Martin Scorsese making a horror picture: the notion is of course catnip to any fan of the director. One experiences a thrill just contemplating the exhilarating cinematic virtuosity and deep knowledge of the genre that the director will bring to the table. And it’s going to have to have some kind of personal dimension, no? There might be the rub. Given the point in his career that it’s coming at, one couldn’t have been sure, or even mildly confident, that Shutter Island would, in fact, have all that much to do with the Martin Scorsese of Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The King of Comedy. Shutter Island, adapted from a novel by Dennis Lehane, is the fourth Scorsese picture in a row to star Leonard DiCaprio, and the prior pictures in this collaboration are all epics or quasi-epics that have gotten more impersonal as they’ve gone along. Gangs of New York, of course, was a passion project that was more or less hijacked by its patron, the would-be latter-day Samuel Bronston (or is it Sam Spiegel?) Harvey Weinstein.(It remains, however, a film of some very magnificent parts and I commend all properly-equipped readers to the new Blu-ray disc of the picture.) The Aviator was Scorsese’s stab at being the contemporary equivalent of a studio director, with the maestro mostly finding an affinity with lead character Howard Hughes’ obsessiveness and fear of flashbulbs, and otherwise having a very good time with color and costumes and learning about CGI. The Departed was an all-star genre exercise created at something of a remove; certain reports suggest that much of the director’s time was spent trying to prevent the biggest legend of said all-star cast from, again, hijacking the picture. Naturally this was the work for which Scorsese won his first Best Director Oscar.
So all things being equal, even the most devoted of Scorsese fans couldn’t necessarily be blamed for expecting little beyond a very very grand piece of Guignol, with inimitable style and panache but maybe not so much resonance. So I am thoroughly happy to report that, to my eyes and ears at least, Shutter Island is, in the Godardian formulation, a vrai Scorsese film, in its way the most fully realized personal work of the Scorsese-DiCaprio collabs, a puzzle picture that, as it puts its plot pieces together, climbs to a crescendo that aims to reach that perfect note of empathetic despair we haven’t seen/heard in a Hollywood picture since Vertigo. I think it very nearly gets there.
DiCaprio plays a federal marshal who, with a new partner (Mark Ruffalo), goes out to the titular island, which houses a super-specialized, supposedly super-secure, mental hospital for the criminally insane, from which a patient has, again, supposedly, escaped. Something’s off from the very start, as the not-particularly solicitous Deputy Warden of the place, played by John Carroll Lynch, demands that the two feds, who outrank him after all, surrender their weapons at the intimidating gates of the facility. Something to do with “protocol.” Once inside, DiCaprio’s character is more and more prone to flashbacks (remembering his actions after helping liberate a World War II death camp), horrific dreams involving not just his late wife (Michelle Williams), but the supposedly escaped patient (Emily Mortimer) and the children she murdered, and apparent hallucinations. As he grows to trust his new partner—and distrust everyone else, from the imperious doctors running the joint (Sir Ben Kingsley and Max von Sydow) to the very disturbed patients themselves—he confides his “real” reasons for wanting to have pulled this assignment, and his outlandish suspicions about its actual “mission.”
Curiouser and curiouser it grows, with new elements thrown into the labyrinth of a storyline even as others are peeled…not quite away but a little bit down, as it were. The ornate dream sequences are particularly knotty, and long, and in the many scenes of horror Scorsese pushes the imagery in ways we haven’t expected of him in a while. Indeed, I imagine certain arbiters of supposed good taste will find much to object to here. It’s unsettling stuff. But there’s also a lushness to it all, a powerful Powell-Pressburger feel to both the cinematography (some of Robert Richardson’s richest work, and this guy knows from richness) and the production design (by Dante Ferretti, who’s just as unleashed as Richardson, as it were). For all the film’s seriousness of purpose, you can sense where Scorsese’s having a bit of fun with the genre and with references. I was a little surprised to see such a powerful influence from The Shining (and not just in the music, which, like that of Kubrick’s film, is largely culled from contemporary classical masters such as Penderecki and Ligeti, and is massively powerful all the way through); less so the nods to Psycho, Lewton and Robson’s Bedlam, Preminger’s Laura, and many more classics.
But it’s what’s going on underneath all these surfaces, and the myriad plot twists, that gives this picture its greatest pull. Even more than Raging Bull, Shutter Island can be read as a feature-length remake of Scorsese’s harrowing 1969 short The Big Shave: it’s a chronicle of a man who simply cannot stop hurting himself, cutting himself open. And as such I found it terribly moving. Without going into too much detail, the thing about Shutter Island that frightened me the most (and it frightened me plenty) was what it told me about what I was doing with my own life. I don’t expect—and certainly don’t hope—that it will work on all that many viewers in that particular way, but I still feel it’s definitely a more powerful, and Scorsesian, experience than your garden-variety big budget frightfest.
Great review, Glenn. Thanks. Gets me excited about something that I was only kinda sorta a little excited about beforehand.
I second Craig’s comment. When I first heard the basic plot synopsis, I was feeling pretty lukewarm (insane asylums and such just don’t do much for me, I reckon) but my interest was raised a bit when I read on Alex Ross’s blog the other week the list of contemporary classical dudes on the soundtrack. This review, however, raises the stakes considerably. I just the website for the local “luxury” (ho ho!) cineplex in town and “Shutter Island” will indeed be opening here in Podunkville, Wisconsin on Friday. The movie gods can, on rare occasion, show a smidgen of mercy.
So, is there an overt reference to The Shining? Or does it just feel similar due to a similar soundtrack?
@ endless: Yeah, you’ll see. There’s more than one, really. But it’s more that the whole mood of the picture owes, knowingly, to Kubrick’s.
Glenn, you notice any influence from Wells’ adaptation of The Trial? I thought I remembered Marty citing this when he was working on the film, along with Shock Corridor, Tourneur, Lewton, etc.
“GANGS OF NEW YORK, of course, was a passion project that was more or less hijacked by its patron, the would-be latter-day Samuel Bronston (or is it Sam Spiegel?) Harvey Weinstein.”
Perhaps he’s simply Samuel L. Bronkowitz.
Anyway, looking forward to this…
A must watch movie. I love leonanrdo specially in catch me if you can!
Leonard…
Surely this is not Scorsese’s first horror picture – what about his Cape Fear remake that got more guignol as it went on?
Since I agree wholeheartedly with your analysis of Scorsese’s last three DiCaprio collaborations (especially in regards to their increasingly “impersonal” nature), my excitement for this one just ratcheted up a few notches.
Can’t wait for the new Polanski too.
I’ve always held that The Aviator was one of Scorsese’s most personal films. Scorsese uses the early years of Howard Hughes’ life to tell the story of his ’70s heyday. Scorsese identifies with Hughes when he reasonably asks for 2 extra cameras in order to film an important sequence. When Hughes retreats to his screening room, you are reminded of those passages from Easy Riders, Raging Bulls of Scorsese and Robertson staying up at all hours watching movies and doing God knows what else. Hughes’ triumph at the senate committee and the first flight of the Sproose Goose is equal to Scorsese’s getting Raging Bull to the screen.
Hell, even Shine A Light is a personal film for Scorsese.
Thank you Aaron. One should also add that Marty was an often-sick, delicate child and could probably empathize with how Hughes felt with regard to being around other people.
I don’t think Marty is capable of making an impersonal film. Even something like The Departed has elements about loyalty, class, and family that I’m sure Marty felt strongly about.
I’m sure Marty has felt strongly about everything he’s ever done. But there’s a difference between spending decades trying to bring a passion project to the screen (Gangs of New York) and accepting an assignment and then trying to find personal angles in it (Aviator/Departed).
Well so what? You don’t have to originate a project for it to (a) be good or (b) have some passion/artistic statement behind it. Or we would discount most of the old studio directors.
I also wouldn’t call anything Marty has done an “assignment” (at least nothing since Boxcar Bertha). Sometimes he finds material himself, sometimes things are brought to him by friends. He certainly has enough options that he doesn’t have to make films out of desperation or obligation.
Not every film is going to be some long-gestating labor of love. And besides, supposedly he’s going to do Silence next, a project he’s had his heart set on for a while.
I never said that a director had to originate a project for it to be good or that Marty has ever made anything out of obligation. I happen to admire both The Aviator and, to a lesser extent, The Departed as well-crafted exercises in Hollywood studio filmmaking.
