There’s a long storied history of romanticizing crime, criminals, and general badasses in American cinema. Look at Scarface, The Godfather, and even Dirty Harry. Then you watch Gomorrah, which basically tears out Tony Montana’s lungs and uses them to strangle Don Corleone. Then it reaches out of the television, bitch slaps you, and carves “This is a true story” in your chest with crack rocks. This largely factual account tells the mostly true story of the mob’s dealings in Italy, where they are huge. There’s a reason Americans gobble up romanticized crime: it makes us feel safe. It is much easier to deal with a world run by Corleones than one run by a violent organization that will kill children and grandmothers with little hesitation. To sum up the story: a fat, old, wheezing man orders children killed or orders these children to kill their close neighbors, family and friends. People who — just a few days earlier — were tipping them for delivering groceries and parading out patronizing platitudes like “my you’ve grown so much.” To properly conceptualize why this movie is disturbing first think of the mob. Now think of it being run by every violent, meat-headed, track-suit wearing fat ass you know and reschedule your Italian vacation.