Raging Bull

My first Scorsese review - how thrilling! I'm jumping the gun a bit here, but this might just be my favourite of his films to date.

This biographical drama chronicles the tumultuous boxing career of Jake LaMotta, portrayed by Robert de Niro. Raging Bull captures the thrilling highs and lows of the New York boxing scene in the 1940s and '50s, with the Bronx as its primary backdrop - a world where misogyny, jealousy and ambition all converge in a melting pot of violence. The supporting cast features the familiar flurry of faces, namely Joe Pesci and Frank Vincent.

In the first act, we meet Jake LaMotta at the beginning of his boxing career. Managed by his younger brother, Joey (Pesci), Jake is a skilful, feisty boxer with endless ambition. On the streets of the Bronx, violence is rife and Jake's brutality is not confined to the ring: he and his wife argue viciously and his abuse is evident from the outset. He is impatient, unforgiving and a protagonist that we are forced to follow but immediately distrust. After losing to Jimmy Reeves, Joey suggests that they use their mob connections to secure Jake a shot at middleweight champion. Jake refuses, determined to succeed on his own terms. De Niro and Pesci's frantic exchanges radiate brotherly love and competition; they bicker like boys, yet are fiercely codependent. In a moment of frustration, Jake forces Joey to hit him, establishing the toxic dynamic that will endure for much of the film.

Jake meets a 15-year-old Vickie (Cathy Moriarty) at the local swimming pool and is immediately entranced. Scorsese manipulates time to reflect LaMotta's obsessiveness: Vickie is often shot in slow motion, establishing her as a distant, dream-like figure. Jake pursues her relentlessly and ultimately woos her, despite her vulnerability and youth. De Niro is masterful at balancing Jake's sleezy charm, oscillating between being almost likeable and utterly despicable. As 'intimate' moments play out and the two consummate their relationship, the scene cuts abruptly to Jake's next fight. Scorsese uses this technique recurringly, and the effect is disconcerting, prepping us to expect violence at every turn. Lights flash, punches crackle across the screen and sweat seems to spray onto us. The visceral fights are balletic, falling in and out of slow motion and frenzy, mimicking the frantic rhythms of sparring. We are not merely spectators of the sport, but placed inbetween bodies, complicit in the violence.

Jake's personal life is punctuated with fights, whilst commentary brings us up to speed on his rise to fame. A montage showing Jake and Vickie's wedding (as well as Joey's) is the only coloured sequence in the film, creating an rare image of dream-like domestic bliss. Again, we snap back to monochrome kitchens, thick with tension, where the brothers scold and threaten their wives. Both brazenly display their fragile masculinity and Jake is notably paranoid and jealous, convinced that Vickie is having an affair. The two men feed off one another's insecurities, validating their viciousness in an abusive cycle. This is not helped by the fact that Joey attempted to date Vickie years ago, adding to an underlying sense of rivalry (this is compounded by Joey's wedding appearing as merely a side note in the aforementioned flashback). Pesci expertly captures the energy of a younger brother trying to impress and mimic a sibling he both idolises and resents.

When Vickie casually describes Jake's next opponent as "good-looking", Jake's suspicions of her infidelity are confirmed and he descends into a terrifyingly silent fury. Moriarity nails Vickie's aloof stand-offishness throughout; she appears as an unwavering relic, unable to form her own identity under the controlling presence of Jake. In the ring, we watch helplessly as Jake brutally disfigures Tony Janiero. Blood sprays, bones shift and Janeiro's nose is literally moved from one side of his face to the other. Jake's violence shifts from competitive sport to a means to enact vicious revenge on his loved ones; it is painful and threatening to watch.

Mob boss Tommy Como offers LaMotta a shot at the middleweight championship title if he throws his next fight. Jake reluctantly agrees, but fails to lose convincingly and is booed out of the ring. However, his moral compromise pays off and he wins the championship in glorious fashion. The celebrations feel hollow, however, as a shot of Jake with his belt laid around his waist cuts away to him fixing a broken TV. This constant to-and-fro makes us feel as if we are sparring with LaMotta's consciousness, mirroring his restless dissatisfaction. This climaxes in a peak of paranoia, when Jake suspects that Joey and Vickie have slept with one another. In a heated argument, Vickie sarcastically confesses. Raging, Jake assaults Joey in front of his wife and children before knocking Vickie unconscious.

Scorsese refuses to reward Jake's villainy for much longer, however, and he loses his final fight to Sugar Ray Robinson, who beats him to a pulp. As the final bell rings out, Jake, who is now unrecognisable (almost blind and doused in his own blood), staggers towards Robinson. "You never got me down", he half grins. LaMotta, engulfed in self-centred delusion, refuses to admit defeat, in or out of the ring.

Years later, Jake is a sleazy nightclub owner in Miami. He is overweight, constantly inebriated and has relationships with underage girls who frequent the club. He tries his hand at stand-up comedy as a means to quench his hunger for validation, but, outside of the ring, his worst traits are laid bare. Vickie leaves him, taking the children with her and Jake is arrested for admitting underage girls. In a desperate attempt to make bail, he destroys his middleweight belt and tries to pawn off the jewels. In a poignant scene, the pawnbroker explains that the belt itself would have been far more valuable. Ultimately, Jake's insatiable greed has literally destroyed his legacy; all that remains are worthless fragments of a squandered life.

The film closes with Jake, now a stand-up act in grubby bar, preparing for his performance. He recites an egotistical poem about his life, before fake boxing around a cramped dressing room, repeating 'I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss.' He attempts to reconcile with Joey, but the interaction is awkward and cold. LaMotta is left alone, in an echo chamber of his own fiction.

Raging Bull is extraordinary. Scorsese's masterful pacing, visceral fight choreography and razor-sharp editing combine to create a perfect frenzy of violent thrills. De Niro leans into the gruesome antagonism of LaMotta, whilst performances by Pesci and Moriarty supported with equal nuance and intensity. No one was particularly likeable in this cut-throat world of machismo, mob influence and boxing, but the classic rise-and-fall story lingers long after the final frame.

9/10

Yours sincerely,

The Film Buff