Here, let me rephrase my original post in a way that should be less controversial:
Since I agree with Glenn that Gangs of New York is Scorsese’s most personal film of the past decade (and also, in my opinion, the best), I’m even more excited to see Shutter Island after reading his review than I was before.
climbs to a crescendo that aims to reach that perfect note of empathetic despair
This was my exact experience of the Lehane novel, but there are plenty of wags that disagree. This is very encouraging, Glenn.
I wish that I hadn’t already read Lehane’s novel. It will be interesting to see how Scorcese tells the story visually. I’m looking forward to seeing this one.
That’s fair Michael, and I actually agree with you on that clarification, but you still used the word “assignment” with regard to his last two films, which I think implies a significant lack of control or choice. I’m sure you don’t consider him some kind of whore but it’s not like Coppola doing The Rainmaker or something (which I also thought was a decent film).
The way I see it Scorsese is setting the bar for the rest of the year. It reminds me of when Fincher’s Zodiac came out in early ’07. In fact, Fincher’s The Social Network and the Coens’ True Grit are the only major upcoming releases that I know of.
Then again, Eastwood could decide to prep, shoot, edit, and release a movie within the last 6 weeks of the year.
I often prefer it when Scorsese works from material developed by other people – it tends to force a certain focus and restraint on him in the form of a plot. Storytelling has never been one of his strong points. Generally speaking, with the exception of Goodfellas, most of his passion projects (Gangs of New York, The Age of Innocence, Casino, Kundun, etc.) are pretty bad; bad enough that if the name “Scorsese” wasn’t associated with them as part of his filmography, they’d most likely have been greeted with far greater critique.
Actually, Scorsese’s name hurt the critical and audience response to Casino. Critics thought he was doing a once-over on GoodFellas, while audiences weren’t ready for the way the final hour is one long, slow decline into darkness. The final passages have neither the operatic reach of the finale of The Godfather, or the cocaine rush of GoodFellas. It just kinda ends badly for everyone. There’s heartbreaking sadness in DeNiro’s last line of narration.
Scorsese’s only true work-for-hire is The Color of Money. What’s interesting is how even that film can be read as personal. Cruise’s Vincent is a stand-in for the youthful, flamboyant Scorsese. His joy of playing pool (especially in the “Werewolves of London” sequence) is equal to Scorsese’s gliding-camera, rock & roll filmmaking. Newman’s Fast Eddie’s corruption of Vincent is equal to Scorsese’s attempts to play the Hollywood game (New York, New York, King of Comedy, After Hourst). Newman’s last line of dialogue could also be Scorsese coming out the other side wiser and ready to play the game on his own terms. His next two releases would be The Last Temptation of Christ and GoodFellas.
I’m going to have to disagree rather strongly with the Chevalier– KUNDUN, AGE OF INNOCENCE, and CASINO (GANGS to a lesser degree) are Scorsese’s best films *because* he fully indulges his considerable cinematic gifts, narrative momentum/storytelling be damned. He’s an expressive, virtuosic filmmaker, a tradition that I think is inherently and deliciously digressive.
When Scorsese dubbed Wes Anderson the new Scorsese or the Scorsese of the nineties or whatever-it-was, it was actually quite apt, not because they have a whole lot in common w/r/t themes or plots, but because both are digressive, expressive, intensely cine-literate artists.
To clarify further what I just said, I didn’t mean to say that someone can’t not like those films– what makes art and film interesting is that there are always going to be differences of opinion. What I’m saying rather is that the very qualities that might lead one person to call those films “pretty bad” are the qualities that I think make them masterpieces (sometimes flawed masterpieces, as in the case of GANGS), and the qualities that attract me to Scorsese’s work in the first place.
Those movies aren’t that good, and Gangs isn’t a “flawed masterpiece” – it’s a botch as messed up from head to toe as Heaven’s Gate or Southland Tales; a bellyflop.
Those movies you listed were the ’90s duds that he made post-Goodfellas after the critics anointed him the greatest working American director, and he then felt the need to make “great” movies, even though the movies he’d made to get that title weren’t classically “great” movies.
I think Scorsese adoration is no different than Eastwood adoration. Or, for instance, when Eyes Wide Shut was released there were a whole bunch of older male critics who immediately gave it glowing reviews, even though you could tell they had no idea what was going on – just to line up behind the master.
If you want to be critically honest, then be honest. I only really think Scorsese’s made a handful of really good movies – the rest are filled with greatness, but the parts are always more interesting than the wholes. I’ve been pretty pleased with his last few films for the simple reason that they’re more controlled, more precise.
Very much in your corner Tom.
The other issue I have with Chevalier’s remarks is the implication that the cinema is at its best when it is plot-driven, which just a ridiculous generalization to make. By the same standards, one could make the same criticism about Hitchcock and a passion project (however unintentional) like Vertigo. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. For every John Ford there are many cinematic masters to name for whom storytelling has never been a strong point, or a priority.
“If you want to be critically honest, then be honest.”
Do you really think people who say they like those films are being dishonest?
I don’t think plot is inherently important. That wasn’t my point at all. I just think that Scorsese’s strength has never been in crafting original narratives. So, considering storytelling is a weak aspect of his work, I think that when he’s working with a plot it tends to force him to focus better.
Of course, the three ninety films you think are “pretty bad” were all based on other plots, to which he was pretty faithful– two from life and one from a novel.
“Do you really think people who say they like those films are being dishonest?”
“Rose-tinted” is a more polite way of putting it. “Deluded” is a little nastier.
I think we all tend to gloss over a filmmaker’s work if we like them. I almost never read completely honest evaluations of Scorsese’s work by his admirers. Even when he makes a movie that misses, then that becomes a 3 1/2 star movie instead of 4.
Well, digressions are fun, but story is always necessary.
And I’ve never considered Scorsese a show-off filmmaker. The making-the-sauce bit from GoodFellas is crucial to the overall impact of the day-in-the-life sequence. The fact that Henry Hill puts as much importance to making dinner as he does doing a drug deal shows that he is incapable of seeing the big picture. The same goes for the through-the-money-cage sequence in Casino. The sequence tells us that Vegas will always put money above everything else, especially the squablings of a doomed love triangle.
As for The Chevalier, Pauline Kael is alive and well and living in Miami.
TR- All of which he personally developed to his taste – as opposed to taking on scripts that others have developed into a better story structure like The Aviator or The Departed – or, even going back, After Hours, The King of Comedy or Taxi Driver.
He’s pretty much on record as saying he does story but not plot. I simply think that when he oversees a project from scratch, a passion project, so to speak, his tendencies are bad tendencies. When he takes on an existing project, it’s more like he’s grafting his sensibilities to it – which both is good for him and also good for the material.
“Deluded” is indeed a nastier way to put it, though I don’t think “rose-tinted” is really that much more polite; either description implies that you possess some kind of infallible truth as to whether a film “hits” or “misses” and not that, oh, I dunno, we simply have different tastes? I can’t stand any of William Friedkin’s films, not-a-one, but that doesn’t mean the people who like his films are “deluded” or trying to “gloss” over his deficiencies. They see something that I don’t. That’s opinion. That’s art.
In arguing about film and art, it’s common to state one’s opinion forcibly– to say, “this film is bad” instead of “I think this film is bad”, and that’s much the way it should be. But if you say “these films are bad because of X” and I say “these films are great because of X”, and X is the same thing in both cases, it means we have an honest difference in aesthetic values– not that one of us is deluding themselves or wearing rose-tinted glasses.
So let me talk for a moment about those aesthetic values, about the things in those three Scorsese films– KUNDUN, INNOCENCE, and CASINO– that I find valuable and noteworthy.
– All three films, first of all, have a very definite sense of place and atmosphere, from the exotic East of Kundun, to the supposedly polite society of 1800s New York, to the deadening glamour of Vegas. The latter two films use voice-over in remarkable and sometimes humourous ways to orient us; there’s a definite sense of process, whether it’s providing a how-to of running a Casino or the way a social ecosystem of the well-to-do operates.
– All three films are visceral, alive, and intoxicated with the possibilities of cinema: the gorgeous and sometimes surreal cinematography of Kundun married with its absolutely thrilling score; Casino’s use of title cards (BACK HOME, YEARS AGO) and the way Pesci’s voice-over is interrupted by his own murder; INNOCENCE in particular is a stylist’s bounty, containing the flicker-pan of opera glasses, the direct-to-camera letters, the overlapping dissolves that reveal the contents of a pocket and series of envelopes, the iris-in that occludes both picture and sound to gift us an intimate moment. This isn’t just making cine-references or homages; this is being unafraid to use the language of cinema in expressive and entertaining ways.
