Moles and identity in Boston

THE DEPARTED (2006)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2006)

Martin Scorsese is a force to be reckoned with. He is not just a solid director who makes movies better than almost anyone - his films resonate with an energy and urgency that makes you forget you are watching a movie. Some of his films have not been well-received by critics, in particular "Gangs of New York" or the "The Aviator" or the much maligned and misunderstood "Bringing Out the Dead." "The Departed," though, has already received numerous accolades from critics and audiences may warm up to it as well. They should because "The Departed" is one of Scorsese's great films, a supercharged, thoroughly intense crime drama that may well give the genre a more vivid, urgent spin than it ever has.

Leonardo DiCaprio is Bill Costigan, a troubled new recruit to the police force who is commissioned by Captain Queenan (Martin Sheen) to become a mole. "You won't get a regular cop pay but there is a bonus," says Queenan. The job is to be a mole inside an organized crime syndicate led by the maniacal Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), the racist mob boss who rules South Boston with an iron fist. Costello shows contempt for anyone of any race, creed or color - he shows little love for nuns too. Costigan has to appear as someone who's just been released from jail and kicked out of the force. By impressing Costello with his volatile nature, Costigan can help the state police bust Costello for numerous homicides.

Ah, but there is a little problem. Costello has his own mole in the police department, a man he has nurtured since childhood. That is Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), a cop with aspirations but without an ounce of remorse as to whom he hurts to get there. He is in close contact with Costello every step of the way. He knows there is a mole in Costello's syndicate, and he also has to find the mole in the police department as assigned by Ellerby (Alec Baldwin), the head of the task force on organized crime. So what we have here is a cat-and-mouse game where the mole is trying to find the mole, and where one mole has to find himself.

Based on "Infernal Affairs" and on the famous Boston mobster Whitey Bulger, "The Departed" takes a few steps further than a conventional thriller. It is about the loss of identity in characters pretending and acting their way out of situations to the point where their real identity doesn't seem to exist. Costigan is seemingly a hooligan, a tough kid who spends too much time inside Costello's world. Is he any less of a cop by pretending to be a gangster or is he clueless about where his loyalty lies? Same with Frank Costello, the truly nefarious mob boss who seems like an unhappy man with no real ambitions beyond what he has already accomplished. He has women, drugs and everyone fears him. You get the impression Costello wants more out of life, but what exactly? If, as Costello says in the opening voice-over, there is no difference between cops and criminals, then who can they trust when the loyalty is spread so thin?

The most riveting character is Sullivan, an amoral, highly corrupted cop working for Costello. Sullivan falls for a police psychiatrist (Vera Farmiga, in the only underdeveloped role in the movie) yet, in one highly unsettling scene, he tells her that if she moves in with him, she can't place framed photos of herself in the living room. The reason? Sullivan keeps no pictures of himself in the living room either. Is he ashamed, guilty, or does he deny his own existence in order to keep doing his strenuous job?

I think there are far too many positives for "The Departed." For one, Scorsese has assembled one of the best casts in recent memory (second only to the glorious repertoire of actors in "Glengarry Glen Ross"). Leo DiCaprio shows the innermost conflicts of Costigan beautifully as he strains not to fall apart from his justly strenuous job. Martin Sheen glows in every scene as Queenan, who obviously cares for Costigan. Alec Baldwin is commanding in every scene, perhaps more so in his supporting roles than in leading ones in recent years. Major heap of praise goes to Mark Wahlberg, a fiery dynamo of a presence, as the foul-mouthed Sgt. Dignam - he ignites every scene he's in, even upstaging Sheen and Baldwin. And what can't one say about Jack Nicholson that hasn't been said before playing a truly loathsome being to the hilt, who shows up at standoffs with his orange-tinted sunglasses, and carries a black dildo with him to porno theatres. He also likes the opera, and throws cocaine at a woman's butt and says to his girlfriend, "Now don't move until you are numb." The guy gets more unhinged as the movie progresses.

But the real star of "The Departed" is Matt Damon, an expert at showing the duplicitous nature of a character (see "The Talented Mr. Ripley" for proof). His Sullivan becomes so wrapped up in his corruptible ways that there is no way back - he is doomed from the start. Damon is such a likable presence that I still hoped he would learn from his mistakes and redeem himself. Of course this never truly happens in a Scorsese film and as the movie becomes unbearably tighter and tighter towards a bleak resolution, we realize Sullivan is past any point of redemption. Comparing to past Scorsese antiheroes, I don't think I've seen a character as fatalistic as this one. I hope Damon is remembered at Oscar time.

