No modern director is more in love with the artifice of filmmaking than Martin Scorsese, or more overt in his expression of it. From the "drunk-cam" in "Mean Streets" (1973) to the self-consciously stylized performances in films like "Raging Bull" and "King of Comedy," the William Cameron Menzies opening of "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore" to the ersatz two-strip Technicolor of "The Aviator" to the 1954 Hitchcock psychodrama look of the current "Shutter Island," Scorsese packs his frames with dense layers of Hollywood history.
Sometimes, as in "New York, New York" (my favorite of his films, along with "King of Comedy," "After Hours" and "GoodFellas"), he contrasts '40s, '50s and '60s studio gloss with the no-less-mannered "naturalistic" improvisational acting favored by Kazan and Cassavetes from the same era. Likewise, in films like "Shutter Island" he immerses himself and his audience in a world that never existed outside of the movies. "Raging Bull," for example, isn't just a boxing picture and a showbiz biopic, it's a study of boxing pictures and showbiz biopics. "GoodFellas" isn't just a gangster film, it's a movie about gangster films. Has any other director offered a nearly four-hour "Personal Journey... Through American Film" (a 1995 guided tour beginning with clips from "The Bad and the Beautiful" and "Duel in the Sun"), followed by another four-hour personal essay on Italian cinema (1999's "My Voyage to Italy")?
To salute the surprise success of "Shutter Island" (top of the box-office for two weeks running), I took some excerpts from an introductory interview Scorsese did for the now out-of-print 2005 MGM DVD release of "New York, New York" and interpolated frame grabs from that movie and others. The result might serve as a primer on how to watch any Martin Scorsese picture.
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I don't know...I'm a big fan of Scorsese's, but watching 'Shutter Island', I got the sense of a pretty profound boredom, veiled as a genre exercise. I could also draw connections to what one thinks of as a Martin Scorsese film, but I just didn't get any sense of excitement from this one. The cinephelia felt smattered and very superficial. Watching 'The Aviator', I felt someone deeply enamored with the era, as well as the wheels of the man's head. Watching 'Shutter Island', I felt like Scorsese did it because, sure, he could, and he knows what references will work, but nothing more, certainly nothing as intricately thought out as 'New York, New York'. I was thrilled by the idea of a Scorsese film that wasn't safe...but what I got was as impression of one.
My only knawing doubt about it is whether a more compelling plot would allow me to enjoy it as a fun little film, whether I would still be looking at it as the momentous blunder I see it now. It became so damn neat at the end, spelling out everything, that it left nothing to chew on, aside from maybe the Ted Levine scene.
p.s. Is it just me, or is that Patricia Clarkson scene absoltely terrible? I was amazed at how little room for imagination it left.
Did we see the same scene with Patricia Clarkson? I was absolutely riveted by it. The acting from both stars was compelling and patiently observed and framed by Scorsese and Richardson, particularly with the flickering flame partially obscuring each of actors' faces. The scene was very evocative of Plato's Allegory of the Cave. What is real? What is the shadow?
My problem was in how it spelled out everything up to that point. And at the end, the film again spelled everything out. It left nothing to chew over, story or character wise. I was dissapointed at how little ambiguity I ultimately got from the film.
While the movie itself does spell out everything toward the end (and whether that's good or not is debatable; I like a little more ambiguity, to be honest), that scene itself actually spelled out nothing. SPOILER: It didn't actually happen. It was just another psychodrama for Teddy to play out his rationalization for everything.
It spelled out everything that was established up to that point. Robert Richardson and Dante Ferretti said Kafka-eqsue far better than Clarkson did, and in a manner that was engaging, not 'shut up and listen'. The fact that it did not really happen is irrelevent. It neatly summed up where we were at that point. It stopped my imagination dead in its tracks, much like the ending of the film.