– CASINO and INNOCENCE are both incredibly romantic, in the burning embers of doomed passion meaning of the word, exploring and exploiting the fine line between love and bitterness. CASINO in particular is a moody film, and that moodiness certainly turned off the people who thought it was a longer GOODFELLAS. (There’s a reason why CASINO used the theme from CONTEMPT.) GOODFELLAS is a fun ride, but CASINO is a deeper, better, more mature film.
– KUNDUN and INNOCENCE are both complex and multi-variate in the ways they approach their protagonist: Newland Archer is both a good family man and the man who wishes his wife would die so that he could be free. The Dalai Lama is at once a blessed leader, an impossible naïve child, and a tragic figure born at the wrong point in history. Those who call it a hagiography simply aren’t paying attention.
– The performances in all three films are incredibly strong. I’m not sure what’s more impressive: that Scorsese got such great performances from the many non-actors who people KUNDUN, or that he got such amazing, subtle, and intelligent performances from Pfieffer in INNOCENCE and Stone in CASINO– these being two women who are almost always abso-fucking-lutely god-awful in everything else they’ve ever done (though Pfieffer was admittedly pretty good in DANGEROUS LIAISONS).
Please, go ahead and disagree with me here; if this isn’t the sort of thing that turns you on, then that’s fine. But don’t tell me that I’m being dishonest, that I’m somehow lying to myself because I love these films. Frankly, that’s really fucking rude.
Good points, Aaron.
Chevalier, I was writing my latest comment before you posted yours, which restates your thesis in a way that, while I still disagree with it, I can indeed see your point. If I had seen it before posting, I probably would’ve toned down some of the incivility in parts of my long comment.
AA beat me to all the really good punches in this civil little contretemps. I will only chime in to say that I agree (with Mr. Russell as well) – Scorsese is not only NOT a show-off, he’s an incredibly talented storyteller, easily one of our best (“our” referring to American cinema culture). It’s the mark of a poor critic indeed who misses the forest of Scorese’s emotional richness (always rooted in story, even with the tone-poem-esque KUNDUN, which I recently re-watched – what a flippin’ stunner of a movie, btw) for the trees of his rapid dolly movements, cuts, rock&roll cues, cross-fades and all the other bells and whistles. It might be most accurate to say that Scorsese’s brand of storytelling emphasizes character over plot, and the expressive nature of his formal choices is informed by the inner lives of these characters.
Gangs is flawed, yes, but absolutely brilliant; the Aviator is one of my least favorite of his films (although I don’t count agree with the Chris Doyle “he’s sucking the academy’s cock” thesis) precisely because of the hammy acting that robs the characters of their credibility. The Departed was a bit impersonal, but so much damn fun, and should be the final refutation to any claim that Scorsese isn’t (or can’t be) a plotsmith – it’s one of the tightest contemporary films I know of. There is not ONE wrong beat in that whole movie (I mean in the rhythmic sense), and I should know since I’ve seen it three times.
So I’m very psyched – pun intended, oh yes – to see SHUTTER.
Interesting argument going on here. For the record, I think “Casino” is a difficult (a very deliberately difficult) film, not a bad one. I watched “Age of Innocence” for the first time in a while the other night and was largely impressed. I had forgotten the degree of Powell-Pressburger-inflected irreality (as opposed to surreality or unreality) with which he transposes Wharton’s tale, and found it rather beguiling. For whatever reason I have not been compelled to revisit “Kundun” at all.
The Chevalier will perhaps be mortified to learn that Jeffrey Wells is taking a similar tack to the subjects of Scorsese love (and Eastwood love) over at his own place. The Chevalier’s points are more specific, and his arguments more eloquently articulated. But I still don’t understand the resentment. It’s one thing not to like a lot of Scorsese films but it’s quite another to call his champions “deluded.” I understand that one can get frustrated at what one sees as critical complacency or what have you but…I dunno. I despise Joe Swanberg’s films but don’t think that our friend Tom Russell, or the estimable Richard Brody, is an idiot for admiring them. Yes, if someone compares Swanberg to Pialat I’m gonna call foul, because I think the comparison is unwarranted and I believe that I can demonstrate that via specific detailed comparisons…but…
I’m reminded of what Orson Welles said when Peter Bogdanovich was goading him for seeming to change his opinions on filmmakers from interview to interview. “Why should I upset a strong Fellini man by telling him I think ‘Satyricon’ was firghtened at birth by Vogue magazine?” Welles protested…before ceding Bogdanovich’s point. Film critics, surprisingly enough, are human beings too, and they want their pantheons to do good work. That may result in a review that The Chevalier would condemn as “dishonest” or “delusional” or what have you. I know what I saw in “Shutter Island,” but what I saw was also affected by a number of circumstances, including my emotional state at the time of the screening. But that’s always gonna be the case, if Robert Warshow and common sense are to be believed.
People telling me they don’t like film x or film y, is like telling me about their medical issues. And showing me. I. Don’t. Care.
But everybody does it – it is what it is.
(It’s more right, and therefore more difficult, to take a film for which you’re a supporter, and **help me see it better**. For the film’s exponent, it takes skill in communication – for me, it takes humility, and a desire to learn. Tough times all around, but worthwhile.)
However, when the “it sucks” tendency carries over to telling me that “it sucks and you’re deluded”? I…I just…I can’t. Mind boggles.
Scorsese: In putting my money where my mouth is, I will not say anything about Scorsese’s ’00s work. I have to agree, however, with one of my friends who decided the rat in the final shot of THE DEPARTED was “beneath” an artist of his stature. That said, I’ve seen every film since AGE OF INNOCENCE in the theater, and it is my determination that CASINO is an unqualified major work, excepting the dummy in the first explosion. I love the shit out of GOODFELLAS, like any red-blooded cinephile, but over the years, while GOODFELLAS has become like close family, CASINO has ascended.
Kubrick: EYES WIDE SHUT is his greatest film, although from time to time it’s battled with BARRY LYNDON and THE SHINING for that spot. I’ve written about it several times…there’s an essay by Lee Siegel that I think says a lot of what I’ve wanted to say, better:
http://www.indelibleinc.com/kubrick/films/ews/reviews/harpers.html
Eastwood: A very unusual convergence, in that he seems to be earning “official” designations (starting with two Oscars for directing) that, artistically, for me, are well-deserved. Most recently (I haven’t seen the Mandela pic), while I admired and enjoyed GRAN TORINO, the real surprise to me was CHANGELING, which seems to have been largely shrugged off. To me CHANGELING is a very special and strongly-made film – I should disclose that I lost my gag reflex for melodramatic nonsense many years ago (it got in the way of appreciating works of art by McCarey, Borzage, Ford, to name a few), so there was a lot that I didn’t simply “not mind,” but that floored me. I think about intersecting lines in movie narratives, and what filmmakers do to emphasize or de-emphasize them as the frames go by, and I thought one of the neatest bits of business in CHANGELING had to do with Christine’s boss, who carries a wee torch for her through the years. In the end he doesn’t matter – at all – but he gets a little space in the film, regardless. Also the execution of Gordon Northcott is brilliantly done.
“EYES WIDE SHUT is his greatest film”
That just beggars reality. It’s like saying TOPAZ is Hitchcock’s greatest film.
No, it’s closer to MARNIE.
Jaime -
Thanks for posting that essay – I’d come across it on the web some time ago, and as I’ve recently been on a bit of Kubrick kick, it was nice to check it out again. Kubrick has always been the most mysterious and fascinating American director; he’s one that I can never come to any lasting conclusions about, other than that I’m consistently amazed by his work…Seigel does a good job pleading the case for EWS as a masterwork.
On paper, I think I’d have to agree that EWS is his greatest, but my gut tells me otherwise…for me, it’s part of the paradox of Kubrick that his most enjoyable films are not as rich (thematically, emotionally, etc.) as his more obviously flawed ones – CLOCKWORK will always be closest to my heart, not least because I saw it first. LYNDON is exhilarating because so much of it seems to be K outside his comfort zone; its his most “humane” picture, but I do think it’s his dullest, and there are some frankly ridiculous moments of overacting (which shouldn’t obscure the moments of stellar acting)…somehow that special variety of Kubrick-orchestrated ham-and-cheesiness works for Nicholson, Scott, MacDowell, and not so well for Cruise, Vitali.
Obviously Hitchcock’s best film was FAMILY PLOT.
What? Why is everybody looking at me like that? It’s structurally audacious, rollicklingly funny, with William Devane centering a lighthearted but still dangerous study in chilling sociopathy. Plus, it has Barbara Harris, who is a special effect in and of herself.
