The Martin Scorsese Experience

Dear Marty-

Forgive the informality of addressing you in such a familiar fashion, but in interviews, you seem to give permission it's acceptable. Besides, after nearly six decades of watching your films-the great, the good and those not to my liking (you're incapable of making a truly bad movie)-I feel I've earned the right. If we ever meet, you may call me whatever you please. A mook, even.

I've recently plunked myself into a local cinema to take in your latest, KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON and nearly didn't make the leap. To be frank, the running time held me back. Between you and Christopher Nolan, I've spent six and a half hours watching your recent efforts-over seven if count trailers and theater ads, but you have nothing to do with that. But the lure of the filmmaker as well as the material itself, having been previously riveted by David Grann's source material, proved to be too great a lure. 

Still, three and half hours with no intermission? In my long cinematic journey, a midway break never seemed to intrude on the experience itself. Many of them I can recall to this day. When I was a young 'un, my sister and I went to see GONE WITH THE WIND and left when the lights came up after Scarlett O'Hara declared "As God as my witness, I will never go hungry again!" Being dumb ass kids, we thought the movie was over. Took me almost ten years before I saw the whole damn thing. Intermissions are an affectation of the past, with the exception of revivals, though some are asking them to be reinstated if the three hour plus mark is to continue. 

You, sir, have flat out refused to allow theaters to allow intermissions and those that have, you and your editor Thelma Schoonmaker have claimed are violations, demanding the cease and desist. (Under threat of what? Pulling the film and replacing it with FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S?) You also said in an interview:

“People say it’s three hours, but come on, you can sit in front of the TV and watch something for five hours. Also, there are many people who watch theatre for three and a half hours. There are real actors on stage — you can’t get up and walk around. You give it that respect; give cinema some respect."

In rebuttal, I would say the TV experience is a weak argument. You can't compare the two effectively, much as you can't equate restaurants with eating at home. Cinemas and live theater have their own set of parameters that don't allow for the weapon of choice that no home can do without-the remote control. 

I get it, completely and absolutely. My love for the cinematic experience has helped shape how I've lived my life. I've made no secret that I consider a movie theater to be my cathedral and thus, a religious experience. (I've never been to a multi-plex church however, but that seems a swell idea to me.) And there is no one who has done more for cinema itself, through preservation and appreciation as well as your own work, than you, Marty. If you wish to take a hardline stance, more power to you. Someone should be especially when both the entire industry and artform itself are so fragile. Therefore, above any filmmaker alive today, you've earned the right to have your films presented however the hell you want them.

This week, since I had some time off, I found that I had four hours to spare (there's traveling time involved, m'kay?) and made KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON a priority and, just as I said after I hemmed and hawed before I caught OPPENHEIMER this summer, I am the better person for doing so, mainly because I saw it on the big screen. Not to lump the two films together, I can only collate them by how immersive they are. Nolan's went for the sensory route, utilizing techniques that engaged sight and sound almost relentlessly. KOTFM had been equally involving, though with more a deft touch in its unfolding of this horrific saga in American history, laying it out patiently one step at a time reeling in the viewer until the coil is taut enough to almost snap until the very end. It is an astounding piece of work. Leonard Di Caprio has never been so weasely, an absolute dope who has no clue where his loyalties lie, not with the wife he supposedly loves that's for sure since he decides to pick his wretched family and race above all else. Robert De Niro totally embodies one of the smarmiest bastards of his career, a character type that unfortunately has not died out over time. And Lily Gladstone as Mollie Burkhardt is so quietly powerful, a real welcome and refreshing screen presence that I wish she didn't spend half the movie sickly or in mourning, even though that's how the story plays out for her character. I wish the screen story revolved more around her as opposed to Leo's since  the film itself is much like she was and as portrayed by Gladstone. This sprawling epic could have a lumbering brute of a film, but in your hands, it becomes a symphony. And the epilogue is flat out brilliant. Bravo. If I were to quibble which I have be known to do, I would your own self-serving intro, Marty. It's a totally unnecessary distraction, adding nothing and dampers the opening. I felt as though you were going the Walt Disney route when he used to introduce shows on The Wide World of Color. The fact that you make an appearance at the end is more than enough. Don't belabor the point and let the film speak for itself which it does , loud and clear.

