The Himalayan highpoint of Scorsese and De Niro

Rating: 10/10 (8 March 2003)

I've experienced a lot of things watching Martin Scorsese's movies, but I've never been moved. Granted I haven't seen his "woman picture" ("Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore") or his period piece ("The Age of Innocence"), and the ones I have seen -- maybe with the exception of "The Last Temptation of Christ" -- don't deal with feelings as much as they do with repressed and let-loose emotions. This is the first time I finished watching one of his movies and sat for a second thinking about the story, the characters and my own feelings, as well as Scorsese's virtuoso filmmaking technique.
It's not a sports movie or a movie about boxing. It's actually more akin to an intense family drama than it would be to "Rocky." Scorsese is most interested in his characters. I'm not taking away from the superbly composed boxing scenes -- in fact, it's a testament to the greatness of the film that something in the film could actually top them (I don't think I'll ever forget the spit, sweat, water and blood spraying off the boxers' faces). The editing of these scenes, and the entire film, is significant.
Scorsese shows us the private lives of the characters. Jake La Motta (Robert De Niro) yelling at his wife for overcooking a steak; Jake meeting his future wife (Cathy Moriarty) at an outdoor swimming pool and offering to take her for a ride (he wastes no time with her, either). Scorsese skims over details of Jake's career and shows many fights in montage or stills. What he's interested in is Jake's home life, which is a bigger battleground than inside the ring. The fully fleshed-out scenes that show Jake's ever-increasing paranoia about the loyalty of his wife, and ultimately of his brother Joey (Joe Pesci). The simple mentioning by Jake's wife that one of his opponents is an attractive, popular fighter is enough to set things in motion in Jake's mind. That Joey would include himself when he mentions others on Jake's bad side, fed up with his obsessive mistrust, is sufficient reason for Jake to explode into violence.
It's hard to talk about the individual scenes because so many of them are perfect. It's an extremely rare occasion where you wouldn't want to touch up any of these quieter moments, and this is one.
It's interesting to note (or maybe it isn't) that of the five Best Picture nominees at the Oscars that year, two were in black and white (this film is completely, not including less than a handful of home video footage). And both of those films are much better remembered masterpieces, from two of the most distinctive auteurs of the second half of the twentieth century, than the film that won. And as long as we're on Oscars, Joe Pesci probably deserved another for his work here. Heck, Moriarty earned one, too.
Pauline Kael was right when she said De Niro was never the same after this. Up to 1980, he was a lean, mean ferociously talented acting machine. After this film, no matter how hard he may have tried or in what role he was in, he seemed lazy. He was still good -- one of the most brilliantly physical actors on a so-so day is still better than a mediocre actor with no physical presence -- but he was never again what he was up until "Raging Bull." And I'd be hard pressed to think of another "final" performance to showcase an actor's full talent.
In Jake La Motta, De Niro found his signature character (even if Travis Bickle gets more name recognition). Like many of his films, Scorsese here frames the film with an opening taken from a little past the midpoint of the film, and with the closing, we get the treat of seeing De Niro playing La Motta playing Brando playing Malloy.
This is my favorite Scorsese film, probably his best, an undeniable masterwork, and to top it off, the gorgeous black and white will seal it forever.
****