I’m pretty close to agreeing with EWS being Kubrick’s best. I’ve found it the most rewarding on subsequent viewings, other than the laughter Dr. Strangelove is always able to generate.
And Jamie is right in that Topaz is considered a relative failure even by those who admire parts of it. A lot to admire there but it’s hard to argue that it “works” like most Hitchcock films. Of course, Topaz showed Hitch working WITHOUT movie stars for the first time in a while, so not a great analogy. Connery and Hedren are of course two actors arguably not up to the challenge of Marnie, something which has been said of Cruise and Kidman (a criticism I don’t agree with).
Also, Marnie has become an oft-defended late work by Hitch that really features some of his best visual work, even if it’s not matched at times by the script in the psychosexual exploration of its characters, and I think Eyes Wide Shut could be described the same way.
“I think Scorsese adoration is no different than Eastwood adoration.”
Except that Eastwood is a much better filmmaker than Scorsese. Better, more versatile with genre, & – unlike poor Marty – an instinctive storyteller.
Anyway truth be told Shutter Island has never looked like anything more than a lousy B movie with top notch values & a vastly bloated runtime, & DiCaprio STILL looks miscast in these adult roles.
I can’t trust critics any more when it comes to Scorsese. They’re far too willing to carry water for the guy – as the reviews for his mediocre post-2000 work demonstrate. The supposed critical consensus around a piece of junk like The Departed is going to prove a source of embarrassment for those reviewers for years to come.
I’m already embarrassed that I still love THE DEPARTED. I can’t even look myself in the mirror.
I thought THE DEPARTED was fairly awful and the critical huzzahs mystified me. Especially for Wahlberg’s always-yelling cop.
“Except that Eastwood is a much better filmmaker than Scorsese. Better, more versatile with genre, & – unlike poor Marty – an instinctive storyteller.”
I don’t even know where to begin here, so I think I’ll just shake my head and leave. Or maybe just laugh and leave.
Saying Eastwood is a better filmmaker than Scorcese is like picking EYES WIDE SHUT as the greatest Kubrick…or CASINO as a good movie.
Some scatter-shot responses to some of the above:
I personally prefer BARRY LYNDON to all other Kubricks, but there’s not a single weak link from THE KILLING on (save LOLITA, which still has it merits). I wouldn’t necessarily pick EYES WIDE SHUT as the master’s best, but it’s not a bad or even merely good picture by any stretch of the imagination.
I like Eastwood and Scorsese both, but I wouldn’t say one is necessarily better than the other, as they’re doing two different things. It’s like saying Blake Edwards is better than Kubrick or vice-versa. The things I expect from and enjoy in one’s work are completely different than the other’s.
As for “the supposed critical consensus” of post-2000 Scorsese, supposed is right, because I don’t see a critical consensus there at all. I seem to remember a lot of bad reviews for THE DEPARTED– but maybe I’m just reading the wrong critics? I’m not being facetious, here; I had a coworker tell me she had seen 500 DAYS OF SUMMER because “all the critics loved it”, which surprised the hell out of me, because pretty much all the critics I read thought it was garbage.
And, finally, I really still don’t understand the hate for CASINO. Could one of its opponents please give us a few details to grapple with besides “it’s bad”?
“Saying Eastwood is a better filmmaker than Scorcese is like picking EYES WIDE SHUT as the greatest Kubrick…or CASINO as a good movie.”
Or like spelling “Scorsese” wrong. Boy, post-GOODFELLAS Scorsese sure makes people turn up their noses and get all sniffy, doesn’t it? CASINO is a flawed movie, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what people hate about it. I think it’s pretty great. I’ve long felt that it’s the dramatic (in the classical sense) flipside of GOODFELLAS – it’s the tragedy to GOODFELLAS’ comedy.
Yeah, a spelling mistake is the same as picking EWS over STRANGELOVE or 2001 or…
And what makes you think I love GOODFELAS? I think that’s as over-rated as THE DEPARTED, though I like it much more. CASINO is a mess, and sometimes unintentionally funny – that explosion for one. Great to see Don Rickles in there, but otherwise I didn’t buy DeNiro not figuring out Stone for one second. I wondered why I was supposed to give a shit about anybody. Same as in GOODFELLAS.
“but otherwise I didn’t buy DeNiro not figuring out Stone for one second.”
Why not?
As much as I like GOODFELLAS, CASINO is a superior revision of the earlier film. Great opening titles by Saul Bass, beautiful location work, fantastic cinematography by Robert Richardson, a horrific death scene for Joe Pesci, one of De Niro’s finest performances just before his drought began, a movie full of memorable turns by Sharon Stone, James Woods, Alan King, L.Q. Jones, Dick Smothers, and Joe Bob Briggs. And of course, Don Rickles.
Film snobbery aside, this is the one I always reach for when asked to choose between the two.
“As for “the supposed critical consensus” of post-2000 Scorsese, supposed is right, because I don’t see a critical consensus there at all. I seem to remember a lot of bad reviews for THE DEPARTED– but maybe I’m just reading the wrong critics?”
Well then I think that is a very selective memory on your part. The Departed was generally well reviewed, far more than it deserved to be. Go take a look at its Metacritic score. It was a similar situation for The Aviator & GoNY yet all four movies for me veer between being a complete mess & ‘merely’ mediocre. They also suffer from the perennial faults of Scorsese; clumsy storytelling, inconsistent direction & that hallmark of practically every Martin Scorsese picture – a protagonist that the director can’t make you care about or even summon up that much interest in.
Few things are more revealing about the stunted quality of contemporary film criticism – the running with the herd mentality, the unwillingness to step out of line & venture an unpopular view – than the pass Scorsese invariably gets for movies that, had they any other director’s name on them, would be MUCH more harshly dealt with. No disrespect to Glenn, who I’ve no reason to think is being anything other than completely honest in his review, but that really is why, as I said above, I don’t really trust critics when it comes to Scorsese.
You’re right about the overall consensus, then; I just hang out with the wrong critical crowd and so I withdraw my earlier comment.
I do want to ask you about “trusting” critics when it comes to Scorsese– surely you don’t look up a film’s metacritic score and say, well, all the critics say this is good, as if all the critics were one big amorphous body? I mean, I know that’s basically the point you’re making w/r/t consensus, that everyone’s just cowed by the name Scorsese into lying about his films, but you can’t possibly believe it– you’re probably just afraid to step out of line and stop running with the herd with the ever-popular “film criticism is dying” commentator shtick.
In all seriousness– you’re right about consensus but I don’t think consensus=state of criticism. I mean, most of the movies that come out are crap, but that doesn’t mean that the art of film is dead or dying or even in a state of grievous disrepair. Generally, I read and follow critics whose aesthetic values mirror my own and/or whose aesthetic values differ from mine in ways I understand, expect, and count on– kinda like when Sam Jackson said in Jackie Brown that he couldn’t trust Melanie, but he could trust Melanie to be Melanie.
“clumsy storytelling, inconsistent direction & that hallmark of practically every Martin Scorsese picture – a protagonist that the director can’t make you care about or even summon up that much interest in.”
Different strokes; THE DEPARTED and BRINGING OUT THE DEAD aside, I almost always find the protagonists (including in GANGS and AVIATOR) compelling and the direction consistently intelligent & visceral. And the most remarked-upon example of “clumsy” storytelling in a Scorsese film, the way the draft riots come out nowhere in GANGS, isn’t really clumsy at all since it’s very much by design: the characters are so caught up in their internecine war that they’re oblivious to the history happening around them. That’s not bad filmmaking, it’s ballsy filmmaking, taking a structural chance that might not work for you but works for me.
It could be, again, that those critics actually like THE DEPARTED, just like my relatives for some reason beyond my comprehension like GREASE, just like I, for some reason beyond my wife’s comprehension, love HUDSON HAWK. Different strokes, as I said– honesty or dishonesty has nothing to do with it.
“De Niro not figuring out Stone” – I’m not sure what the hell this is supposed to mean, but let me take a guess – that he didn’t realize she couldn’t be trusted? In which case, he did “figure her out,” from very early on. In case his behavior wasn’t obvious enough, he pretty much spells it out in the VO. Missing this kind of thing – that he knew she didn’t love him and could never be loyal, but went ahead and married her anyway (and then stayed with her to the bitter end) – goes a long way in explaining why you don’t like Casino, or care much for Scorsese, and don’t see his ability as a storyteller.
