Ultimately, Casino is a religious parable about mankind’s unchecked avaricious desire and how it destroys paradise. It’s a theme that recurs in Scorsese’s work and is especially pronounced here, where the film rejects the notion that these criminals are operating within a lawless space and instead frames them as having occupied an area equivalent to a moral void or black hole. They occupy this space because they are convinced that no one is watching, and they believe that their corruption will not be discovered. This is reinforced by the way in which the gangsters are depicted: Sam hosts his talk show from a Tangiers balcony; Nicky hangs out in grimy bars and restaurants; Remo holds meetings at a convenience store and itemises all of his expenses.
It’s also reflected in the way that the mobsters view the locals, insulting them and ridiculing them in much the same way that cowboys might have talked of indigenous people on the frontier. It’s part of the irony that, despite their efforts to create their own version of heaven on earth, the mobster world of Casino is ultimately no different from the untamed wild west they had set out to conquer.
Casino is a riveting and devastating movie, and while it may be a little long at three hours, the movie never lags or runs out of steam. De Niro and Stone give a superb performance, but it’s the screenplay by Nicholas Pileggi (who co-wrote Goodfellas) that really sets this movie apart.