Rebecca Miller's five-part Apple documentary series deftly explores the angels and demons of the director of "Raging Bull" and "The Last Temptation of Christ," closely analyzing his films with key collaborators, family members, and the director himself.
In the second episode of Rebecca Miller's fascinating five-part documentary on Martin Scorsese, the chronological review of his life and career extends to the 1976 classic "Taxi Driver." Jodie Foster, sitting down for a new interview about a film she's been discussing for nearly five decades, recounts how "joyful" her director was while making movies. "He was excited about how the blood was made," says Foster, her eyes widening to mimic Scorsese's delight. "And, when he was going to blow the guy's head off, how they would put little pieces of Styrofoam in the blood so it would stick to the wall."
Stars: Domenica Cameron-Scorsese, Jay Cocks, Robert De Niro
"We had a blast," says Scorsese. But then she changes the subject. He begins to talk about how the studio "got really mad at us for the violence," for the language, for the "disturbing" depiction of the "seedy" dark side of New York City. When the MPAA gave "Taxi Driver" an X rating, Columbia Pictures told Scorsese to edit it down to R, or they would.
In the second episode of Rebecca Miller's fascinating five-part documentary on Martin Scorsese, the chronological look at his life and career reaches the 1976 classic "Taxi Driver." Jodie Foster, sitting down for a new interview about a film she's been discussing for nearly five decades, recounts how "joyful" her director was about making movies. "He was excited about how the blood was made," says Foster, her eyes widening to mimic Scorsese's delight. "And, when he was going to blow the guy's head off, how they would put little pieces of Styrofoam in the blood to make it stick to the wall."
“We had a great time,” Scorsese says. But then he changes the subject. He starts talking about how the studio “got really mad at us for the violence,” for the language, for the “disturbing” portrayal of the “seedy” side of New York City. When the MPAA gave “Taxi Driver” an X rating, Columbia Pictures told Scorsese to edit it to be PG, or they would do it.
“That’s when I lost control,” says Scorsese. Miller intervenes to ask what exactly he did, and Scorsese, visibly bothered by the memory, repeats himself, stutters a bit, and then breaks into a broad smile. He knows the story from that moment on, but the documentary allows Steven Spielberg (whom Scorsese sought advice from at the time) and Brian De Palma (who remembers Scorsese "freaking out") to anticipate what will happen next. Scorsese only has to explain whether he had a gun (he says he didn't) and why he "was going to get one." "I'd go in, figure out where the first cut was, break the windows, and take it," he says. "They were going to destroy the movie anyway, you know? So let me destroy it."
Thankfully, it never came to that, but the two extremes of the director—the divine joy Scorsese finds in making movies contrasted with the near-ruin he has suffered for his art—meet at the center of what Miller aptly calls "a cinematic portrait." While covering (almost) all of his feature films, including new interviews with famous collaborators like Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio, as well as childhood friends and family members (including his three daughters), the series juxtaposes the angels and demons that have long defined one of cinema's true "pillars" (as Spielberg calls it) to better appreciate how he has interrogated them, year after year, before our very eyes.
In the second episode of Rebecca Miller's fascinating five-part documentary on Martin Scorsese, the chronological review of his life and career reaches all the way back to the 1976 classic "Taxi Driver." Jodie Foster, sitting down for a new interview about a film she's been discussing for nearly five decades, recounts how "joyful" her director was in making movies. "He was excited about how the blood was made," says Foster, her eyes wide open to mimic Scorsese's delight.
Scorsese clearly experienced a lot firsthand, but his asthma also kept him locked in his room for long stretches, where he watched the neighborhood drama from window to window—perhaps, as screenwriter Nicholas Pileggi suggests, preparing him to see the world through film frames. (Scorsese credits formative perspective as the reason he loves high-angle shots, while Spike Lee appears to say, on behalf of all cinephiles, "Thank God for asthma!")
After acknowledging the impact of Catholicism on the young Scorsese (which never quite left him) and traveling west for his early days in Los Angeles (which never quite fit), the premiere ends with the opening of "Mean Streets"—with a compelling opening by a wryly smiling De Niro—and the series shifts to a film-by-film narrative structure. While working on her work, identifying thematic overlaps and stylistic progressions (with notable help from legendary editor Thelma Schoonmaker, who runs her editing room, as well as animated renderings of Scorsese's early hand-drawn storyboards), Miller excels at finding balance between her characters.
Drawing inspiration from the real-life De Niro's Johnny Boy to answer questions about the character. (He doesn't disappoint.) She prompts her husband, Daniel Day-Lewis, to link "The Age of Innocence" to Scorsese's other films, citing their "wildness." And when Scorsese admits that "there were drugs" during the production of "New York, New York," Paul Schrader offers a more powerful and colorful description: "Those were the cocaine years," he says, "and 'New York, New York' was a very cocaine-fueled environment."
Isabella Rossellini fulfills a similar function in explaining her ex-husband's near-death experience in 1978 and his destructive temper in the years that followed. "He could demolish a room," Rossellini says. She recalls the mornings he would wake up furious, muttering "the devil, the devil" over and over again, without explanation, but she also acknowledged that he channeled that anger into his work. "It gave him the stamina" to make it through filming, she says, shortly before Scorsese credits therapy with saving his life. "If it weren't for the doctor—five days a week, phone calls on the weekends, working constantly to clarify my thoughts—I would be dead."
Devotees of the director and film scholars in general may recognize footage from Miller's five-hour documentary. Fans of certain films may also be disappointed with the amount of time devoted to each (especially if they love "Hugo," the only film not discussed at all), and it's a bit jarring that an episodic series (which is neatly divided into episodic arcs) chooses to exclude all of Scorsese's television work. (Nor "Boardwalk Empire," nor "Pretend It's a City," and, less surprisingly, no "Vinyl").
But the entertainment value of "Mr. Scorsese" is indisputable. Where else can you hear about Scorsese throwing a desk out a window on the set of "Gangs of New York" during a fight with Harvey Weinstein? Or Schoonmaker recalling how Scorsese directed his own mother in films? ("He'd literally say, 'Okay, Mom, start now,'" giving her the first line and then asking her to improvise the rest.) Or a clearly uncomfortable DiCaprio saying the words “woman’s buttocks” while analyzing the opening shot of “The Wolf of Wall Street”?
No one could underestimate the value of Miller’s analysis. From the opening song (“Sympathy for the Devil,” of course), which plays under a montage of existential questions that evoke his films, to the final message that Scorsese literally lives for cinema (even if it costs him his life), “Mr. Scorsese” confronts his subject’s lifelong dichotomies, while defining how each of his films contributes to unifying and defining them.
To close his introductory thesis, a television host says to Scorsese, “You once said, ‘I’m a gangster and I’m a priest.’” Scorsese responds, “One day I said to Gore Vidal, ‘In my neighborhood, you can only be one of two things: a priest or a gangster.’ And [Vidal] said, ‘And you became both.’”
To paraphrase Spike Lee, thank God he did. Thank God he could. And thank God he found so many ways to share his life with the world.
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