Violence in Martin Scorsese Films

Martin Scorsese has been making films with regularity since the 1960s. A few themes continue to appear no matter what year or genre his films are made. Probably the issue that garners the most attention is his use of excessive violence. However, unlike most directors who use violence frequently, Scorsese keeps a realistic approach, never allowing the violence to overshadow the meanings and consequences that come with it. Looking in depth at some of his contemporary directors that use violence will help separate Scorsese's work from the glorification and anticipation of brutal acts. Also, studying Martin Scorsese's body of work will show his artistic de-glorification of violence and the success he has at making the violence realistic, brutal, and coming with a price. It also seems the character, more than the violent act, is given the attention. This distinction will bring understanding to Scorsese's use of violence and prove that he is far from glorifying it.

It is important to have a background of films that display glorified violence. Beginning with Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960) movie makers began to represent violence as art, taking away the reality of the violence and turning it into a spectacle. Psycho is considered to be the forerunner of the modern horror picture. Another important horror film, Halloween (1978), uses many of the same methods that made Hitchcock's movie so enjoyable for audiences. Why does the audience enjoy watching the murderer's commit their crimes? Much of it has to do with the camera work and the visual field. After beginning the movie following around Janet Leigh's character, the film shifts perspective and starts to follow around Anthony Perkins's character Norman Bates. A pivotal moment occurs as Bates stares through a hole in the wall at Janet Leigh preparing to take a shower. The camera then matches Norman's glare and the audience is staring through the peep hole. This slight movement gives the audience the killer's perspective. Fans are no longer situated with the victim, but the victimizer.

Halloween uses an often copied tactic to create this same phenomenon. From the first frame of the film, a hand held camera searches around a house, enters, and kills an unsuspecting victim. We then realize that the audience is forced to relate with Michael Myer's as he slays his sister. In the book Men, Women, and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film, Carol Clover explains that "Halloween seeks to efface the intervention of the photographer, to try for the direct connection: we are invited to look not through a murderous camera, but with our own murderous eyes, listening to the beat of our heart and the breathing of our lungs" (186). It then, although few would admit it, becomes our pleasure to see murder and excessive violence because we are situated in the position of power. And although Scorsese does not make horror films, it will become obvious that he does not use tactics such as these.

There are other films, closer to Scorsese's style and genre, which do amplify and glorify violence. Sam Pekinpah continually uses excessive violence to excite the audience. As Marsha Kinder writes in Violence and American Cinema, "the excessive violence is orgasmic rather than cathartic, erotic rather than revelatory, for Pekinpah positions the spectator the desire rather than fear its eruption" (66). An example would be in the film Straw Dogs (1971) when Amy Sumner is violently raped while her husband is away. At first, she struggles and the violence is highlighted. Slowly she begins to enjoy herself though, as if she really wanted to be raped. Ripping her shirt and violating her becomes erotic and not hideous. The violence is treated with some pain, but more pleasure than realistically would be possible. Sergio Leone is probably an even better example. His famous shoot-out sequences in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966) extend for minutes without movement, but the camera continues to show close-ups of guns, squinted eyes, sweat, and twitching fingers. The music also plays a strong part is exciting the audience for the violence that will come. It is a "desire rather than fear" and a glorifying of violence.

So what makes Martin Scorsese different? Mainly, his characters always have a reason for their violent acts and many are battling against their conscience whether to continue with their vicious lifestyle. A major theme arises throughout his career is the Catholic/Christian dilemma. These characters know what they do is wrong, but the society they live in pressures them into a life of crime. Others are actually mentally disturbed and cannot contain their violent impulses. Situations in life or mental illness contribute to their aggression. These reasons dull the excitement usually expressed in similar films around violence and humanize the victims and attackers. This humanization is important in de-glorifying the cruelty. After studying the character types, Scorsese's methods of filming violence scenes will be discussed.

Martin Scorsese's first feature film was Who's That Knocking at My Door? (1968). In Scorsese Up Close: A Study of the Films Ben Nyce writes that this film "establishes several issues Scorsese will pursue through the rest of his career, most notably the connection between religion and violence" (8). J.R. (Harvey Keitel) continually tries to follow Catholic doctrine, but is pulled by his friends into a life of crime. Although the biggest conflict in Who's That Knocking is sexual, violence plays a part. One of the opening sequences shows J.R. and his friends attacking a young Latino man. Even though we continually see J.R. attending church and asking forgiveness, he never changes his way of life.

In Movies and Morals Anthony Schillaci writes that even gross immorality can be treated in a manner that is good art, and perhaps even good Christian art" (35). Scorsese is not ignoring the role of religion, but amplifying it. J.R. is a character that understands religion and cannot bring himself to fully following its doctrines. This conflict emotionally drains the young gang member, but never fully breaks him. Nyce writes that "The street violence has a religious dimension for the Latino victim, who calls on God to protect him..." (He wears a cross necklace and kisses it before he is beaten) "but also for J.R. who, though he doesn't know it, is testing the limits of his devotion to God's law by his decidedly unchristian behavior" (9). This conflict shows J.R. having fun committing the crime, but being in constant struggle and guilt after the crime has taken place.