*Spoilers*
But I think that's right for where the character is, emotionally. He's seen the document saying he is patient 67, so instead of following that thought, he burrows deeper inside his fantasy. repeating to himself everything he's already said, and also making something up to explain his hallucinations. It's supposed to be expository. It's this point in the movie where the viewer's perception of Teddy's perception is most significantly challenged (I don't think I believe he even climbed down the cliff) and I think after this scene we start to depart from Teddy's idea of things and form our own opinion/theory.
One thing I don't understand: none of the Scorsese films you mention are in your 120 favorites, which include however 'Taxi Driver'.
By the way, where would you say the "Hollywood layer" is in 'Taxi Driver'? Not easy to tell.
No, that 121 list wasn't of "favorites" but of movies I felt were important or influental cultural touchstones that everybody needs to see in order to have an intelligent conversation about movies -- the titles you'd expect most people who are "movie-literate" to have seen. "Taxi Driver" and probably "GoodFellas" are the Scorsese titles I'd include if I were updating that 1999 list (which maybe I should do). I don't list "Taxi Driver" as a "favorite" simply because, although I think it is his most powerful and haunting movie, I find the experience of it gut-wrenchingly traumatic every time I see it (which must be at least a dozen times by now). I'd say the "Hollywood" elements (mostly from film noir in this picture) begin with the Bernard Herrmann score and the slithery slo-motion shots that envision the city as Hell. The studio style is more deeply embedded in "Taxi Driver" than in some other movies, but you see it, for example, in the slow-motion overhead dolly shot that surveys the carnage of the climax.
Since I only read the article through I assumed they were your personal favorites.
"I don't list "Taxi Driver" as a "favorite" simply because, although I think it is his most powerful and haunting movie, I find the experience of it gut-wrenchingly traumatic every time I see it."
-- I know exactly what you mean. I've recently written about 'Taxi Driver' and its uncanny power to empathize with such a disturbing character. I'd like you to read it but its in spanish.
Talking about Hollywood element, the primary coloured street lights of the film qualify.
Off-topic: giving a second reading to'120Favorite Movies' I found this on Chaplin "I honestly don't think is a much of a filmmaker". Can you please tell me where I can read further arguments (in your blog or anywhere else) for such a bold statement?
Actually, the "120 Most Beloved Movies" list does include "New York, New York" (as well as "Taxi Driver," as you mentioned).
Good points.
No wonder Tarantino likes him so much.
When he was a guest critic on Siskel&Ebert he gave a similar defense of New York as portrayed in Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, shot on sets and on location in London (that shot of Bill slamming his fist after he imagines the Naval officer with Alice a second time; that's a rear screen projection shot).
"New York, New York" is a good, underrated movie, and one of Scorsese's most interesting films. But I always felt like it had unrealized potential for greatness. I wish Scorsese and co. and worked a little harder in pre-production to tighten up the story a bit.
Obviously the most interesting thing about the film is the tension between the highly stylized production and the more down to Earth, gritty domestic drama going on between DeNiro and Minelli... but I always felt that the power of the drama never matched the power of the artifice. There's a bit too much meandering in the middle of the film, too many unfocused scenes about DeNiro's inability to settle down that could have been more effectively conveyed with a tighter script/less improvisation.
Still, it's a good movie, and the juxtaposition of the glorious "Happy Endings" sequence with the far more downbeat actual ending makes for a powerful final act.
Hey Jim, I'm gonna try and assemble clips together like you did for a project of mine. What software should I get to do it?
Hi Cory: I work on a MacBook using plain old Handbrake and iMovie. Crude tools, but I've yet to teach myself the more sophisticated Final Cut Express I bought more than a year ago...
Out of curiosity...why do you use Vimeo? Or, more directly, why don't Vimeo clips play smoothly on my computer? (Mac 10.4.11 with the latest Firefox)
Anyway, I was just talking with a friend and we agreed that GoodFellas and The King of Comedy are Scorsese's most compelling films...we don't often agree on movies, too.
This is slightly off-topic, but does anyone think Leo is a really mediocre actor? I don't understand Scorsese's fascination with him. He's not a bad actor, but he just can just never go beyond a certain level. And he just shouts in every performance to show he's really ANGRY and really ACTING! Any film starring Leo can never truly reach its full potential, simply because he's in it.