So about the length. (yeah, I have to get back to it) I didn't feel it until the last half-hour which quite honestly did not drag. It's a personal thing and could have been the time of day since I falter in late afternoons when I attended Ye Olde Moviehouse. And like OPPENHEIMER, I had to take a comfort break (aka go to the can) at, ironically enough, the halfway point. All in all, I am pleased to admit that I still have the stamina to attend a long-ass movie like yours. Unfortunately, my bladder has another agenda.

So, Marty, my ol' pal, keep fighting the good fight even if you do get all curmudgeonly in the process. If you can make films as compelling and vibrant as KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON and champion film as only you can do, please do. After all, you are Martin Fucking Scorsese and I think now you damn well know it.

Cinematically yours,

Scott 

The Mook

Before the Fall

Summer '23 is unofficially behind us. Technically, the first day of fall will be September 23 this year (23 for '23), but let's face it, Labor Day is the last three day blowout before we are inundated with pumpkin spice this, that and every bloody thing until Xmas rolls around and...we're done here for another year.

While not a big fan of summertime (with the exception of Gershwin), this year's season between there and here was actually pretty sweet, despite the fact that the rest of the world was either on fire or on strike. The best possible reason for rave review stemmed from the fact that I got to spend some quality time with the fam, part of which I chronicled here in the post DADA DAY IN DENVER. What's missing from that post are two separate and superb bookended evenings with my son and grandson, respectively. This damn fam o' mine sends me to the moon and back. 

While in Colorado, I finally met my friend Melanie Roady face-to-face after almost ten years of communicating only online. Mel was the theater angel who got me to write the first play I'd written in way too long a time and produced said show. The following year, we did it again. Our origin story can be found in  A FROG BLOG. 

Speaking of which, one of those plays in question, MURDER-THE FINAL FRONTIER, was produced by CAST Plays in Douglasville, Georgia, possibly making it the most popular show in my catalog, which is only one page, but at least front and back. If you can't read the fine print, the show went on the boards (as we show folk say) back in April. I didn't learn about it until I received my royalty payment from my publisher in June. 

Managed to attend two-count 'em-two movies, a very big deal in the life of me since the experience had been pretty much obliterated by the damn Pandemic, much like almost everything else I used to love. Takes a bit to get me out to the cinema again, but since the films I took in came from two of my favorite filmmakers, I set forth to satisfy my craving headed into the dark once again.

ASTEROID CITY: Nobody makes films like Wes Anderson. After this and THE FRENCH DISPATCH, I'm getting a bit concerned. It pains me to admit that ASTEROID CITY is even too Wes Anderson-y for me. He overreached and couldn't attain any honest connection with his own work when he became too bogged down in design. It's not a wash by any means, containing enough delights that will be bring me back for a second viewing. But this time around, he went for big themes and emotions so far out of his reach because he was distracted by the next shiny object. "Ooh, look! A stop motion roadrunner!" The magic act didn't work for me this time, even though I was so glad to experience it on the big screen because it is a beautiful, however frustrating object. 

OPPENHEIMER: I had been looking forward to Christopher Nolan's latest epic all year. Naturally, since procrastination is my middle name, I waited until Labor Day to catch it. The enormity of the production, a total sensory experience, overwhelms much of the time, almost relentlessly, though it doesn't become bombastic enough to obliterate the drama or the performances contained therein. I have a problem, as many others have, with the dialogue recording since Nolan doesn't believe in ADR, so I lost some key elements and pertinent info along the way. (Maybe I require sub-titles as I do at home these days) The cast is superb, though Nolan nearly falls into the same trap as Wes Anderson. Critic Judith Crist used to call these vehicles with all-star casts a "Hey, look!" movie and OPPENHEIMER has a bit of stunt casting here and there.. "Hey, look! There's Gary Oldman as Harry Truman!" Overall, a fine achievement and the best time I had in the movies all year. That's three times if you're counting at home.

Add to this some swell TV viewing with the return of RESERVATION DOGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS and a limited series revival of JUSTIFIED to the mix and summer '23 turned out pretty damn nifty. It was all wine and roses, disregarding being sold down the river by an unnamed entity, but that's what the fall is all about...and hopefully, a fall from which I hope I can recover. (Cryptic much?)

Now if you'll excuse, I have to store away all my white clothes until next year. Do undershirts count?