Sure, anyone else could have stepped in and directed "The Departed" with enough finesse and assurance. But Scorsese infuses his film with such sweat-inducing, unbreakable tension and such ferocity and verve that your palms will sweat and your knuckles will whiten. The shootouts are never gratuitous and always surprising (this film has its share of violence but it is not as violent as "Casino" or "GoodFellas"). The pacing is erratic and propulsive from one scene to the next. There are a couple of shots of Christ paintings to show that Scorsese is always thinking of the religious underpinnings of essentially a tragedy of unexpected depth. Tough-as-nails, emotionally and dramatically intense and completely in-your-face with gallows humor and some lighter humor as well, not to mention a fairly tight pace that will quicken the nerves and make your heart skip a few beats, "The Departed" is further proof that Scorsese can make a crime thriller better than anyone.

Scorsese's Intolerance for the 21st century

GANGS OF NEW YORK (2002)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in Dec. '02)

It is clear by now that Martin Scorsese's films are as misunderstood as most other directors. This is not a man prone to happy endings, optimism, redemption or clear-cut morality. In that respect, "Gangs of New York" represents some of the director's finest work since "The Age of Innocence." It is a crossbreed of "Age's" meticulous reconstruct of a long-lost era with the savage tendencies of people from the mean streets as witnessed by "GoodFellas" and "Casino." This is not a pretty picture postcard view of American history during the Civil War, nor is it a morally sanctionable one. "Gangs of New York" is as sadistic and brutal as one can imagine - a time of corruption and hateful violence where a glimmer of humanity still exists.

Set in 1863, Amsterdam Vallon (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a young lad arriving in New York City by ship. The New York back then is not the New York of today, or for that matter the New York of "Age of Innocence" (the latter set only seven years later). The city is a breeding ground of sin, squalor, sex, drinking, prostitution, pickpockets and outright mayhem on every corner. Women are practically naked in bars, severed ears are used as barter for liquor, pig carcasses are used for target practice, hatchets, butcher knives and any other blunt weapon are used for attacks, cavernous dwellings exist as hideouts, dogs maul rats, bareknuckle fights ensue for money, and so on. There is also the P.T. Barnum Museum in town with its gallery of freaks, a club called "Satan's Circus," and the Chinese stage their own operas for entertainment.

The political game is run by Irish Catholics, especially Boss Tweed (Jim Broadbent), the highly corrupt boss of Tammany Hall (an Irish political machine). Votes for politicians are fabricated (nothing new there). The police and the fire chiefs are like gangs themselves, trying to make the peace in a volatile town where corpses litter the road and nobody gives them a second look. Pickpockets, like Jenny Everdeane (Cameron Diaz), pass themselves off as maids in upper class homes of bigwig politicians and steal jewelry by the handful.

Amsterdam's place in this hell is suspect, particularly by those who discover he is Priest Vallon's son. Priest Vallon (Liam Neeson) was the Irish leader of the town twenty years earlier, later maimed by a rival gang leader. Amsterdam's intentions are to seek revenge against Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis), who had slain his father in that very same ugly battle. Amsterdam worms his way into this sick society by engaging in bareknuckle fights. Bill is so impressed that he takes him in as a surrogate son. Then there is Jenny who manages to steal from street toughs like Amsterdam yet shows some degree of warmth and love (she has a history with Bill the Butcher). Jenny and Amsterdam fall in love and compare the scars on their bodies. Will Amsterdam ultimately seek revenge on Bill or will he decide not to intervene? After all, Bill takes him under his wing and uses him for betting bareknuckle fights. A war is also brewing between the North and the South and soldiers are needed to fight. With all this chaos ensuing, how can Amsterdam expect to ever leave this city? Or does he plan to?

If any flaws exist in "Gangs of New York," it is mostly centered on Amsterdam, a character who thrives on his toughness yet is no match for Bill. The question is: what is Amsterdam's purpose, outside of his vengeful mind? Who is this recalcitrant kid and what does he want from this hellish New York? As played by Leonardo DiCaprio, he exudes all the qualities of a young, foolish mind who is thinking more with his heart than his mind. DiCaprio does as well as he can with the thin character, and shows the charisma and talent that felt shorned in "Titanic" ever since. What is missing is Scorsese's subjectivity, favoring objectivity this time to tell the story of a time and place. This way we see how characters behave in the era portrayed rather than feeling their internal emotions. That is not to say that we still don't feel those internal emotions.

