AFI's 100 Films: Raging Bull

I suppose, in addition to the issue of whether a movie is great, there is another, equally significant question: Did I like it? With regard to Raging Bull, the answer to the former question is doubtlessly "yes," but to the former I give a guarded "not particularly . . ." The script is brilliant, almost Chekovian in the marvelous details it gives the actors to work with. I was not surprised to find out that Scorsese and DeNiro had reworked the script considerably themselves, and I attribute its greatness to them, more than to the credited writer, Mardik Martin. My favorite example is La Motta beating his championship belt with a hammer to remove the jewels . . . at first thought, it's just a tragic plot device, but from a character/actor's perspective it makes perfect sense. Such a epically proud man would never allow his belt to be seen on the open market.

The problem with Scorsese's direction is, as elsewhere, that it is so flawless, others could just as easily receive the credit for greatness that he no doubt was responsible for. The script is a perfect example, but De Niro's and Cathy Moriarty's performances are credits to Scorsese almost as much as to themselves. He certainly struck gold casting such unknowns, and that is the sort of thing that they don't give academy awards for. The same is true of his cinematography; one really doesn't notice it, partly because the clever things he does have become standard in modern movies--especially the slowdown of certain actions--but also because they seem so natural, and fit so seamlessly into the overall work. One exception is the choice of music, for which Scorses no doubt deserves the bulk of the credit. Cavelierra Rusticana is a perfect choice, both for its thematic and ironic aspects.

And then there is the matter of the acting, which is incredible. De Niro is brilliant, of course, and the parallel with Brando's in On the Waterfront is not lost on Scorsese, but De Niro is a known quality, so I was naturally far more taken with Cathy Moriarty. She had relatively little to say, but every look was filled with a meaning that, again, reminded me of Chekov. Under each "ok" lay the knowledge that she controlled this animal of a man, and saw right through him. Never was she a pathetic figure--even when being beaten. Not once did I feel sorry for her. Her face seemed to say, "whatever . . ." with each blow, a marvelous parallel to De Niro in the ring. I'm completely taken with her, but I wonder if the fact that so many of her subsequent movies were terrible is just another reminder that Scorsese is really responsible for all of it . . .