This was Scorsese's first great movie . . . Harvey Keitel and Robert DeNiro are boyhood pals now grown to young manhood. Keitel is the nephew of the local mafia chief in their Little Italy, New York, neighborhood. DeNiro is the nutty Johnny Boy, an irresponsible, immature but loveable-to Keitel-guy. . . . There are a multitude of brilliant scenes and situations here: the colorful Feast of St. Anthony; a welcome home party for a neighborhood buddy just back from Vietnam that turns nasty; a fratricide in the guys' bar hangout; the bar owner showing some of the guys his pet tiger and cooing lines from William Blake as he caresses it; and a bloody shootout finale. Keitel's constant battle with his Catholicism, his deep sense of guilt about practically everything he does, is rendered in marvelous detail, down to his fascination with self-abuse, burning his fingers in a candle flame . . . Mean Streets is an American masterpiece and noir as they come.