The real star of this violent world is Daniel Day-Lewis as the vicious, humanistic, compassionate, racist, hypocritical Native-American who rules New York with a fist. "I am New York," says Bill, and he means it. He is cruel and sadistic, uses knives with a natural ease, but can also appear like a wounded animal. Most films show villains to be so devoid of humanity that their savagery is all that matters. The fault lies in presenting such villains as cartoons, assuming that audiences could never accept them as human beings. Ah, but Scorsese is too smart to allow such one-dimensional savagery, witness "Taxi Driver," "Raging Bull" or the organized crime figures in "GoodFellas" and "Casino." Consider a truly powerful scene where Bill is draped in the American flag and confesses to Amsterdam that he plucked one of his eyes out after his initial fight with Priest Vallon. He also says that in a war, one man can stand out and make a difference, like his father had. It is an amazing scene that makes us feel some sympathy for Bill.

Bill the Butcher is one of the great villains of cinema history, on par with Henry Fonda's cold-blooded killer in "Once Upon a Time in the West" and Joe Pesci's uncontrollable Tommy in "GoodFellas." One of the executives of this film called Bill the Butcher "the meanest man in film history." It is possible considering that Bill can snap from a violent mode to a soulful to a sarcastic mode, depending on what triggers his moods. He can stab a man in the hand without much provocation, head butt anyone in his way, throw out equally potent words with wicked relish, and show some affection and fake tears over a dead rabbit. It is a shrewd, deftly controlled performance, and I would be remiss if I said he is not the main character of "Gangs of New York." Everyone acts in the film according to Bill's motives or plans, and nothing ever happens without sensing Bill is involved in some way.

There are two major gang battles, one at the start of the film and the other at the end. The first battle implies much of the violence between two gangs, the Native-Americans and the Irish-Americans. We see one character, known as Hellcat, sever an ear from one person, and mostly we hear the crushing of bones and knives thrust into bellies. The fight ends with an omniscient long shot where we witness the blood covering most of the snow-filled streets. Interestingly, the opposing gangs stand around and gather the corpses, as if the violence was their way of acting out their rage yet they are able to communicate for more than twenty years without raising a fist. Another later scene shows Bill having some kind of conference where he discusses what kinds of weapons should be used, asking the opposing gang (known as the Dead Rabbits) and other rival gangs if guns are objectionable. They will kill and maim each other as part of their control of New York's Five Points, but they can sit and discuss anything else without resorting to violence. Interesting to see this dichotomy of attitudes. The final battle, known as the Draft Riots, is an orgy of violence unprecedented on film where New York becomes a stage of bloodletting that may sicken and twist your stomach into knots. We see hangings, cannon blasts, rivers of blood, elephants running from Barnum's circus, buildings on fire and other unwatchable atrocities.

"Gangs of New York" can be seen as a historical piece or as an exceedingly violent melodrama of a past that many may want to forget. It is purely cynical, suggesting that New York's and America's foundations of democracy and racial attitudes were intensely corrupt to the core. Nobody could be trusted and politics was a mere fiasco where votes could be bought and selected politicians could be easily dispatched and replaced. In all this hate and racism emerged the New York of today, but can we truly say that those antiquated attitudes and values have not carried over to the present? Do we believe votes can still be bought? Is racism still a factor today or has it really disappeared? And what about drafts? If poor people then could not afford to pay the $300 to avoid the draft, then what about the possibility drafts of today to fight the war in Iraq when the country is in a recession? (As of this moment of writing, drafts are not likely to occur).

Powerful, compelling, riveting from first frame to last, "Gangs of New York" is one of the great film epics of all time. The New York of the 1840's and 1860's has been meticulously and believably recreated, minus the use of CGI. This is Scorsese's "Intolerance" for the 21st century, a fabulous walk into the past to a long forgotten historical footnote. DiCaprio, Cameron Diaz and Daniel-Day Lewis give extraordinary performances, though like most Scorsese films, these are not characters I would ever want to meet. Jim Broadbent as the quiet Boss Tweed, David Hemmings as an upper class politico who knows nothing of what is really going on, John C. Reilly as an Irish cop who knows he is not the mainstay of order and Henry Thomas as a childhood friend of Amsterdam's who betrays him contribute highly to this eclectic production. And the ending is one of the most moving sequences of all time, placing emotion in a vast canvas of violence and chaos showing that men of strength could be weakened and destroyed. When such a vicious bastard like Bill the Butcher elicits a smidgeon of sympathy from me, then I know I am in the hands of a director who can place a human face in the face of inhumanity. "Gangs of New York" is one of the seminal masterpieces of the 2000 decade, and surely one of Scorsese's greatest triumphs. You may never look at New York the same way again.