As for the critics “giving him a pass” – that would be a problem if his films weren’t worth praise or discussion, which they consistently are. Scorsese, among his other strengths, is one of the very few filmmakers who can reliably produce excellent genre pictures – movies that, despite their flaws, are complex, compelling, and entertaining, even when they aren’t very deep. So he may never make another Raging Bull. So what – as long as he keeps making pictures worth watching and talking about, I’ll keep seeing them. Who else from the heyday of the 70s has maintained such an output, in terms of quality and quantity? If you don’t care for Scorsese’s movies, well, that’s your loss. But this whole idea that he’s way past his prime and the critics either can’t tell or don’t want to is a load of crap.
And as for Eastwood – I’ve made my disdain known around these parts before, and I’m willing to agree to disagree, but saying things like he’s a far better filmmaker than Scorsese is just plain dumb. In almost every area that matters – camera, editing, music, character, humor – they couldn’t be more dissimilar. I happen to think Eastwood is an occasionally competent director who has a heavy hand and a tin ear, and Scorsese is a visionary, but do dismiss one at the expense of the other is, again, dumb.
“I know that’s basically the point you’re making w/r/t consensus, that everyone’s just cowed by the name Scorsese into lying about his films, but you can’t possibly believe it-”
I don’t think they’re lying, I think they’re just being lazy.
“As for the critics “giving him a pass” – that would be a problem if his films weren’t worth praise or discussion, which they consistently are.
They consistently AREN’T though, THAT’S the problem.
“Scorsese, among his other strengths, is one of the very few filmmakers who can reliably produce excellent genre pictures – movies that, despite their flaws, are complex, compelling, and entertaining, even when they aren’t very deep.
Scorsese, almost EVERY TIME he steps outside of the Italian-American context of his best known work seems hopelessly lost. New York, New York is a deeply mediocre piece of work. The very idea that Scorsese could combine the urban characters/sensibility of his own movies with a musical (a musical for god’s sake), the most unrealistic genre known to man(!), was so fundamentally misconceived you kind of wonder how it ever got off the ground.
DeNiro & Minelli have zero chemistry in that movie & the two characters are tiresome & unlikable company. It doesn’t even have a coherent focussed story because Scorsese can’t make up his mind whose tale this is; is it his or is it hers? I think it’s vastly inferior to Eastwood’s musical Bird, which is infinitely more coherent, both thematically & narratively, & emotionally (in the shape of Forrest Whitaker) engaging in a way that Scorsese’s film can’t even begin to reach. Plus it’s stylistically adventurous in its time-hopping & flashback within flashback structure. It’s just an all round superior film.
Cape Fear was another Scorsese misfire; crude, vulgar & with an American family at the centre that Scorsese had absolutely no feel or understanding for. Same for The Age of Innocence. Oh sure, it’s a great guide if you’re interested in the intricacies of 19th century etiquette but the main characters are a pair of stiffs. Scorsese fails to communicate the passion of their attraction to the audience. The characters don’t even seem convinced themselves. You contrast that with the storytelling skill & emotional involvement between audience & character of an Eastwood period piece romance like The Bridges of Madison County. Again, it’s the Eastwood version that’ll be remembered by audiences, not the Scorsese one.
Eastwood is a chameleon, able to adapt to any genre with ease whereas Scorsese struggles &, boy, does it ever show! When he’s on his home turf, dealing with a religious theme that goes to the heart of his upbringing, or riffing on the New York that he grew up in – like The Last Temptation of Christ or After Hours (also, not coincidentally, by some way his best work) – fine, he’s usually comfortable, assured & the results are fairly terrific. But away from that & it’s one disappointing misfire after another. Looking back over his career I think Scorsese, far from his reputation, is actually a rather limited filmmaker. He hasn’t shown much growth over the course of his career & his work over the last decade typifies the trajectory of so many famous & acclaimed American filmmakers in that they do their best work when young & produce unremarkable, toothless work in the autumn of their careers. Eastwood of course being the notable exception to this rule.
“So he may never make another Raging Bull.”
Well then thank goodness since the only title that movie deserves is ‘Most Overrated American Movie Of The 80’s.’ The same faults of clumsy storytelling, thematic incoherence, the same obvious point being made over & over & over & over & over again, & a character that you have no interest in or sympathy for. As a character study it’s a disaster, as storytelling it’s a disaster. I agree the pictures are very pretty. You could take any frame out of that film, blow it up & hang it on the wall, that’s how arty it looks. But the film is still nothing more than a hollow, pretentious exercise in technique. I’m entirely with The NY Post’s film critic Kyle Smith on this, who wrote a devastating critique of the film. You think that Scorsese’s inability to create characters we care about & get interested in, his clumsy storytelling & all his other flaws are examples of how ‘daring’ & ‘bold’ he is. Frankly I think that sounds more like immature, intellectually dishonest film student posturing. Without plot, story & theme film is mere technique. It’s WITH plot, story & theme that technique becomes art.
And a truly great filmmaker can bring his characters to life & make us empathize with them to the point that we are wholly in their corner no matter what actions they take. I don’t think Scorsese has ever managed that. It’s not a quality I find in his movies. However brilliantly made they may be the characters are invariably alienating or cold figures that audiences lean away from when they should be embracing them & that is Scorsese’s failure, not ours. Other filmmakers can do it even with the most repulsive protagonist. Look what Fritz Lang managed with Peter Lorre’s child killer in M. But then perhaps it’s an unfair comparison because of course Scorese is nowhere near as great a filmmaker as Fritz Lang.
I think Scorsese is a talented but flawed filmmaker, capable of good – even great individual shots & scenes – but he is not one who can sustain that level for the length of a movie. Time & again he has demonstrated that he has no real feel for narrative storytelling & his movies are always littered with protagonists that you just don’t give a toss about. I used to think it was because he was always dealing with criminal types but he fared equally badly with the PG fare of Age of Innocence & The Aviator. That latter movie was nearly THREE HOURS long & yet Scorsese still couldn’t get under the skin of billionaire Howard Hughes. Couldn’t get us to care about the guy even with a 100 million budget at his disposal. That same year Eastwood pulled audiences so deeply into the lives of three blue collar characters that they sat in their seats with tears running down their faces at what was going on in Million Dollar Baby, a film made for a tenth of the budget of The Aviator.
I could forgive the lousy storytelling of the average Scorsese pic IF the characters were terrifically involving. Or I could forgive the distant characters IF the storytelling went like gangbusters. But to achieve such consistently disappointing results at BOTH, & with only intermittently flashy shots or scenes that make you think ‘Oh yeah, nice use of the camera, Marty’, you know, IT’S NOT ENOUGH!
“So what – as long as he keeps making pictures worth watching and talking about, I’ll keep seeing them. Who else from the heyday of the 70s has maintained such an output, in terms of quality and quantity?
Again, Scorsese’s track record does not justify the breathless hyperbole you employ. But to answer your question, Clint Eastwood, & you’re going to REALLY struggle to find anyone with any credibility who thinks Scorsese’s post-2000 work is better than Eastwood’s.
“And a truly great filmmaker can bring his characters to life & make us empathize with them to the point that we are wholly in their corner no matter what actions they take.”
This is a very bizarre thing to want from every movie you see, let alone think it is essential to good storytelling.
@ Christian – Thank you for continuing to support my point. Yes, the movies are truly lousy, it’s all a lie and you see the truth. Here’s a medal.
@ Tom, re: “Could one of its opponents please give us a few details to grapple with besides “it’s bad”?” Tom, here’s the problem. People who don’t like a movie – with few, few exceptions, are unreliable sources for what’s going on in it. It’s appropriate that this conversation has touched on EYES WIDE SHUT, whose title can be taken as cleverly punned in Scorsese’s latest (give it a second), because that’s what happens to most critics – armchair and subsidized alike – when they don’t like a film. They watch it with their eyes. wide. shut.
Exceptions: Manny Farber, first and foremost. Whether he liked or disliked a movie was the 129th priority in his writing. What he did instead, what I would love to see more of, is that his reviews “re-saw” the films in terms of space, acting, painting, etc.
Most people will never in a million years accept this, but we can all improve the WAY WE SEE.
By and large, though, bad reviews are not helpful in the slightest, because they lack the excitement of good reviews.
To take a safe example, I think MULHOLLAND DR. is a masterpiece. If I happen to find someone at work who’s also seen it, I’ll bet you a thousand dollars he or she will have hated it, and will have no problem talking a blue streak about who, what, where, why, and how he/she hated it. Question: did I get any closer to understanding the film? Nope. Would that change if he/she had some journo credibility (**scoff**) and wrote for the New York Post? Trick question, it’s nope again.
“This is a very bizarre thing to want from every movie you see, let alone think it is essential to good storytelling.”
