Triple Feature: Taxi Driver (1976) / Goodfellas (1990) / The Departed (2006)

Martin Scorsese is widely hailed as one of the great American directors, yet before I began this blog I had only seen three Scorsese films, and abnormal ones at that – The Last Waltz, No Direction Home, and The Aviator. I have never been particularly attracted by his films’ subject matter, which often tends toward the extremely and unpleasantly violent. But after seeing the astonishing work of filmmaking that is Raging Bull, I decided to catch up with three Scorsese classics. Taxi Driver, which has been called by some the best film of the 70s, is a psychological thriller from the point of view of a mentally unstable cab driver. Goodfellas is Scorsese’s widely praised drama about life in the mob over the course of three decades. And The Departed, the film for which Scorsese finally won an Oscar, is a crime drama about an Irish mob and corruption in the Boston police department.

Taxi Driver is the oldest of the three films, and certainly the most daring. Goodfellas and The Departed, for all their merits, are basically genre films, but Taxi Driver is a bold, unconventional portrait of a man losing his grip on reality. Robert DeNiro, in one of his most famous performances, plays Travis Bickle, a war veteran who is now a taxi driver in New York City. Suffering from insomnia, he spends his sleepless nights shuttling people across the city, always repulsed by what he sees. “All the animals come out at night,” Bickle declares, describing the whores, drug dealers, and addicts he sees every night. “Some day a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. “ Bickle sees a glimpse of hope in his miserable life when he meets a beautiful young campaign worker (Cybil Shepherd), but their relationship soon backfires. He also gets involved in the life of a 12 year-old prostitute (Jodie Foster), whom he tries to save before it is too late. In the end, alienated by society, Bickle resorts to shocking violence.

When I sat down to watch Taxi Driver, I expected to see a violent revenge movie more than anything else. But the film is deeper than that. It is a contemplative, brooding film about loneliness and alienation. Everything is seen from Bickle’s perspective, and the driving scenes perfectly emphasize his isolation from the rest of society – separated by that little plastic window, mired in shadow, and ignored by his customers, we begin to understand Bickle’s frustration – although the film wisely never tries to explain Bickle’s actions. Rather, it relies on the strength of DeNiro’s performance, who makes the whole thing seem believable.

Yet for all its strengths, I cannot pretend that I walked away from Taxi Driver with any lasting impression, or real insight. There is nothing particularly wrong with the film – DeNiro’s performance is excellent, Bernard Herrmann’s eerie score is memorable, and the cinematography is remarkable. But for all of its efforts to delve into Bickle’s psyche, I never became invested in the character – I always remained emotionally aloof, like Bickle himself.

I was less impressed with Goodfellas, one of Scorsese’s most popular and critically acclaimed films. The film, as its tagline declares, depicts three decades of life in the Mafia. Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) grows up in the 50s in Brookyln, and as a teenager becomes attracted to the allure of Mafia life – the cars, the money, the privileges. Much to the concern of his parents, Henry begins working for the local family, led by Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino), and the notoriously violent Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci) and Jimmy Conway (Robert DeNiro). Soon, Henry quits school and becomes part of the mob full time. Despite initial happiness, Henry’s lifestyle eventually leads him to a drug addiction, jail time, and an unhappy marriage, before he winds up in FBI Witness Protection limbo, where he still longs to return to the life of a “Goodfella.”

Goodfellas has often been compared to The Godfather, but for me there is no comparison. I will concede that Goodfellas is no doubt the more realistic mob movie – for all of its artistry, The Godfather is somewhat romanticized, the violence buried under slick montages and swelling music. Scorsese doesn’t fall for that – the violence is frequent, graphic, sudden, and often quite shocking. His movie is certainly an accurate portrait of the Mafia in America, and the performances all ring true. The dialogue always seems realistic and spontaneous, never rehearsed. Scorsese also does a suitable job of depicting the allure of Mafia life. The early scenes are at times playful and fun, reflecting Henry’s naïve perspective on the Mafia. “We were treated like movie stars with muscle,” Henry’s narration tells us, “we had it all just for the asking.” This at first glorious life is depicted with great flair in a long tracking shot where Henry and a date skip the line at an expensive restaurant, make their way through the kitchen, and find their seats while everyone else is standing outside in the cold. Of course, Henry’s lifestyle soon backfires into a hopelessly violent and amoral one.

But after a while, it seems like that is all Goodfellas has to offer – a series of violent, unpleasant incidents. The film lacks any basic sense of humanity, like The Godfather had. None of the characters are relatable. None of the characters are remorseful. And the film lacks any sense of elegance or grace. That may seem an odd complaint for a Mafia movie, but compare it to Taxi Driver. Both films deal with violent, disturbing material, but Taxi Driver uses violence sparingly, and does have a certain elegance about it. Goodfellas is just coarse, and in the end Scorsese relies too heavily on gratuitous violence to make his point – and there doesn’t seem to be much of a point anyway.