Mean Streets (1973) is similar to Who's That Knocking in portraying a young gangster trying to make it. The religion/violence clash is also amplified in Charlie (Harvey Keitel) and Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro). Situating these two characters together is a way of seeing the two paths that violent lives can lead. Charlie is constantly trying to be forgiven of his sins, but doesn't feel that the "hail Mary's" is enough. His girlfriend keeps trying to get him to move away with her out of the life of crime. Charlie, however, cannot even imagine a life outside of Little Italy. He feels that he would be betraying his family and friends if he left town. In The Word Made Flesh: Catholicism and Conflict in the Films of Martin Scorsese, Michael Bliss writes that "The films streets are mean because they are all dead ends" (26). No matter how much Charlie thinks he will succeed, the inevitable violence always about to erupt will cut his success short. Charlie, unlike Johnny Boy, at least tries to contain and stop violence from happening.

Johnny Boy is introduced by throwing a bomb into a mailbox, running away, and happily watching the box explode. At another time, Johnny is on the roof of a building randomly shooting bullets into the night sky until Charlie talks him down. Johnny is Charlie's way of feeling more righteous. His continual helping and saving of Johnny Boy makes him feel more Christian. Even though Charlie's small role in the grand scheme is never to be better than a "number's runner", he constantly tries to be greater and more charitable. In Scorsese: A Journey Mary Pat Kelly says, "Scorsese's characters define and seek redemption in different ways. But all want to go beyond the narrow role that a materialist society assigns them" (12). Unfortunately the life that Charlie leads results in an outpouring of violence at the films conclusion. Not only does Charlie get shot, but Johnny Boy and Charlie's girlfriend are shot. The young gangsters may never even get the opportunity to grow-up. Nyce writes that "the fact that Charlie and his friends are still partially boys does not make their games any less deadly" (28). His attempt to save Johnny Boy comes too late and his life up to that point comes at a price. Both Who's That Knocking at My Door and Mean Streets show un-glamorized lives of young gangsters and an ending that "stays in the mind's eye and that becomes a signature of Scorsese's films" (Nyce, 27).

Johnny Boy, who does not practice any form of Catholicism, does display ultra-violent actions. This is because he is mentally unstable. In a short conversation it is revealed that Charlie escaped from the police at one point in the past, leaving Johnny Boy behind to be beaten senseless. He has never fully recovered mentally and acts like a child. After not paying his debts throughout the entire film, a collector confronts him in the bar. Johnny Boy gives the collector only a small portion of what he owes, sparking a heated confrontation. To end the argument, Johnny Boy pulls out a gun and waves it around the bar. He never realizes his true responsibilities and feels that violence is his only way out.

His actions are very similar to those of Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci) in GoodFellas (1990). Tommy's mental instability produces violence when he shoots and kills a young hoodlum for making a joke. Tommy is almost always ready to break loose and ends up being killed because of his mouth and unpredictability. Schillaci writes, "If given our choice...we must always choose reality to morality in the moralistic sense. The artist is consecrated to telling us the truth about ourselves. We should not ask him for a dream or an illusion" (36). Scorsese seems to follow this philosophy. The psychotic characters are not morally bound and can cause chaos at any time. Probably the best example of the mentally unstable character in Scorsese's work is Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) in Taxi Driver (1976).

After serving in the Vietnam War, Bickle becomes a taxi driver. Through voice over, Bickle relates his ideas of riding the street of the "scum". His evil thoughts are never put into action until he encounters a black man robbing a drug store. Travis kills the man with his newly purchased gun. Later, he is turned down by Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), a campaign worker for politician Charles Palantine (Leonard Harris). Travis feels that Palantine caused Betsy to break up with him so he shaves his head into a Mohawk and tries to assassinate him. This attempt fails and Travis sets his sights on a more "righteous" purpose. Ben Nyce writes that Travis "comes to wish that a flood would wash all this 'scum' away from the streets. This growing monomania makes him the frenzied killer he becomes at the end of the movie" (39). He brutally murders Sport (Harvey Keitel) and all of the other "pimps" in an attempt to free teenager Iris (Jodie Foster) from prostitution. The scene is incredibly bloody and ends with Travis turning the gun on himself, only to find no bullets left, and then putting his finger to his head and motions pulling a trigger while making bullet sound effects. It is obvious that he is no longer mentally stable and his constant longing to cleanse the streets ends in brutal violence.

