Over at the Ordinary Gentleman, David Schaengold has launched an attack Martin Scorsese’s reputation as a grand homme of American cinema. Using the distinction introduced by our own James Poulos, he claims that Scorsese doesn’t traffic in the sublime, but only the “sense of the sublime”. Exhibit A is the famous tracking shot in Goodfellas, when Henry smoothly whisks Karen through the kitchen of the Copacabana to the best table in the house.
Schaengold thinks this is cheap because it makes us Henry’s accomplices. We want him to rise in the mafia so that we can watch him enjoy the fruits of his success. The viewer is thus morally implicated in Henry’s crimes. But the movie’s supposed to teach us that crime doesn’t pay. So this is a a false note, an elevation of style over moral substance, right?
Wrong. In Goodfellas, Scorsese refuses to moralize the principle that crime doesn’t pay. The lesson of the film is that mafia life is great…but doesn’t last forever. The characters who are beaten, murdered, imprisoned aren’t being punished for their sins. They’ve just bet big and turned up the wrong card–a result for which we’re prepared by the gambling scenes in the first act.
It’s possible that the fundamental amorality of Goodfellas prevents it from being great art. But Kubrick, whom Schaengold prefers, isn’t exactly Dostoyevsky, either. Is there a morally colder film than Barry Lyndon? And if you’re looking for sin and redemption in Scorsese’s work, look no farther than Mean Streets, from which the title of this post is taken. Seriously, what’s the matter with you?
February 21st, 2010 | 1:13 pm
I would like somebody to define the term “great film” before they launch into a for/against polemic against a director. Goldman and Schaengold kind of hint at something when they talk about the “sublime” but to a certain extent that’s just empty arm-waving. Oh! The sublime! That really clears things up…
But seriously, Mr. Goldman also seems to point to a moral worldview as some ingredient to “greatness” in art. Is it ideology that makes art great? The cinematography? Certainly we cannot discount that. As you say, Barry Lyndon is cold, but dear lord, that movie is sheer beauty to behold. I don’t know, I have no doubt someone far smarter than me could come up with a definition of a “great film”, but for now I find neither of these posts satisfying.
February 22nd, 2010 | 8:21 am
I dunno Derrick, but if you’d spend a little more time here at PoMoCon you’d see that I’ve declared the “greatest film ever made” to be The Book of Eli!
What more do you want?
As for a definition, how about: The screenplay describes the character(s) as living (moving) in the tension of existence defined by the poles of immanence and transcendence. Eli, of course, exemplified that characteristic, though he was greatly and magnificently inclined toward the transcendent.
Any screenplay that ignores the necessity of the above condition derails into a corrupt ideological deformation of human existence, such as the films of Martin Scorsese.
February 22nd, 2010 | 9:16 am
Derrick: Lionel Trilling was known for arguing that the best art has to engage “the moral imagination”. He was really talking about novels, but I think something similar can be said of films. That’s the view I had in mind writing the post.
As it happens, I do think Goodfellas is a great film, partly because of its technical accomplishments (which aren’t, it’s true, on the level of Barry Lyndon). But Schaengold isn’t completely wrong to find something hollow in it.
February 22nd, 2010 | 4:35 pm
Mr. Cheeks, surely that definition isn’t the exclusive definition of a “great film.” So the screenplay only has to display that tension? That’s kind of ignoring a lot of what is great about films, given that they are primarily a visual medium. And yes, I’m quite familiar with your raves about The Book of Eli. I enjoyed the film, but thought it far from “great” (the terrible acting of Mila Kunis, while nice to look at, didn’t help…).
Mr. Goldman, fair enough. I actually find something hollow in Scorsese as well, although multiple viewings of certain of his films has maybe changed that. For instance, when I initially watched The Departed and I thought it was pure nihilism. Now I’m not so sure: that persistent shot of the church (cathedral?) as Matt Damon’s character looks on, so sunk into depravity that he is, weighs against a nihilistic reading in my mind.
But yes, surely a film must engage “the moral imagination.” I have no problem with this. But I guess I don’t think that that’s sufficient to constitute a great film (which you seem to acknowledge). Anyways, I’m typing in circles. Keep up the film criticism! We need more of it!
Incidentally, some of the best film criticism I’ve ever is Thomas Hibbs’ Arts of Darkness, on film noir. He not only engages the “moral” aspects of films, but the technical as well. Sometimes I think great films are the closest things to Wagner’s “gestamtkunstwerk”– a mix of poetry, music, drama, etc. Terrence Malick comes to mind…
February 24th, 2010 | 4:40 pm
Good points all. But concerning engaging the “moral imagination,” I have to wonder about another of the great directors (if not the absolute greatest): Ingmar Bergman. Watch his famous “religious” trilogy–”Through a Glass Darkly”, “Winter Light”, and “The Silence”–and it’s easy to see the nihilism, the coldness and almost mind-numbing depression, but having the moral imagination “engaged” is a bit tougher…at least for me.
Still, they’re brilliant films, and Bergman is clearly one of the greats, easily outperforming Scorsese. Bergman wrote fantastic screenplays, all deep character studies, and his films all exhibit great technical beauty. (“Winter Light” is shockingly good, beautiful and daring, yet horribly dark.) Great films, but do they engage us morally, or do they simply tempt us to play in an amoral, nihilistic world?
Anyway, great post.
March 4th, 2010 | 3:40 pm
On Goodfellas:
“The lesson of the film is that mafia life is great…but doesn’t last forever.”
Very good. That is also the truth, and being true is one big help in making a movie great. That’s why morality helps; it’s true. If you tell people crime doesn’t pay because it will make every bit your life painful and unpleasant, you’re obviously lying and people will know it. If you tell people that crime doesn’t pay because it’s great to get good tables at restaurants but to pay for it you have to get stomped to death in a toilet, they’ll take your point.
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