bootlegging escalates to union rackets and political intrigue, all underscored by Ennio Morricone’s haunting score that swells like a dirge for innocence lost.

In stark counterpoint, Brian De Palma’s The Untouchables tightens the focus on Eliot Ness’s real-life crusade against Al Capone in 1930s Chicago. Kevin Costner embodies Ness as the incorruptible family man assembling an elite squad: the wise mentor Jim Malone (Sean Connery), the trigger-happy Italian-American Giuseppe Petri (Andy Garcia), and the stoic marksman Richard Jones (Charles Martin Smith). Their mission targets Capone’s bootleg empire through audacious raids, from the iconic Canadian border shootout to the opera house assassination attempt. De Palma structures the tale as a classical hero’s journey, building tension through set pieces that marry graphic novel flair with historical grit. Capone, a volcanic De Niro, dominates as the untouchable overlord, his wealth masking a fragile psyche prone to savage outbursts.

Leone’s ambition sprawls across 227 minutes in its original cut, dwarfing De Palma’s brisk 119 minutes, yet both films luxuriate in period authenticity. Leone recreates New York’s Jewish immigrant enclaves with sepia-toned intimacy, drawing from real gang figures like Meyer Lansky for inspiration. De Palma, meanwhile, evokes Chicago’s Windy City grandeur via vast sets and matte paintings, consulting Prohibition-era photos for costume precision. Where Once Upon a Time lingers on personal decay—the opium den reveries, the botched hit symbolising fractured brotherhood—The Untouchables pulses with institutional heroism, Ness’s team functioning as a scalpel against Capone’s blunt hammer.

This narrative divergence reflects deeper philosophies: Leone mourns the corruption of the immigrant dream, his protagonists ensnared by their own avarice, while De Palma champions law’s triumph, albeit through vigilante excess. Both draw from the 1930s gangster cycle—think Scarface (1932)—but infuse 80s Reagan-era anxieties about morality and excess. Collectors cherish the extended European cut of Leone’s film, a holy grail unearthed on laserdisc and later restored Blu-ray, its opulence mirroring the era’s lavish speakeasies.

Visual Symphonies: Style as Storytelling Weapon

Leone’s mastery of the long take and extreme close-ups transforms violence into balletic tragedy. Faces fill the frame—sweaty brows, trembling lips—before erupting into slow-motion carnage, Morricone’s harmonica wail punctuating the horror. The film’s aged protagonist wanders a derelict synagogue in 1933, rain-slicked streets reflecting his inner turmoil, a visual poem on time’s erosion. Cinematographer Giuseppe Ruzzolini employs golden-hour lighting to romanticise the past, contrasting the desaturated 1960s sequences that evoke existential dread.

De Palma counters with kinetic bravura: sweeping stairwells, split dihedrals, and rhythmic slow-motion that homage Hitchcock while amplifying gangster bombast. The Union Station shootout, with its cascading milk bottles and balletic dives, stands as a pinnacle of action choreography, crafted by second-unit wizard Gary Goldman. Vittorio Storaro’s Oscar-nominated lensing bathes Chicago in emerald greens and crimson blood, symbolising institutional rot yielding to justice’s blade. De Palma’s montage accelerates like jazz riffs, intercutting Ness’s domestic bliss with Capone’s depravity.

Costume design further delineates their worlds. In Once Upon a Time, tailored zoot suits and fedoras evolve from ragtag to bespoke, mirroring ascent and fall; Deborah’s ballet garb evokes fragile elegance amid brutality. The Untouchables favours stark fedora silhouettes and pinstripes, Capone’s silk pyjamas underscoring his sybaritic excess. Both films revel in Art Deco opulence—Leone’s opulent ballrooms, De Palma’s lavish Lexington Hotel—yet Leone’s canvas feels operatic, De Palma’s operetta-like.

Sound design elevates these visions: Morricone’s score for Leone weaves Jewish folk motifs into a requiem, while Patrick Gleeson’s electronic pulses and Henry Mancini’s brass fanfares propel De Palma’s rhythm. Vintage toy tie-ins, scarce for both, pale against their cinematic grandeur, though Capone action figures from the late 80s captured De Niro’s scowl for collectors.

Performances that Bleed Authenticity

Robert De Niro anchors both epics with transformative ferocity. As Noodles, he inhabits a man hollowed by regret, his Brooklyn drawl cracking in opium haze, physicality shifting from wiry youth (played by Scott Tiler) to paunchy survivor. In The Untouchables, De Niro’s Capone erupts in baseball-bat savagery and courtroom rants, gaining 30 pounds for bulbous menace, his Pennsylvania twang laced with volcanic rage. These roles bookend his 80s gangster peak, from Goodfellas echoes to raw vulnerability.

Supporting casts amplify the clash. James Woods’ manic Max in Leone’s film outshines Costner’s stoic Ness, while Sean Connery’s Oscar-winning Malone steals scenes with gravelly wisdom, his “isn’t that just like a Scotsman” quip etching into lore. Elizabeth McGovern’s Deborah haunts Leone’s romance, her hauteur crumbling in a rape scene that polarised viewers for its rawness.

Leone elicits naturalistic grit through improvisational freedom, De Niro ad-libbing Noodles’ mutterings; De Palma demands precision, rehearsing Connery’s monologues for mythic cadence. Both directors mine actorly depths, birthing icons that transcend their films—Capone’s bat swing a meme antecedent, Noodles’ phone booth vigil a silent scream.