I will probably sound like a hypocrite for praising The Departed, because it suffers from many of the same flaws as Goodfellas – overlength, excessive violence, an over-reliance on four-letter words. But I found The Departed totally gripping from its first frame. The film begins with a narration by Irish mob boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), who declares, “I don’t want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.” In an opening prologue set to the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter,” Scorsese masterfully sets the scene, depicting Costello’s game – bribing kids off the streets of Boston, pulling them away from the Church and indoctrinating them into his mob. Flash forward many years later, and one such mobster, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) has become a mole in the Special Investigations Unit of the Massachusetts State Police. At the same time, the SIU sends its own mole, Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio) into Costello’s gang. Of course, both sides soon become aware of an intruder, and a bloody cat-and-mouse game ensues.

As I mentioned earlier, The Departed is essentially a genre film, a basic crime story– Scorsese isn’t really experimenting here, he’s playing it safe with familiar material. But what a crime movie it is! The whole film crackles along at a galloping pace, propelled by strong performances. Part of the joy of watching The Departed is to see the giants of 70s cinema – actors like Jack Nicholson and Martin Sheen – matched with some of the most talented actors of today, like DiCaprio, Damon, and Mark Wahlberg. The cast is uniformly solid, particularly Nicholson, who is a genuinely frightening presence. The film also has a tremendous sense of location, making full use of its Boston setting. I was skeptical about The Departed – despite its Best Picture win, I had heard criticisms that it was excessively violent, warmed-over Scorsese. Yet all of these criticisms were trampled by the film’s narrative drive, and the sheer talent of all the players involved.

Taxi Driver: B+
GoodFellas: B
The Departed: A-

The Bride Wore Black (1968)

What happens when one acclaimed director deliberately styles his film after another? That is one question answered by The Bride Wore Black, François Truffaut's tribute to Alfred Hitchcock. Although the two directors worked in very different genres and styles (not to mention countries), they had great admiration for each other's work - Truffaut even published a book of his interviews with Hitchcock. But imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and Truffaut decided to film a deliberately Hitchcockian thriller. The resulting film is not as inventive or influential as some of Truffaut's other films, like The 400 Blows or Shoot the Piano Player, nor does it rise to the heights of Hitchcock's greatest films. But it is a perfectly effective and clever little film about a woman set on revenge at any cost.

We are first introduced to the titular bride, Julie Kohler (Jeanne Moreau), when her mother foils her clumsy suicide attempt. Soon after, she leaves on a revenge mission to kill the five men who accidentally shot her husband. This motive is not revealed immediately - Truffaut makes an effective use of flashbacks at different stages in the story to slowly reveal the connections between the men, and to display the awful truth behind what happened that wedding day.

Hitchcock's influence is readily apparent throughout The Bride Wore Black. The plot itself is pure Hitchcock, and Jeanne Moreau's icy protagonist (or antagonist, depending on how you see it) would be perfectly at home in any of his films. The movie is also stylistically similar to much of Hitchcock's work, using bright colors and employing a Bernard Herrmann score (Herrmann was Hitchcock's main composer). Individual scenes, as well, struck me as possible homages. The first victim's death (by plunging from a high building) is rather clumsily filmed, but no doubt inspired by Vertigo. And a scene at a classical concert struck me as a possible nod to the climax of The Man Who Knew Too Much. But beyond any superficial homages, The Bride Wore Black is most closely related to Hitchcock in the way it finds the terrifying in the ordinary. Like Hitchcock, Truffaut establishes his characters very slowly. A scene at the beginning, where two friends are conversing about women and love, reminded me of The Birds, which is basically a romance story before the bird attacks ravage the town. Similarly, Truffaut establishes a seemingly banal setting and then startles us by introducing violence.

The Bride Wore Black may be effective as an homage, but it is not as effective as a thriller unto itself. At times the film limps on rather slowly without much of a point. There is one scene that achieves a high level of suspense, but there are few genuinely frightening moments. Perhaps I am wrong, though, in even classifying the film as a thriller. One could easily argue that the movie is a black comedy. Many scenes have an ironic or even comic overtone, particularly the brilliant final scene.

The Bride Wore Black is a modest little film. It was not career-defining for Truffaut, nor will it be life-changing for anybody. It was, perhaps, more of an experiment for Truffaut than anything. But the film has its fair share of merits. It is an entertaining revenge film, anchored by a strong lead performance, capped off with a nice dose of black humor.

