Gangster Number One

There are a small number of random scenes, from some generally unmemorable films, that have stuck with me throughout the years. In some subconscious way, they often represent some sort of unique ideal, or statement otherwise undeclared– or, at the very least, declared with less eloquence. One such scene, that I find myself replaying again and again in my head, is what I believe is the final scene to a quaint little gangster movie called Gangster Number 1, that was released around the turn of the millennium. It starred Malcolm McDowell (Clockwork Orange), as an old senior mob boss at his pinnacle of power, reflecting on his cut-throat rise to the top of the organized crime food chain through flashbacks. I don’t recall anything of the movie except the ending; him standing on the roof of his sky scraper with a bottle of champagne after an enormous party in his honor, screaming over and over again– "I’M NUMBER ONE!! I’M NUMBER ONE!!" before throwing himself to his death– screaming it all the way to the cement below.

The irony and surprise of this ending stuck with me, and baffled me for years. Why would he work so hard to get to the top, only to just kill himself when he got there? Arguably, he did it so someone who was like him when he was young, wouldn’t have the chance to rise up and stab him in the back…but there were no such characters immediately evident in the film, as I recall (which isn’t saying much), and the more I consider it, the more it seems as though the act had less to do with spiting someone else’s ambitions, and more to do with the abysmal languor that sets in once the top of the ladder has been reached, and there’s nothing left to do but jump off.

Within the motive of acquiring happiness, there are two approaches to one’s standing in life– changing it, or preserving it. I can not conceive of happiness from a defensive perspective. To guard one’s position at the top, with nowhere to go but down, is arguably the worst state of existence imaginable. It is an existence without hope, or promise, or excitement; a simple game of waiting out the clock in a closed stagnant room. Being on the bottom, of course, is no picnic either…despite the promise that every day to come will be better than the days behind it. The ladder can seem vast and insurmountable, with basic peril at every turn, so the hope and promise of happiness to come can become dulled under the strain.

It is best then, as it is with all things, to remain in the middle, and waver up and down. To climb for a while, and then to knock one’s self down a few wrungs so that they can be climbed again. The top is the eventual goal, but if one’s abilities and ambitions are unchecked, it can be reached all too soon, spoiling years of potential thrills. Such is the wisdom of the reckless…the ability to abandon self preservation on a regular enough basis to invoke periodic consequence. To ensure that there is still plenty of room left on the ladder..