But I don’t think it is essential. Of course it isn’t. What I said was that it was a characteristic of all the truly great filmmakers & I think that is true. I find it ‘bizarre’ that you express puzzlement over such an observation. After all, the more engaged we are with the protagonist, the more we identify with them, the more rewarding & powerful the viewing experience. What on earth is ‘bizarre’ about that?
Re A. Zilla’s assertion “I’m entirely with The NY Post’s film critic Kyle Smith on this, who wrote a devastating critique of the film.” I suppose it depends on what you call devastating. I choose to continue to carry “Marty’s” water, or whatever the hell I’m doing.
I’m not going to fully engage these arguments here, as I’ve grappled with them, or at least arguments very much like them, at length elsewhere. If A. Zilla or anybody else is interested, have a gander at these posts:
“The Films We Haven’t Seen,” which contains a direct response to Smith’s inspired musings on “Raging Bull.”
http://glennkenny.première.com/blog/2008/02/the-films-we-ha.html
“Caring versus Not Caring”
http://somecamerunning.typepad.com/some_came_running/2008/10/caring-versus‑n.html
“Some notes on the ‘Human Element’ in film”
http://www.theauteurs.com/notebook/posts/304
My mother thanks you, my father thanks you, and I thank you.
I also suppose I ought to be overjoyed, not to mention relieved, to live in a world where so many cannot see even a single smidgen of themselves in DeNiro’s portrayal of Jake LaMotta. Go, team!
Arnie, you said that a great filmmaker will put you “wholly in their corner no matter what actions they take”. Yes, that’s a bizarre thing to want. Many films have murderers as their protagonists, or anti-heros. Is it a mark of good filmmaking to put you in Fred MacMurray’s corner throughout DOUBLE INDMENITY? Or John Garfield’s throughout THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE? To try and put us in their corner when their committing murder is a mark of bad filmmaking, as far as I can see. Which I’m not saying either film does, mind you.
I know how to spell “heroes”, and I know the difference between “their” and “they’re”, in case anyone found evidence to the contrary.
“Many films have murderers as their protagonists, or anti-heros. Is it a mark of good filmmaking to put you in Fred MacMurray’s corner throughout DOUBLE INDMENITY? Or John Garfield’s throughout THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE? To try and put us in their corner when their committing murder is a mark of bad filmmaking, as far as I can see.”
Well then you must think The Godfather is bad filmmaking. I think there’s very few who would seriously argue that Coppola’s film doesn’t get the audience entirely onside with Brando & his family even though it’s quite clear we’re dealing with a bunch of murderous thugs. That’s part of the genius of the film. We can’t help identifying with these people even though we know we really shouldn’t. That’s because of the skill employed by the filmmakers.
By the same token you must have a hard time with all those WB Cagney films of the 30’s which did a rip-roaring job of persuading the audience to share James Cagney’s lust for power & revenge. Ditto for the even meaner White Heat, ditto for innumerable other films that followed. So, no, I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. Far from it. It’s part of the appeal of cinema – a vicarious identification with characters that break the rules.
But those films do NOT put us in the murderous thugs corner WHEN THEY ARE MURDERING PEOPLE. You’re the one who said “wholly in their corner” no matter what they do. If you were in Cagney’s corner, or the Corleones’ corner, full-stop, every step of the way, then you’re missing a big part of what makes those movies so great.
To be more clear: I absolutely empathized with Jarrett in WHITE HEAT. I also wanted the son of a bitch taken out.
Okay, then, to wrap up: the audience gets “entirely onside” with the Corleones “even though it’s quite clear we’re dealing with a bunch of murderous thugs.” Whereas, “Raging Bull“ ‘s Jake LaMotta is, per Kyle Smith’s devastating critique, first “a jerk” and then “a fat jerk.” (Hey, shades of Jeffrey Wells!) So obviously the yardstick here isn’t the degree of aberrant behavior—after all, Jake LaMotta never actually MURDERED anyone—but the degree to which those who commit aberrant behavior are glamorized, mythologized, made INGRATIATING to the audience. Yeah, sure, I can totally get on board with that.
“Well then you must think The Godfather is bad filmmaking. I think there’s very few who would seriously argue that Coppola’s film doesn’t get the audience entirely onside with Brando & his family even though it’s quite clear we’re dealing with a bunch of murderous thugs. That’s part of the genius of the film. We can’t help identifying with these people even though we know we really shouldn’t. That’s because of the skill employed by the filmmakers.”
I think you are displaying some considerably unimaginative thinking when it comes to cinema. You are correct in your assertion that Coppola gets “the audience entirely onside with Brando & his family” in the first picture. But in THE GODFATHER PART II, arguably a better more complex film that enrichs and deepens the first film (which, frankly, panders to a slightly bloodthirsty audience), Coppola upends the audience sympathy for Michael Corleone, distancing the audience from him enough to cause you to question his actions. The point in PART II is to make the viewer confront their complicity and have them reassess whether this character was ever worthy of such identification or glorification.
There are a great many worthy films that do just the opposite of what you are saying, alienate and distance the viewer from its protagonist. The recent WHITE RIBBON even toys with its audience in that respect, its director frequently bringing the audience just close enough to start to relate to the film’s townspeople only to interject some formal or rhetorical effect designed to push one away from such identification.
Jaime– It’s not so much that I want to understand the film more deeply through the eyes of those who hate it, but that I’m trying to engage the CASINO haters in honest debate instead of merely agreeing to disagree. Your points are well-taken, though.
And Zach, you make a good point far better than I could re: Ace’s compulsive (and compelling) self-destructive streak in CASINO. All three of the major characters in CASINO suffer from the same impulse– Stone’s character just can’t leave James Wood alone, just as DeNiro can’t leave Stone alone, just as Joe Pesci’s character can’t cool it with the high-profile gangster stuff.
“So obviously the yardstick here isn’t the degree of aberrant behavior—after all, Jake LaMotta never actually MURDERED anyone—but the degree to which those who commit aberrant behavior are glamorized, mythologized, made INGRATIATING to the audience. Yeah, sure, I can totally get on board with that.”
When you’ve QUITE finished huffing & puffing, Glenn .. the reason is not glamourization or mythologizing or the degree of aberrant behaviour but the ability of the filmmaker to locate in the character – no matter how extreme or offensive that character’s behaviour – something the viewer can identify, empathize with. Scorsese, by his own admission, wasn’t interested in finding reasons for LaMotta’s behaviour, which immediately blew apart the possibility we could identify with this guy even without taking into account Raging Bull’s other manifest flaws.
The result, apart from anything else, is that the character of LaMotta is really BORING. He’s a one-dimensional, tiresome, obnoxious jerk. We no more understand or empathize with him at the end than we did at the beginning. Glamourization, mythologizing, the degree of aberrant behaviour .. none of that’s got anything to do with it.
Yeah, great, the guy with the 1,200 word comment wonders if I’ve “QUITE finished huffing and puffing.” That’s just rich, man.
“…the ability of the filmmaker to locate in the character – no matter how extreme or offensive that character’s behaviour – something the viewer can identify, empathize with… The result, apart from anything else, is that the character of LaMotta is really BORING. He’s a one-dimensional, tiresome, obnoxious jerk.”
Arnie’s Zilla not only has a lot in common with his own characterization of Scorsese; he has a lot in common with that of LaMotta, too.
At the risk of feeding the troll (or, given the nomenclature, the kaiju), “Scorsese, by his own admission, wasn’t interested in finding reasons for LaMotta’s behaviour, which immediately blew apart the possibility we could identify with this guy…”
Actually, no. He might not have been interested in finding reasons for the behaviour, but he was totally interested IN that behaviour, in how it works and what it does. If anything, and here I risk engaging with your rather limiting litmus for art, it makes us more likely to identify with him, not less, because there isn’t any rubber-ducky (to borrow Chayefsky’s terminology) telling us why, there isn’t any reason to say “this can’t be me, because X”– there’s no “X”. It’s “this could be me”, which is far more terrifying, mature, and engaging.
But, again, “identification” and emotional manipulation is such a silly thing to ask from every film, and if you can’t see that, well, I dunno what to tell you. As I said before, different strokes.
AO Scott at The NY Times completely gets it:
“Shutter Island” takes place off the coast of Massachusetts in 1954. I’m sorry, that should be OFF THE COAST OF MASSACHUSETTS! IN 1954! since every detail and incident in the movie, however minor, is subjected to frantic, almost demented (and not always unenjoyable) amplification. The wail of strangled cellos accompanies shots of the titular island, a sinister, rain-lashed outcropping that is home to a mental hospital for the CRIMINALLY INSANE! The color scheme is lurid, and the camera movements telegraph anxiety. Nothing is as it seems. Something TERRIBLE is afoot ..Sadly, that something turns out to be the movie itself ..
