The success of Martin Scorsese's stunning Mafia epic "Goodfellas" is twofold. First, he makes a strong argument for why a gangster's life of crime and violence would be so tantalizing to the film's central character; and secondly, he portrays how that life paid off for a while, but eventually led to his self destruction and the destruction of all those around him. Indeed, the film's main strength lies in Scorsese's ability to make the Mafia life completely appealing and completely repulsive at the same time.

"Goodfellas" tells the true story of Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), a lifetime gangster who is now an anonymous suburban resident in the government's witness relocation program. He told his story to journalist Nicholas Pileggi, who worked with Scorsese in adapting the book "Wiseguy: Life in a Mafia Family" for the screen.

An Irish-Italian kid who grew up in the streets of New York, Henry watched all the gangsters on his block get everything. In his narration, he describes how they could park in front of fire hydrants and not get tickets, and stay up all night playing cards, and no one ever called and complained.

Henry quickly found a way to get into the lifestyle: running odd jobs for Paulie (Paul Sorvino), the neighborhood boss. At 14, Henry proved his worth, and soon he was skipping school on a regular basis, and making the Mafia his full-time job. When his father found out he had been skipping school, his Mafia buddies took care of the situation by beating the tar out of the mailman who delivered the school's letter. When Henry got pinched selling stolen cigarettes, all the Mafiosos met him outside the courthouse with open arms, proud of him for "taking it like a man." All these scenes work intricately together to show how the lifestyle was irresistible to a young kid from a blue-collar family. He was a part of something important, and he didn't see how it could ever go bad.

By the time he was 21, Henry was a full-time member, along with his buddy Tommy (Joe Pesci), and the older, sly Jimmy Conway (Robert De Niro). Everything in life was sweet because he had power and respect, even though he was really just a middleman. According to Henry, "Anything I wanted was a phone call away." This was the life he led, and he admits that he and the rest of the Mafiosos thought that living any other way was "nuts."

Henry met and married a Jewish girl named Karen (Lorraine Bracco), who was naively enthralled with his power and money. Their marital bliss was short, as Henry tended to stay out all night engaging in various criminal and extramarital activities. Karen caught on soon because Henry didn't do much to hide his transgressions. She quickly understood that she was left behind with the kids and the cooking while Henry was out taking full advantage of the lifestyle.

After enticing the audience with everything that Henry and his partners have, it is the wrecking ball Scorsese throws at us that sets this apart from all its rehashes. As we see how quickly things can go wrong, and, in fact, how nothing was ever truly secure in the first place, we begin to see exactly where Martin Scorsese was going with the film. This is not necessarily a propaganda picture for crime, but a condemnation of the things that make it so mesmerizing. The flash of the guns, the unending cash flow, everything is dependent on throwing your life into an oblivion that will, almost certainly, lead to your death.

In its two and a half hour running time, "Goodfellas" covers a lot of ground. It digs deep into its characters, whether that be Henry's inability to know where to draw the line, the confusion and frustrations of his wife, or the random psychotic impulses of Tommy, who is just as capable of telling a hilarious joke as shooting someone in cold blood for no reason. Every actor in this film is in top form, easily conveying their characters' changing attitudes as situations around them evolve and decline over three decades.

Scorsese is at his best in the most intense moments. There is no pulpy delusion that any of this is glorified. The violence is raw and sickening, and it doesn't discriminate. These characters lead a violent life, and they receive just as much as they dish out. And anyone can murder anyone else. Loyalty is an illusion, and betrayal is an everyday part of life.

As a cinematic experience, "Goodfellas" is a feast for the eyes and ears. Scorsese punctuates the action and period clothing with a searing soundtrack of rock songs. Ever since Robert DeNiro made his entrance in "Mean Streets" to the sound of The Rolling Stones' "Jumpin' Jack Flash," Scorsese has been known as a director who makes good use of musical cues. Nostalgia for the good old times is illustrated with easy-listening 1950s pop songs, while depression, paranoia and bad times find their expression in more neurotic rock songs of the late 1960s and 1970s.

But the soundtrack is most effective when it is used as ironic comment: easy listening tunes make a strong emotional contrast to the scenes of violence and bloodshed. With the use of an ironic soundtrack, "Goodfellas," when it first came out in 1990, represented the new standards of black humor that would became very popular a few years later during the Tarantino era.

Scorsese also uses incredibly deft camerawork, utilizing cranes, dollies, and zooms as well as a finely paced editing style that crams in volumes of information without being confusing. One scene in particular follows Henry and Karen from the street as they enter the back of a club, walk through the rear hallways, through the kitchen, and wind their way through the club around waiters and patrons, finally taking a seat and having a conversation. It's an incredible, unbroken steadi-cam shot several minutes long that rivals the opening of Orson Welle's "Touch of Evil."

Logistics aside, "Goodfellas" is an unforgettable movie experience simply because of the pure passion Scorsese embeds in every frame. You can feel the screen pulsating with emotions, whether it'd be anger or greed or joy or paranoia. In the last third of the film, Scorsese alters the plot structure by taking us through a day in the life of Henry Hill when he is at his lowest, attempting to pull off a cocaine deal, trade guns, and cook dinner for his family, all while sniffing half his profits, and sweating in paranoia that a helicopter is following him. Everything about the sequence, from the editing to the acting to the pacing, is an example of filmmaking at its very finest.

Scorsese manages to create a vision which is effective and complete despite being full of contradictions that would have ripped the film apart in the hands of a less talented filmmaker. The world depicted in "Goodfellas" is both ordinary and fascinating. Scorsese spares no effort in showing us all the violence, hypocrisy and inherent paranoia of organized crime, yet it manages to make it both seductive and funny. After being exposed to two and half hours of the film and three decades of criminal history, the audience understands why the characters chose such dangerous life paths, trading the superficial and short-lasting glamour and prosperity of a criminal to the dullness and poverty of honest citizens.

Despite the ambitious narrative and active pace, Scorsese does not rush the story. He has never directed with as much assurance, expertly blending narration, period music, and his own dynamic tableaux (quick, jerky zooms into faces signal an almost telepathic communication between characters), to create an energetic, darkly funny, and unforgettable portrait of life among the Mob's bottom feeders.

Many critics agree that Scorsese's "Taxi Driver" was the best film of the '70s, and "Raging Bull" the best of the '80s. Somehow I have the feeling that several years from now, many will be making strong arguments that "Goodfellas" was one of the best of the '90s, if not the best. It is, in a word, brilliant.

• `Gladiator,' `Tiger' lead Oscar nominations
  
• Hopkins is on the loose in `Hannibal'
  
• `Goodfellas' depicts 30 years of life in the mafia