Feels and tastes like life

MEAN STREETS (1973)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Martin Scorsese made a big splash in 1973 with his evocative, insanely funny and brutal "Mean Streets." He made a splash with critics, but not with audiences who stayed away. I suppose they felt that the mob scene was "The Godfather" and nobody was going to tell them different. Scorsese had always felt that "The Godfather" was not authentic and that it did not tell the ugly truths regarding the mob. After being told by director John Cassevettes to do something more personal than "Boxcar Bertha," Scorsese returned to his Little Italy roots and came up with an influential masterpiece.

"Mean Streets" stars Harvey Keitel as Charlie, a hood who works directly for the big boss in the neighborhood (Cesare Danova). Charlie mainly runs around town making sure the boss's clients are paying their protection money on time. One of these clients is a restaurant owner who wants out since his business is failing. Then there is Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro), a hapless fool who blows up mailboxes and owes everyone in town money. There are people that want to break his legs, but Charlie vouches for him. The reason may be that Charlie is seeing Johnny's cousin (Amy Robinson), who wants out of the big city and wants Charlie to follow her. Of course, Charlie just can't pack up and leave. And what will he do about Johnny Boy who has a major temper and can't pay any of his bills?

"Mean Streets" was one of the first truly personal films to evoke a sense of time and place with a small budget and with Hollywood distribution. Yes, Cassevetes and others have their low-budget roots but Scorsese came knocking to Hollywood, and arrived there with style. Never mind the box-office numbers, Scorsese got noticed. He was even optioned to direct "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," a high-profile Hollywood effort with Ellen Burstyn. And the gritty New York of small-time hoods, teenage kids seeking firecrackers, drunk homosexuals cracking wise, Italian food festivals, a pretend duel with garbage can lids and so on was accomplished largely by filming in California! Scorsese was showing the early stages of a dynamic style of storytelling, complete with hand-held camera movements, tracking shots, point-of-view shots, and so much more to show the life and energy of those streets. There is one stunning scene (since aped by many, including Spike Lee and Darren Aronofsky) where Charlie walks around drunk in the bar, from one room to the next, getting showered with champagne. We follow him restlessly as he finally falls flat on his face. What's amazing about this scene is that the camera was strapped to Keitel's waist so that it creates a synergetic movement that is quite dazzling and exhausting to watch.

There is nothing better in the cinema of Scorsese than to see Keitel and De Niro prancing around in the streets of New York. Every scene of theirs bursts with vitality and an anything-goes air of improvisation. But it is more than that - they are tense, charismatic personalities that clash in one horrific scene involving Johnny's cousin with an epileptic fit. Other scenes in a graveyard, rooftops, street level arguments outside tenements and so forth bring an intensity that is a real thrill to watch. They argue, bicker, slap each other, console each other. It is like watching a married couple, only they are two Italian American hoods! More than that, it is like watching a documentary, a slice-of-life of America's seamier side. We see a world where anything can happen, and where danger is right around the corner. A shooting in a bar seems to come out of nowhere. Johnny Boy shoots at the air on rooftops. A Vietnam Vet loses his cool and flips out during a party. And, just when Charlie has done everything to protect Johnny Boy, a fatalistic, grim denouement faces them and strikes abruptly. And all this is visually composed with frequent Catholic imagery (lots of shots of crucifixes and churches). The film plays like a Catholic morality play where one must adhere to the codes of a family, even if that family is the mob. There is no irony, only plenty of guilt over sex, violence and religion. Yep, this is a Scorsese film after all.

"Mean Streets" doesn't feel like a conventional, smoothly executed, polished work from a seasoned director. For one, this film is the antithesis to "The Godfather." "Mean Streets" is full of Rolling Stones tunes and old 50's sentimental songs ("Be My Baby" has more resonance in this film than in "Dirty Dancing.") It is crude, rough and jumpy, as if Godard decided to make a New Wave rendition of "Godfather" with a frenetic, juiced-up energy. The movie plays like a roller-coaster ride of thrills and jazzy sequences so astounding, you'll marvel at Scorsese's chutzpah in failing to adhere to gangster film conventions and traditional seamless editing techniques. There is also no one to root for and no real plot. "Mean Streets" merely unfolds before our eyes, and was the obvious precursor to Scorsese's masterful "GoodFellas." It feels and tastes like life, and I can't exactly call that faint praise.