.. Mr. Scorsese’s camera sense effectively fills every scene with creepiness, but sustained, gripping suspense seems beyond his grasp.
.. And the movie’s central dramatic problem — the unstable boundary between the reality of Shutter Island and Teddy’s perception of it — becomes less interesting as the story lurches along. You begin to suspect almost immediately that a lot of narrative misdirection is at work here, as MacGuffins and red herrings spawn and swarm. But just when the puzzle should accelerate, the picture slows down, pushing poor Teddy into a series of encounters with excellent actors (Emily Mortimer, Jackie Earle Haley, Patricia Clarkson) who provide painstaking exposition of matters that the audience already suspects are completely irrelevant ..
.. There are, of course, those who will resist this conclusion, in part out of loyalty to Mr. Scorsese, a director to whom otherwise hard-headed critics are inclined to extend the benefit of the doubt.”
Bingo.
Congratulations, A.Z. I trust your appreciation of the notice was followed by a warm washcloth and a cigarette. If you actually happen to see the film, by all means drop by again and tell the lot of us how bad it was.
Sorta unrelated, but I see that Nick Pinkerton wrote the review of SHUTTER ISLAND for the Village Voice. Does anyone know if Hoberman’s just on a break, or hiatus, or ailing, or (egad) let go? He hasn’t been writing much since Christmas. Not that I don’t like Nick Pinkerton’s writing–but I was looking forward to Hoberman’s take. (Maybe Karina Longworth absorbed him…seems like she’s writing every other review these days.)
Hoberman’s on leave. See the end of his “The White Ribbon” review: http://www.villagevoice.com/2009–12-29/film/certainty-and-a-sure-hand-behind-the-white-ribbon-s-unsolved-mystery/
In all of Zilla’s ranting, there’s actually a germ of an interesting point, contrasting Eastwood and Scorsese’s priorities.
Eastwood is a classicist—he believes in heroes, plots, identification, and catharsis. But most of all, he believes in transparency—the technique is always there to pull the viewer in and along, making them believe in the reality of the characters and their situation.
Scorsese is a modernist—there’s a lot of emotional engagement in his films, but the emotion is coming from the teller as much as the tale. It’s like the difference between a medieval illuminated manuscript, where the writing and design are full of commentary on what’s written, and a post-Guternberg book, where the artistry of the typesetter is all about achieving supreme anonymity.
For example, the abrupt intrusion of the draft riots in Gangs seems completely tangential if you think we’re meant to be entirely engaged with the character’s story, but if the movie is really about the attempt to remember and retell history, it becomes much more poignant than any of the previous scenes, since we’re suddenly discovering what our previous objects of view forgot about.
A lot of people, like Zilla, think the classical mode is what good filmmaking is, and it’s sort of interesting to wonder why. After all, it’s not as though the classical mode has been around forever—it’s essentially a mid-19th century novelists’ invention (Pushkin, Sterne, Hawthorne and Melville are certainly not seeking stylistic invisibility). So why that particular moment in aesthetic history has retained such an iron grip on standards, well, that’s a good question indeed!
Thanks, Fuzzy, for distilling something truly interesting from A. Zilla’s argument. I might have been happy to engage it more fully had his approach been less…Manichean. The modernist/classicist distinction is absolutely on the money. It would never even have occurred to Eastwood, say, to have the colors in “The Aviator” explicitly parrot what the film color processes of each of the story’s periods were capable of. It’s a practically Nabokovian touch. And yet I myself would gladly carry water for each director, their occasional misfires notwithstanding.
“Scorsese is a modernist—there’s a lot of emotional engagement in his films, ..”
There is NOT ‘a lot of emotional engagement in his films,’ that’s one of the big problems with Scorsese. His movies are invariably so emotionally distant that you end up wondering why you’re even bothering with the film. Empathy is one of the great qualities of cinema but I find it sorely lacking in much of Scorsese’s work. No question that his films are often technically impressive – at times brilliant – but it lacks a heart.
Glenn can piss & moan all he wants & the Scorsese fanboys on here can deride me all they want but it’s not going to make any difference to my views. I actually hadn’t read either Wells or AO Scott’s pans of Shutter Island when I wrote my comments here so it’s nice to see that others are expressing similar misgivings & that Glenn is so rattled he’s had to go & pen a piece over at The Auteurs in that amusingly sarcastic, condescending & selective manner of his.
He mentions the critics & the ‘civilians’ attempting to ‘school’ everyone in Scorsese’s weaknesses as a filmmaker. Sounds bad, huh? But if he wanted to be even fairer he might have been mentioned the bitterly obsessive Scorsese fanboys who troll what seems like every goddamn forum in the blogosphere bitterly attacking anyone who even dares to suggest that Scorsese’s movies might be anything less than utter masterpieces. Check out the online reactions to La Salle’s San Fran Chronicle review. The bitterness & rage at even hinting that Scorsese might have misfired is fascinating.
I have no idea what the root of this is although I suspect Eastwood winning over The Aviator was a big part of it. There seems to be a small number of very vocal Scorsese supporters online who are enraged beyond belief at that & ‑what is it, five years on? – they still can’t let it go.
But, hey, Wells & Scott are bang on. There IS a definite affection for Scorsese amongst critics who, shall we say, began their career, or came of age, at the same time Scorsese was breaking through with the likes of Taxi Driver. Like a family friend who never quite lived up to his potential they just can’t bring themselves to say what needs to be said.
Fortunately we’re not all prepared to stay silent.
“Fortunately we’re not all prepared to stay silent.”
Oh, thank God for that! Jesus, you sound like John Nolte.
Look, my friend, if I was genuinely interested in silencing you, I would have just deleted all of your comments. As it happens, I just disagree with you, and I’ll use whatever rhetorical maneuvers I have in my arsenal to support my argument. You might find my Auteurs’ post “sarcastic, condescending and selective,” but do I not also pose, sincerely, some legitimate questions therein? And do you have any answers for them? And do you genuinely believe that you are as 100% dispassionate in your assessment of the directors you admire as you insist the Scorsese partisans be?
Also, Mick LaSalle’s “Shutter Island” review has a distinct disadvantage to Scott’s, as it was written by a demonstrably dumb person. I do like the part that begins “If I were Scorsese’s best friend,” though. And, anybody who uses the phrases “Scorsese fanboys” would be well advised to think long and hard before calling ME condescending.
I’m sort of amazed that A.Z. is bragging that “it’s not going to make any difference to my views.” If you’re not interested in learning or thinking—two things that usually do change a person’s views—then why engage in any kind of conversation? Similarly, these paranoid fantasies about being silenced are too dumb to be worth refuting, just like the moronic insistence that Scorsese fans can’t believe that his films are “less than utter masterpieces’ (I love Gangs of New York, but think it would be a vastly better movie had it simply been about Bill the Butcher versus Boss Tweed, and cut all the stupid DiCaprio stuff).
As for emotional engagement—again, I think it depends on where you’re looking. One of the things I like about Scorsese’s films is that he follows Brecht’s notion that “I laugh when they cry, and cry when they laugh”. Scorsese is sort of a master at creating non-diagetic emotion, where you’re repulsed by a protagonist’s triumphs, and heartened by their failures. Sometimes there’s direct identification—anyone who can stay dry-eyed during La Motta’s jailhouse “Why? Why? Why?” is a tougher man than me—but oftentimes you’re gawping in horror at Joe Pesci’s glee, or shaking your head in dismay as Bill The Butcher crowns himself King of the Five Points with no idea of the tide that’s about to sweep him away.
This is actually what bugs me about Eastwood, and why I haven’t liked an Eastwood movie since “Play Misty For Me”—I can feel every element pushing me towards exactly the reaction he wants me to have. It’s exactly the sort of unity of elements that makes classicists nod approvingly, and bugs the living shit outta me. There’s no room for me to think, or even feel, independently of the filmmaker’s commands. Hell, I’m not a Hitchcock fan (and am an Altman booster) for the same reason—I understand that all storytelling is manipulation, but I like my manipulation subtler, and preferably in a way that asks my complicity, rather than batters me into submission.
@ Fuzzy – at the risk of appearing too in league, and thus “fanboyish”, let me add a hearty “hear hear” to your comment(s).