All of this shows the horrible consequences that go with the urge to kill and the mental breakdown associated with violent criminals. At no point does the audience want to be like Travis, unless the audience is mentally unstable. Nyce says that "The historical immediacy of Taxi Driver was demonstrated by John Hinckley's assassination attempt on President Reagan" (48). This event actually makes the film seem less glorified and more real. Another character, Jake LaMotta of Raging Bull (1980), suffers from the same instability that leads to excessive violence. Even though his boxing career is somewhat successful, LaMotta is not a likable character, nor are his actions glorified. He beats his wife, has fights with his brother, and relentlessly takes a beating in the ring in order to prove a point. The only point that comes across is that of a desperate man.

Frank P. Tomasulo wrote an interesting article titled "Raging Bully: Postmodern Violence and Masculinity in Raging Bull" dissecting the film, but argues that it does glorify violence. He writes that "the director's aestheticization of violence...poeticizes a proletarian sport and canonizes fighters who are inhuman at their cores" (180). It seems that the fact Jake is "inhuman" goes against glorifying what he does. The violence looks brutal and is only poeticized because boxers work very hard on footwork. Scorsese does use the first person camera in the ring at times, but it does not convey the joy that the horror film does. It is more rugged and brutal than exciting. Tomasulo also says, "The celebratory aspects of this bloody excess and choreographed mayhem constitute a veritable 'iconography of death'...that ultimately tells us little or nothing about the personal, national, or historical causes of violence but offers instead a mere simulacrum of horror, a ritual without redemption" (175-176).

What Tomasulo fails to acknowledge are the many scenes that take place outside of the ring and that LaMotta brings this same violent energy everywhere he goes. His personal tragedies are constantly being recognized and the films finale shows him a broken, overweight, and emotionally damaged man. Even though he writes that "Jake LaMotta does not achieve spiritual redemption in the ring" and that "His matches are purely physical brawls, not agonistic morality tales" he does not realize that surviving the match is what Jake lives for (179). In one match he takes a beating, holding on to the ropes until the bell rings, and then is carried out of the ring saying, "You didn't knock me down." His whole attitude is about masculinity and surviving in the ring. He feels little emotion without pain. In jail he furiously pounds the cell walls in frustration in order to "feel" pain. Emotional strain is not enough, but physical pain makes it real. Jake LaMotta's mental instability leads him to give out and accept violence that is painfully real and not glamorized.

How does the violent realism appear on screen? Scorsese attempts to make violent scenes realistic through a variety of methods. Looking critically at some scenes mentioned earlier will give insight into how the director shoots the specific scenes and what makes them realistic. The most common technique to show realism is by using a hand-held camera. This method conveys a documentary style as if the action was captured right off of the street. Scorsese uses this style during the beating of the Latino man in Who's That Knocking at My Door? Without using slow-motion or special effects, the violence is almost actually real. Ben Nyce describes Scorsese's methods by saying that "It's like a well-made documentary" (48). Nyce also writes about the murder of the black man in the store during Taxi Driver. He says that "The killing of the black man in the market is an interesting scene...filmed in a very natural, documentary like-style" (43). He also writes that "In its seventeen shots there's no attempt to overdramatize the incident. It's recorded like a commonplace, daily event" (43).

This documentary style also appears in Mean Streets during the final blood-bath. There are no close-ups of the actors bleeding, but only long-shots that give a sense of the mayhem from afar. The blood does appear to be excessive, but being shot in the neck from moderately close range would not produce mere trickles. Unlike most films, they don't seem to be emphasizing the violence more than necessary. It is tragic, but not melodramatic; artistic, but not calling attention to itself.

Taxi Driver's culmination of the repressed violence is nearly overdone, but never crosses the line. Bickle leaves a trail of blood and dying bodies behind him with the film slowed down only minutely. It is not slow-motion, nor full speed. Instead the action takes place eerily as if someone was remembering the event from memory. Nyce writes that "Scorsese doesn't make the violence operatic or romantic (as in the Godfather films), or sanctioned by a good cause (patriotism or the justified revenge as in the Rambo films). It is...straight, unadorned, brutal" (47). The dying bodies continually try to stop Travis and crawl helplessly to his feet until being shot again. Most films would have the vengeful "hero" being a perfect shot, leaving at most one person alive for a final showdown. Scorsese has Travis take on a realistic amount of people with realistic results. The violence is not glorified because, as Nyce puts it, "unlike scenes of romanticized or sanitized violence, no one dies quickly" (47). Travis is psychotic and not a professional killer. This distinction is important in separating Martin Scorsese's intentions from those of other directors.

Many movies contain acts of violence and some show the violence with little to no consequences. Glorification of murderous activity is prominent in films like Straw Dogs, The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, and many horror films. Martin Scorsese represents violence differently. In his films bloodshed comes at a price. For the most part, the characters cannot avoid the violence they inflict on themselves and others. The neighborhoods and people they grow up around close the avenues to success and force these characters into lives of violence and crime. Each character react differently, but their dilemmas are very real. Scorsese insists on realism and outcomes that reflect life experiences. For these reasons the violence he shows is never glorified and his characters are not real "heroes". Instead, they show the tragedy and suffering that goes with choosing lives of crime.