Laboriously labored Lohan

LABOR PAINS (2009)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2009)

Lindsay Lohan's career is on a definite slump. Rumor had it that she was considered for a role in a remake of "Rosemary's Baby"! That was quickly abolished in favor of a different kind of baby movie called "Labor Pains." Not the worst of its kind and hardly the best and Lindsay Lohan almost saves it, but then she should not have to carry a by-the-numbers flick all by her lonesome.

Lohan is Thea, an inefficient secretary at a publishing company who almost loses her job until she claims she is pregnant! Of course, she isn't really pregnant but she lies to keep her job. I would assume her employer (Chris Parnell, Dr. Spaceman to the rest of you) would see through her fake smiles and fake sincerity (and fake bulging belly) but I guess I am wrong. Before long, Thea falls for her temporary boss, Nick (Luke Kirby), while Parnell is on leave for his sick puppy in Bethesda (that little plot point could've used more exposure). And wouldn't you know that Thea turns out to be as efficient as an associate editor with her own office as she was a lowly secretary, to the point that she helps to promote a pregnancy book that focuses on the downside of pregnancy. This is all thanks to the smitten Nick. Oh, and I did leave out Thea's sister who lives with Thea and cuts class to be with her boyfriend yet she is dismayed when she discovers Thea's lies, to the point of tearing the fake pregnancy pouch from Thea's belly! And why does Thea's sister look like a more mature Britney Spears? Just a thought.

"Labor Pains" starts off too slowly and only recovers somewhere around the three-quarter mark. Yet there is nothing here that can't be anticipated and it yields few surprises. Only Lohan manages to make you care for her character, which is fitting yet not enough. It is nice seeing Cheryl Hines as Thea's best friend but even she yields little surprise. The director Lara Shapiro doesn't engineer a fast-paced, rollicking ride of a comedy, like the 30's and 40's snappier paced "The Philadelphia Story" or any Hawksian comedy where the dialogue was delivered like a roaring engine that never let up. Even the 1980 counterparts such as "Baby Boom" and "Three Men and a Baby" had more rhythm. This movie simply takes too long to get anywhere, and drags along labored performances and a labored screenplay, no pun intended. This should have madcap written all over it.

As I mentioned before, I enjoy watching Lindsay Lohan and she has ample charm and good comic timing, when she is allowed to use it. But she needs better writers and directors or else she'll be stuck in romantic comedy mode forever. I see one of her future projects is "Machete" by Robert Rodriguez. Let's hope that breaks the spell of her most unfortunately titled picture, "Just My Luck."

Taste the blood of Lili Taylor

THE ADDICTION (1995)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally viewed in 1996)

Forget the cartoonish mentality of "From Dusk Till Dawn," "The Addiction" is the best, most original vampire film I have seen since "Near Dark." Independent queen of film Lili Taylor stars as NYU philosophy grad student Kathleen Conklin, who at the start of the film is seen watching a documentary on the My Lai Massacre. While returning home from class one night, she is assaulted and bitten by a woman dressed in a slinky outfit (Annabella Sciorra). Kathleen is nonplussed and shocked by the large bloody wound on her neck and begins to get sick. She also begins to stare at other female students, develops a craving for blood, refuses to eat food, and starts collecting blood by using syringes. Gradually Kathleen starts to bite anyone in sight, including her amorous teacher, her fellow student friend, neighborhood street kids, etc.

Director Abel Ferrara ("Bad Lieutenant") brings an eerie sense of menace to the streets of New York (mostly filmed at Bleecker Square) and to the superb Lili Taylor, who manages to make Kathleen both pitiful and sympathetic. Her "addiction" centers on drinking blood but she nearly overdoses during a climactic Orgy of the Dead sequence. Ferrara's intent is to show this addiction as a state-of-mind where one does not blame the victimizer - one actually blames the victim for allowing themselves to be victimized. "Just tell me to go," says Kathleen before she sinks her teeth into a helpless anthropology student. Ferrara also blends in footage of the Holocaust as a metaphor for vampires eating themselves away. In one of the most delirious comments ever uttered by a vampire, Kathleen says: "I am rotting inside but I am not dying."