His "Irish" accent in Gangs of New York was beyond a joke. And he just lacked the intensity to accurately convey Howard Hughes' madness. Scorsese really needs to work with a new leading man.
I don't agree. I think Leo is a great actor. He doesn't move me or charm me like some actors might, but he is an expert at "directing" the scene from the front of the camera. He is professional beyond his years in that regard.
Thanks, Jim. Also: did you by chance notice any references to Fuller's "Shock Corridor" in "Shutter Island" ? I think the labyrinth scene is a great example!
I need to go back to see "New York, New York" again. The clash of seemingly diametrically opposed styles - up-front Hollywood artifice and ultra naturalistic acting - was too jarring for me the first time around. In many ways, it made me think of Kazan, whose films straddle that line as a necessity of history. Come to think of it, aside from "Baby Doll", Kazan has never sat too well with me for much the same reason. My brain is conditioned to associate more formal (and thus less overtly realistic) acting styles with the unrealistic set designs of classical Hollywood. Conversely, naturalistic, or method, acting styles go with location shooting and grittier cinematography.
Jim - Great work on this video--your editing was unobtrusive, even though every single image was so striking. I still haven't watched New York, New York; and you've piqued my interest.
Shlomo - Maybe I misinterpret your disappointment with the Patricia Clarkson scene, but I felt its lack of imagination appropriate. (spoilers) DiCaprio has reached the point of no return in his mania (literally on a cliff), and invents a very neat explanation for everything that has passed. This is the way of mania & paranoia--to fit all the 'facts' into the insane box formed in one's head, drawing absurd literal connections where no one else could possibly perceive them. There is no imagination involved in this insane rendering, nor should there be any in their conversation. I felt the overly simple back-and-forth two-shot over the flames a fair representation of his condition. It was in this scene that I was sure he was insane, and perhaps that easy read bothered some viewers, but I don't believe there's a more honest way to portray the totally unambiguous nature of insanity.
Hey -- Shock Corridor! I think I'll rewatch that AND see Shutter Island again.
I read that Scorsese screened "Vertigo" for the cast prior to filming. The scene on the bluffs was very reminiscent, I thought.
Oh, "Vertigo" for sure! But yeah, definitely rewatch "Shock Corridor"---it's truly one of Samuel Fuller's best films and probably his most stylized---and "Shutter Island." Together they'd make a great double feature.
I think I'm going to pay another visit to "Bringing out the Dead"---which, as I remember it, is another 'head trip' work like "Taxi Driver" and "Shutter Island."
Why does a film HAVE to be ambiguous? Why can't it simply be an exercise in "Old Hollywood" style and why can't we simply assess the picture's worth based on, say, a gauge similar to gestalt psychology? Doesn't Scorsese's film transcend the sum of its parts as a meaningful whole? Can't we apply some critical interpretation skills to the work and see how it compares intertextually with the rest of the Scorsese ouevre? In that light, might we see this exuberantly styled film as yet another account by Scorsese that deals with the effects of immense guilt upon the psyche? In fact, might we see the film as that of a "head trip" where the so-called lack of ambiguity of the plot and characterizations are simply there to help reinforce this maniacal deferral of guilt the Dicaprio character is subconsciously dealing with? Yes the film is self-consciously stylized and yes the film's plot and characters are explicit at least up until the conclusion of the film, but then again... so was "Psycho." Is that film unimaginative? Doesn't that film deliver on other levels? Ultimately, isn't it just unfair to let the affectations of films like "Mulholland Dr." and "Cache" that thoroughly sustain their mysteries even after th film is finished be our totalitarian gauge of a film's worth? Might "Shutter Island" have its integrity nestled elsewhere other than just as a 'safe' genre-exercise?
