Raging Bull

A sporting biopic unlike any other, Martin Scorsese’s astonishing masterpiece Raging Bull (1980) is surely one of the greatest cinematic achievements of all time. Although many rightly claim it to be the greatest sports movie of all time, Raging Bull’s praise should not merely be confined to one genre, as it is unquestionably one of the finest pieces ever committed to film.

Charting the incredible rise and fall of middleweight boxer Jake La Motta Raging Bull remains absolutely unflinching in its depiction of this complex, brutal and ultimately unique individual. From his early years as a young boxer of enormous potential, through his destructive and erratic relationships with his wife and brother/manager, and eventually his latter years as a seedy club owner and stand up comedian, Scorsese provides a painfully honest, yet remarkably beautiful depiction of each and every aspect of La Motta’s professional and personal life.

While it may seem as though heaping superlatives upon a film already assured of such magnitude and critical acclaim as Raging Bull is hardly an original approach to its scrutiny, I find it virtually impossible to find even a single fault in this most perfect of films. Rarely does one encounter a movie in which each of its components are so expertly woven together to create such a perfectly cohesive whole.

Arguably the most obvious of these components is Robert De Niro’s performance of La Motta, as he takes his famous methodical approach to unrivalled extremes. Aside from the well documented commitment De Niro provided with regards to the film’s fight scenes - sparring and training with La so extensively as to supposedly render him good enough to turn pro – the level of intensity brought to the character must rank alongside, in my view, his all time greatest performance as Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver (Martin Scorsese, 1976). His portrayal of La Motta’s decline and psychological disintegration can often be painful to watch; the scene in which we see him in a jail cell weeping whilst punching and slamming his head into a brick wall being one of the film’s most violently powerful moments. 

However, it is not just De Niro that is on fine form; similarly brilliant in his performances is Joe Pesci as Joey, La Motta’s brother and manager. The loving, yet intensely strained relationship between the two is genuinely moving.  For an example of just how good these two are on screen together, one need look no further than the famous confrontation scene in which Jake accuses Joey of having an affair with his wife. With each and every second that passes, the tension becomes more and more unbearable; rivalling the more physically intense fight scenes in terms of sheer emotional conflict. 

Equal to the supreme performances on offer is Scorsese’s breathtaking direction. From the opening slow-mo sequence of La Motta pacing and bouncing around a smoke filled boxing ring, the sense of impending danger is raised immediately to dizzying heights. Scorsese runs with this tone and then amplifies it with each of the film’s explosive fight scenes. The heightened sense of savage realism in these moments make for a viewing experience unrivalled by any other boxing movie; placing the camera and the audience inside the ring rather than outside, creating a tone of claustrophobia and offering no escape from the action taking place.

As proven with their subsequent works together - Goodfellas (1990) and Casino (1995) - when the formidable talents of Scorsese, De Niro and Pesci combine, the results are never short of impeccable. Yet, for me, Raging Bull’s ground-breaking and distinctive approach to an often formulaic genre results in this trio’s greatest success. A genuine work of genius.

Brighton Rock

The British gangster genre is one of which I have never afforded much time. A genre, which, for the most part, has developed an unforgivably lazy attitude towards each and every aspect of filmmaking. Whilst America has generally led the way in regards to gangster movies with obvious classics such as The Godfather trilogy, Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990) and Casino (Martin Scorsese, 1995) the UK has conjured up Guy Ritchie; a director of such dire ineptitude as to have single-handedly destroyed the genre by steeping his films in a world of pantomime villains and wholly insufferable cockney geezers. Sadly, due to the inexplicable box office success to have met some of these abominations, films of this ilk appear to have set the template for the genre as a whole, leaving masterpieces such as Jonathan Glazer’s Sexy Beast (2000)much maligned and unjustly forgotten. 

On watching John Boulton’s original Brighton Rock (1947) the level of the genre’s decline was made even more apparent. The film follows Pinkie Brown (Richard Attenborough), a 

young gangster running a protection racket at a race course in Brighton. After he and his gang have a rival mobster murdered in a way that looks like suicide, a local woman named Ida (Hermione Baddeley)becomes suspicious and sets out to discover the truth behind the mans death. On meeting a young waitress called Rose (Carol Marsh), Ida realises that the girl may be able to reveal the truth as to what really happened. The ensuing events force Pinkie into an increasingly desperate situation, as he tries to maintain his status and keep the truth from being revealed.

Aside from the thoroughly gripping storyline Brighton Rock displays an exceptional film noir aesthetic and exposition. Far from the present day cartoonish tone of films like Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (Guy Ritchie, 1998) in which the characters are presented in a misguided fashion of larger than life comedy, Brighton Rock holds its veneer of brooding menace and underlying tension throughout.

This brilliant construction of dark intensity and imminent threat is embodied to perfection by the performance of Richard Attenborough, whose portrayal of Pinkie holds the film together spectacularly. His stern and, occasionally manic demeanour is not only hugely iconic, but also highly intimidating, often staring into space whilst fiercely and randomly wrapping a piece of string around his hands as if he is preparing to strangle someone with it.

The performance of Carol Marsh as Rose is also extremely impressive, providing just the right level of innocence and naivety to the character to keep the audience on her side, even as she continues to protect Pinkie in spite of his terrible crimes.

However, in spite of Brighton Rock’s numerous outstanding attributes, it is still a far from perfect piece. One particular thing which I found frustrating was the occasional moment of erratic nastiness from Pinkie. For instance, when recording a gramophone message as a present to Rose, he inexplicably rants about how he hates her and is only marrying her to secure her silence. Not only is this action extremely stupid and uncharacteristic due to the fact that he is trying so hard to keep his secret under wraps, it is also a completely pointless device to remind the audience that he’s the baddie; a fact that should be pretty obvious to anyone from the moment Attenborough first appears on screen.

Although Brighton Rock may not be quite the masterpiece I had heard and read so much about, it is still immeasurably superior to the vast majority of films belonging to the genre to have been produced in recent years. One can only hope that in the renewed interest generated by Rowan Joffe’s 2011 remake, future directors might just look back to this as their template for the next stage in the development of the British gangster flick.