In the same vein, I’m baffled by Arnie’s trenchant denail of emotional resonance in Marty’s work. To me, Stone, De Niro, and Pesci’s characters in CASINO are relentlessly fascinating, and their downfall, however much they have it coming, is sad. I find AGE OF INNOCENCE’s ending to be heartbreaking. Even KUNDUN – easily the film with the least identifiable characters, is moving to me, but for more abstract reasons, the same way a Stan Brakhage film can be moving, or a Mozart sonata.
Whereas, yes, Eastwood has a tendency to beat you over the head with every telegraphed gesture.
The fact that Scorsese can do so much so well – identifiable character-based stuff (BULL, CASINO), intricate plot-driven stuff (DEPARTED) thematic, quasi-lyrical stuff (KUNDUN) and some wierd mixture of all three (GANGS, GOODFELLAS) is part of why I have a tendency to gush over his movies, a bit like I’m doing now.
@ Zach: Yeah, CASINO is a great case of a sad movie about the downfall of people who really all deserve it. It’s precisely their compulsive inability to stop what’s coming to them that makes the movie so interesting. That actually makes it a very faithful adaptation of the book—reading it, I could hardly believe that Nicky was so hooked on the thrill of crime that he was going to run penny-ante,operation-endangering burglaries and parking-meter heists when he had millions passing through his hands monthly. But he did!
And of course Nicky is absolutely right when he tells Ace “you only exist out here because of me!” Ace can think, and claim, that he’s apart from the killers who are dragging him down, and the audience can even root for Ace, a bit, because his wife is so horrendous, and he’s never killed anybody, but he’s fooling himself. He uses them when he needs them, and if he falls because they do, that’s all on him.
A.Z wrote: “Check out the online reactions to La Salle’s San Fran Chronicle review. The bitterness & rage at even hinting that Scorsese might have misfired is fascinating.”
Rage is a totally justifiable reaction to Mick La Salle’s writing. This is the man who wrote that IVAN THE TERRIBLE was “boring as dirt”; championed SEX AND THE CITY: THE MOVIE as one of the most important feminist films of the past decade; complained that the terrorist in FLIGHT 93 were humanized; and said what makes American cinema great –which is all he mainly reviews– is that it is all about “moral choices” and that the “right” choices are made.
I think you are either reaching, or desperate, if you are going to use LaSalle as yardstick to prove your point about Scorsese.
In any event, I liked Glenn’s review of SHUTTER ISLAND, since he was attempting to make an auteurist argument for the film rather than pulling an assassination job. To say that Glenn or any other defender of SHUTTER ISLAND is being dishonest or delusional is pretty cheap,lazy, and at its utmost, dishonest.
I really am a glutton for punishment, because I’m really, really determined to get Arnie’s Zilla to say the magic words– “I don’t like these movies, but I understand that others like them and I don’t think that they’re lazy, dishonest, or deluded for doing so. We just have vastly different tastes, and that’s perfectly fine. If everyone had the same reaction to every piece of art, it would stop being art.”
I noticed I attributed The Chevalier’s comment about being “critically honest” to A.Z. That’s my mistake, but it still does not change my comments on it.
“Shutter Island”… I don’t quite understand some of the accusations. There were moments that are as dark and experimental as anything he’s done. (Set in the 50s and there are merely two 50s pop songs for starters! One you can barely make out.) Anyone read Elbert Ventura’s Slate piece this week about Scorsese’s best years being behind him? It’s silly, really. He conveniently omitted “New York, New York” (as a miss) from the first third of his career and “No Direction Home” (as a hit) in the last third because they would’ve poked holes in his theory. People miss the existential angst of his earlier films? If “Shutter Island” doesn’t have it, then we have different ideas of existential angst. Referring to the Eastwood/Scorsese comparison, I don’t understand how “The Changeling” gets a pass and “Shutter Island” receives a review like Scott’s. Unless indifference is worse than hate, for which, in cinema, one could easily make a case.
And without getting into spoilers or sounding too much like an apologist, I read the “bad typical movie-ish” moments in the film as being, you know, kind of the idea.
Saw Eno and Cage listed in the music credits but didn’t pick up on their work while watching the film. Pretty neat, though. And here’s hoping the George Harrison doc is sooner than later.
Glad this discussion is still going on.
I actually feel like knowing “the secret” in advance probably makes for a deeper, more powerful viewing experience, whereas others will have to see it again to get the same effect. But I agree with Glenn’s original comments that this one hits on an emotional level that surpasses anything he’s done in a while, and I’d have to go back to The Age of Innocence to find something that cuts this deep.
I don’t feel, as Glenn suggested/warned, that one might have to bring in their own emotional baggage to be susceptible to this effect, and I think it has more to do with what DiCaprio baggage they bring in. It’s pathetic how many reviews dwell on petty details like “dooly appointed mahshalls” (in actuality, DiCaprio’s accent settles down pretty quickly); the review on Slant has the subtitle “Leo DiCaprio scrunches his face in Martin Scorsese’s Shutter Island”. Is this level of snark really necessary? Dana Stevens goes onto tell us that the roles DiCaprio has played for Scorsese thus far are unsuited to him! Funny, I find that by working with Scorsese, he’s actually deepened his talent and found what he’s really good at. And what’s interesting is that the roles in The Departed and Shutter Island, despite both being raw emotionally, are very different: in the former he’s tightly wound up and in the new film he’s just bleeding all over the place. Stevens, on the other hand, thinks his career high-points are the charming retarded kid in Gilbert Grape, and the charming confidence kid in Catch Me If You Can, which probably says more about her than it does about DiCaprio, and speaks to the actor’s versatility, not his limitations.
But back to my point: people who have gotten over their DiCaprio hang-up and are willing to accept the actor in an adult role will be taken on a surprisingly cathartic journey, those who can’t, won’t. In my opinion, this film is the most tragic one that Scorsese has made to date, and I hope that its skeptical reviewers will be open to giving it a second chance.
Anyone know what the art was in Kingsley’s character’s office other than the William Blake print?
I have to admit, though I’m a big booster of Scorsese’s recent films, I’ve thought DiCaprio was terrible in all of them; despite the similar alternation of vowels, he makes a very poor substitute for Deniro. THE AVIATOR was the only one where he was properly cast, as a pampered nut, and that’s fine—“range” is an overrated attribute. But in GANGS, he was supposed to be an orphan kid who grew up on the streets, but he never looked like someone who’d ever missed a meal (same problem in DEPARTED). His attempts to seem street-smart just come off to me like the worst sort of Hollywood playacting, this soft boy pretending to be a hard man. I mean, I understand that’s what all acting is, like with that privileged Upper East Sider Humphrey Bogart but with DiCaprio, I never buy the act for a second.
I’m late to the party but I have to say this movie really worked on me and is continuing to do so. I find myself thinking about it at odd moments and its images are actually turning up in my dreams. The images and music and emotion really overwhelmed me like few films have recently. I think operatic is a word that fits it perfectly. Robbie Robertson should win some special Oscar for putting the soundtrack together. He, Scorsese, and Thelma have made Mahler, John Adams, Cage and others sound like a classic film score. This one seems to be polarizing people but I know I will be revisiting Shutter Island for years to come.
Fascinating discussion, even the nitwits who continue to nitpick at DiCaprio as if he’s the same kid he was about 15 years or so ago. Another critic who can’t get past Catch Me If You Can is David Thompson, who generally goes out of his way to say nasty things about the actor when presented with the opportunity. You’d never know DiCap was 35 heading towards 40. We should all be so lucky. I personally didn’t care much for Catch Me. The book was much livelier and the real Frank far more interesting than the character in the film. I do believe that he just gets better in each Scorsese film, though, particularly the last two. Scorsese himself has said as much, that in editing the two films both he and Thelma Schoonmaker could see something happening in the performances that was most interesting, like he was going to a different level. Anyhow, Shutter Island is probably the most difficult thing the actor has ever pulled off and it would be heavy lifting for any actor. A very, very difficult performance in which he has to stay clenched, and bleeding, as someone put it, for most of the film. The only other role that I can think of that had a similar level of difficulty was Al Pacino in Godfather II, an almost immobile performance (I don’t mean that in a bad way) that required deep internal pain. Shutter Island remains with me even though I wasn’t sure how I felt about it when I saw it. I do know that I have to see it again, though. And I swear that one scene, the first dream sequence with Teddy and Dolores, was as emotional as any I’ve seen done in any film in quite awhile. Can’t get it out of my mind.
Well, I finally saw this film and enjoyed it very much, then was very surprised to see so much contrarian Scorsese-knocking here. Some from people I expect, others that just don’t make sense at all.