Amen to that. I am bewildered by the people who claim to have enjoyed "Shutter Island" up until the ending, which apparently ruined the whole film with its "lame twist." Seriously? I didn't even think the ending was intended as a twist. Think "Rosemary's Baby." That film gave us many clues (some subtle, others quite explicit) early on that hinted as to what dark truth awaited Rosemary at the end of that secret corridor. The horror didn't come from shock factor as much as from our empathy with Rosemary and HER personal, terrifying realization. I thought the ending of "Shutter Island" worked on a similar level.
I think one of things filmmakers today are dealing with is how to do genre without the too-knowing audience assuming you are doing parody. You put the ominous tones/score on a soundtrack and the you don't know if the audience will laugh and say "ooooh, I'm soooo scared" or if they are willing to play along. There are all of these conventions that have been established and you want to use them to work for you, but they can end up working against you. Where the line is, I don't know.
As far as New York New York, the thing I think is interesting is that most people tend to think of classic Hollywood musicals as being light-hearted comedies and most were. But if you look back at especially Gene Kelly pictures (For Me & My Gal, An American In Paris, It's Always Fair Weather, even On the Town), there's a real sense of melancholy that hangs over and around many of them. Sure, there are bursts of exuberance and gaiety, but those movies also got into some of the darker, heavier places that dramas were going as well (watch the scene of Gene Kelly trying to break his hand to get a draft deferment in For Me & My Gal and tell me audiences in the 70s wouldn't have understood that).
I think this is something Scorsese keyed in on and brought out in NY NY in addition to the color and lighting and big Happy Endings sequence right out of the Minnelli (Vincente, that is) playbook. After seeing this I feel the need to go back and re-watch his other movies because I feel like I understand better where he's coming from.
One last thing, Jim. I'm glad you note the artifice inherent in the "naturalistic" acting style is no different than pre-Method acting. I don't know how many times I've had that argument with folks who want to argue that there is more "truth" in Brando than Cary Grant simply because he's more "naturalistic".
Great example, Jeremy. And, god, the Polanski film has an ending that--yeah, not a twist--still induces a sickening feeling and overwhelming chills. I think that Polanski and Scorsese are similar in their relentless approach to the art of the cinema. Their visions, with, for instance, their latest films--both just so happen to be exercises in the thriller-genre--, are especially personal: pardon the text book account but, for Scorsese the themes are (1) the individual and the tribe, (2) guilt, atonement, and redemption and (3) truth as subjective; for Polanski, his singlemost obsessively wrastled theme is that of corruption--sexual, political, ideological, etc.
Point is: neither Scorsese nor Polanski have ever seem to falter from their tremendously peronal paths in filmmaking and why should we superimpose a superficial criterion of "was I entertained?, was the 'twist' good enough?" upon their films which have aims of their own?
I wrote that comment in response to the one by Shlomo Porath (at the top) who complained of the film's lack of ambiguity. I think that the goggles--that is, our very perception itself--we walk into the theater with determines for us the quality of the movie. I just wish some people could switch their goggles out of the rote, automated mode their goggles are finely tuned to and into that of hyper-attention and sincere regard. And isn't that what film criticism is all about? Exchanging goggles after we've seen the same film. Nonetheless, I think that some people's goggles are exceedingly narrowsighted and others are like the goggles the highway patrole uses to test drunk driving...
If this movie had been directed by someone other
than Scorsese you wouldn't be defending it
and it's dissapointing third act.
When the audience can see what's coming the suspense is lost.
Scorsese's work since "GoodFellas" hasn't meant much to me, so I'm curious: What did you "see coming" when, and how did that affect your perception of the suspense?
If this movie had been directed by someone other
than Scorsese ... i'd be glad that we have a new master here, now.
More post-modern nonsense from Scorsese. Now he's raping Kubrick - cinema's last great modernist. Kubrick was all about meaning, and The Shining rife with depth, about everything from the Holocaust to Colonialism. What does Scorsese, who rips off Hitchcock and Kubrick blatantly in virtually every other scene, give us? Cookie cutter psychodrama.
Ditch Shutter Island.
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