Verdict: B

12 Angry Men (1957)

With the exception of two brief scenes that bookend the film, Sidney Lumet's 12 Angry Men takes place entirely in a jury room on a sweltering summer day. In other films, such a confined setting might become tedious, or even seem more like a play than a movie. But this is not the case with 12 Angry Men. The film is so finely crafted by the director, and the cast so impeccable that it transcends its humble setting to become a memorable and lasting entertainment. 

The film begins with a quick courtroom scene, in which a bored judge addresses the jury of a murder trial before dismissing them. The case in question involves the murder of a father by his son, a juvenile delinquent who was allegedly seen and heard committing the crime. The vote must be unanimous to pass a decision either way, but it seems obvious that the defendant is guilty. But during the preliminary vote, there is one holdout - Juror No. 8 (Henry Fonda), who votes not guilty and expresses a desire to talk about the case. What follows takes place entirely within the confines of the jury room,  as Fonda presents his argument for reasonable doubt. As the debate progresses, things get heated, and the jurors' prejudices and ulterior motives are revealed.

12 Angry Men marked the directorial debut of Sidney Lumet, who went on to direct such films as Murder on the Orient Express, Network, and Dog Day Afternoon. But even from this first feature, his skill is unquestionable. It is said that as the film progresses, Lumet used different lenses and shifting camera angles to contribute to an increasing feeling of claustrophobia. This technique is fascinating,  but perhaps the most important thing about it is that the viewer hardly notices. Certainly, the tension of the film seems to increase as it goes on, but Lumet never lets any of his techniques upstage the actors. 

And what a cast he assembled! The ensemble here is truly perfect. The standout, at least for me, is Lee J. Cobb as Juror No. 3, an extremely embittered and angry man who has had something of a family tragedy. But every actor delivers solid work. E.G. Marshall as a man of pure reason and Ed Begley as an outspoken racist are just a few examples. Each of these actors gives a distinct personality to their nameless characters, and the way that those personalities collide with the other jurors is consistently fascinating to watch. Ironically enough, Fonda's Juror No. 8, the protagonist of the film, is one of the few jurors who really seems like a stock character. He is honorable and dignified but rather uninteresting, mainly serving to set the story in motion. Still, this is hardly bothersome, and one can hardly blame the screenwriter for not providing a backstory for every single character. 

12 Angry Men is the promising debut of a young director, who is now fully recognized as one of the great American filmmakers. That alone is reason enough to see it. But above all, 12 Angry Men is simply a terrific story brought to life by a brilliant cast. A true classic.

Verdict: A 

The Sting (1973)

When I first heard the news that Paul Newman had died this past September, I reacted with a fair amount of surprise. Not at the screen icon's death, but rather at my realization that I had never seen one of his films all the way through. How had this happened? I certainly knew who he was, both from his major film roles such as Cool Hand Luke and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and yes, from the salad dressing. But somehow I had never really seen him in action. I remember seeing about half of Cool Hand Luke on Turner Classic Movies once, but I never watched the whole movie. Soon after Newman's death, I added Cool Hand Luke and The Sting to my Netflix queue, which were by all accounts two of his best films. Turns out Luke was temporarily out of stock, so I settled for The Sting, and popped it into my DVD player this weekend.

The Sting tells the story of Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford), a con man in 1930s Chicago. When one of his fellow friends and "grifters" Luther Coleman (Robert Earl Jones) is killed by Irish mob boss Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw), Hooker seeks revenge with the help of Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Together, the two grifters set out to pull a "big con" on Lonnegan.

That can only begin to describe The Sting, however. The plot takes several twists and turns over the course of the story. I won't begin to describe exactly what happens, because frankly I did not understand every twist myself. But The Sting really is not about following the plot to the letter. Most of the sheer entertainment from the film comes from the collaboration of Newman and Redford, who had previously worked together on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Both performers are charming and affable, particularly Newman. Redford has more of a dramatic role; he is playing a character who is essentially a very lonely person. But as strong as the two actors are together, Newman is arguably stronger alone. Perhaps his best scene comes in a card game with Lonnegan, in which Gondorff pretends to be a drunken businessman. Newman's arrogant, drunken, carefree character plays wonderfully off of Robert Shaw's uptight mob boss Lonnegan. It should be noted that in addition to Newman and Redford, Shaw is excellent in the villain role.

Another virtue of The Sting is that it never takes itself too seriously. Although the film does have moments of darkness, it generally has a light, comedic tone. This is established from the very first scene, which shows a Chicago with a very bright color palette. The film is also accompanied by a jaunty ragtime score, which adds to the mood.

The Sting is first-class entertainment. It is an unpretentious and consistently entertaining caper film graced by three top-class actors. If you have never seen a Paul Newman film, you owe it to yourself to check this out.

Verdict: A -