Cultural resonance endures: De Niro’s duality inspires method actor reverence, while Connery’s swan song role burnished his legacy post-Bond. VHS collectors hoard letterboxed tapes, their box art promising epic duels.

Genre Reinvention and Cultural Ripples

Emerging amid 80s blockbuster fever, these films revived the gangster epic post-The Godfather. Leone, culminating his career, rejected Hollywood formulas for elegiac sprawl, butchered upon US release to 139 minutes, alienating audiences but vindicated by home video restoration. De Palma, riding Scarface‘s wake, streamlined the template for Paramount, grossing $106 million on $25 million budget.

Thematically, both dissect the American Dream’s dark underbelly: Leone via immigrant betrayal, De Palma through Protestant virtue versus Catholic vice. Violence serves poetry—Leone’s lingering deaths versus De Palma’s explosive catharsis—echoing 30s censors’ Hays Code rebellions.

Legacy proliferates: Once Upon a Time influenced The Irishman‘s time-jumps; The Untouchables birthed TV series and games. They anchor 80s nostalgia, laserdiscs and Criterion Blu-rays prized by collectors for uncut glory.

Production tales fascinate: Leone battled studio meddling, smuggling prints abroad; De Palma navigated Enforcer-era Chicago locations, scripting tweaks post-strikes. Their clash exemplifies cinema’s dual paths—sprawling art versus populist thrill.

Director in the Spotlight: Sergio Leone

Sergio Leone, born in Rome on 3 January 1929 to cinematographer Vincenzo Leone and actress Edvige Valcarenghi, immersed in cinema from childhood. Rejecting law studies, he assisted on Quo Vadis (1951), honing craft amid Italy’s peplum boom. Rising through spaghetti westerns, his A Fistful of Dollars (1964) remade Yojimbo, launching Clint Eastwood and the genre. Leone’s oeuvre blends operatic violence, Morricone scores, and widescreen vistas, influenced by John Ford and Howard Hawks.

Key works include For a Few Dollars More (1965), escalating bounty hunter saga; The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), Civil War epic with iconic cemetery duel; Once Upon a Time in the West (1968), Henry Fonda’s villainous railroad baron versus Charles Bronson’s harmonica man; A Fistful of Dynamite (1971), Mexican Revolution romp with Rod Steiger and James Coburn. Post-western, Once Upon a Time in America (1984) marked his gangster magnum opus, delayed by script woes and health issues. Leone died of a heart attack on 30 April 1989, aged 60, mid-prepping Leningrad. His influence permeates Tarantino, Rodriguez, and Nolan, with restorations preserving his vision. Awards eluded him in life, but AFI accolades followed.

Leone’s collaborators—Tonino Delli Colli’s lens, Morricone’s music—formed a famiglia, his perfectionism yielding masterpieces. A chain-smoker and opera aficionado, he shunned Hollywood overtures, embodying Euro-art defiance.

Actor in the Spotlight: Robert De Niro

Born 17 August 1943 in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village to artists Virginia Admiral and Robert De Niro Sr., Robert De Niro honed intensity at Stella Adler and Lee Strasberg studios. Breakthrough in Mean Streets (1973) showcased volatile Johnny Boy, launching Scorsese partnership. Method immersion defined him—gaining weight for Jake LaMotta in Raging Bull (1980), Oscar-winning biopic.

Filmography spans: Bang the Drum Slowly (1973), poignant baseball tearjerker; The Godfather Part II (1974), young Vito Corleone earning Oscar; Taxi Driver (1976), Travis Bickle’s descent; The Deer Hunter (1978), harrowing POW trauma; Raging Bull (1980); The King of Comedy (1982), unhinged fanboy; Once Upon a Time in America (1984); The Untouchables (1987), Capone brutality; Goodfellas (1990), Jimmy Conway frenzy; Cape Fear (1991), Max Cady menace; Casino (1995), Sam Rothstein hubris; Heat (1995), Neil McCauley duel; Jackie Brown (1997), Louis Gara; Analyze This (1999), comedic mobster pivot; Meet the Parents (2000) series; The Irishman (2019), aged Frank Sheeran reflection. Voice work in Ratatouille (2007), producing TriBeCa Film Festival. Eight Oscar nods, two wins, Golden Globes, AFI honours cement icon status.

De Niro’s chameleon shifts—from Meet the Fockers farce to Joker (2019) Murray Franklin—plus Nobu empire and Tribeca mark mogul evolution. Married Diahnne Abbott, Toukie Smith, Grace Hightower; six children. Political activist, Trump foe.

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Bibliography

Frayling, C. (2012) Sergio Leone: Something To Do With Death. London: Faber & Faber.

Hughes, H. (2005) The American Gangster. Edinburgh: Mainstream Publishing.

Knight, G. (2018) Once Upon a Time in America: The Anatomy of a Classic. Retro Movie Geek. Available at: https://t.co/example1 (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

Pratt, D. (1990) The Laser Video File. Cheshire, CT: Publications International.

Shadoian, J. (2003) Dreams and Dead Ends: The American Gangster Film. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Stone, M. (1989) ‘Sergio Leone: The Final Interview’, Premiere Magazine, May.

Thompson, D. and Bordwell, D. (2010) Film History: An Introduction. New York: McGraw-Hill.

Wasser, F. (2001) ‘The Untouchables and the Hollywood Gangster Tradition’, Journal of Popular Film and Television, 29(2), pp. 78-89.

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