"The Addiction" is a decadently frightening companion to Ferrara's masterful "Bad Lieutenant." It is also subtle, complex, horrifying, scary, and flawlessly performed by everyone. And check out the sinister vampire played by the equally ominous Christopher Walken, who teaches Kathleen a few tips about her condition and how "The Naked Lunch" applies to vampires, in addition to claiming she is in fact...nothing. Of course, Walken bites her offscreen. This is not just any vampire film - this is a provocative commentary on the nature of addiction.

Howard Hughes sits on top of the world

THE AVIATOR (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2004)

It is difficult to surmise the weaknesses in Martin Scorsese's latest endeavor, "The Aviator," because there are so many things right with the film. And yet, something keeps biting away at me, something I can't quite grasp a hold of. I figured it out after a few hours. Scorsese gets us so close inside the mind of Howard Hughes that you can't quite breathe, wondering what else the real-life billionaire will cook up next. It is the mind of a megalomaniac that you rather not visit, but it is quite an adventurous journey for Scorsese and for the audience. This is not a dismissal of the film, just my own perception of the diseased mind we are asked to enter.

That mind is Howard Hughes (Leonardo DiCaprio), the eccentric, thoroughly capricious Texan billionaire who inherited his wealth from oil drill bits. At the beginning of the film, after a brief flashback where he is bathed by his mother, Hughes is already up in arms in Hollywood in the late 20's filming his World War I picture, "Hell's Angels." He is equipped with 24 cameras and needs two more, though he fails to obtain them from rival studio MGM. He spends three years making the film, finally reshooting the whole damn thing so he can have sound. How daring a filmmaker was Hughes? He would stand in the cockpit of a flying plane and hand-hold the camera to get the best shot (I bet you Mr. Scorsese never tried that). He also has a fascination with clouds that can form the appearance of breasts, and goes so far as to hire a meteorologist (Ian Holm) to find out when such clouds may form in a cloudless sky! After so much effort and so much money (a 2 million-plus budget!), Hughes has a success and enters the glamor and the glitz of Hollywood. He also builds airplanes, including the largest plane ever, the Hercules aka the Spruce Goose (a name Hughes hated). He also picks up many women along the way, including actress Katharine Hepburn (Cate Blanchett) who slowly catches on to his eccentricities despite admiring his love of flying planes, Ava Gardner (Kate Beckinsale), whom he later places under surveillance, and Faith Domergue (Kelli Garner), a 15-year-old wanna-be starlet. Never mind that Hughes had an affair with Carole Lombard or Cary Grant - his bisexuality is kept closed in this PG-13 flick.

It isn't so much that things go downhill for Hughes in this film, because they don't. He is the same person he was at the beginning - a rich man who could do anything he wanted, buy anything he wanted, bed any woman he wanted, build as many planes as he wanted, buy airlines like TWA, make movies for periods longer than a Stanley Kubrick production, talk his way out of Senate and MPAA hearings and so on. He could do all this because he could, and he could get away with it. The film starts in 1927 and ends in 1947. No mention is made of the Hughes of the 60's and 70's, the period where a fake biography was written by Clifford Irving, or the Las Vegas bungalow Hughes stayed in as a recluse from the world, the very world he knew was changing. It is these latter aspects of Hughes's life that I thought would interest Scorsese so much more. Recall how Scorsese dealt with Jake LaMotta's earlier boxing days with the pathetic later years where Jake was nothing more than a sadly unfunny comedian working at low-rent joints for pennies in "Raging Bull." Also recall the coke-fueled paranoia of Henry Hill's last days as a Mafia drug abuser and dealer in "GoodFellas." In each of those films, as well as "Casino," we sensed the undergoing changes of the main characters as they reached a high point and then descended lower than one would ever hope. In "The Aviator," Hughes is on a power trip and we never sense that he is losing control, even when he starts repeating phrases or becomes more and more finicky about germs, etc. His friends try to protect him but we know things will only get worse in the wave of the future.

Like most of Scorsese's films, we feel the way Howard Hughes does at any moment. When he refuses to touch a bathroom doorknob until someone enters, we sense his fear of collecting germs. When he notices a food particle on someone's shoulder, he asks for it be removed with a cloth and have the cloth deposited in a wastebasket. When he goes off the deep end by having his urine collected in glass bottles while standing naked in a movie theatre basking in the glory of his film "Hell's Angels," we sense the growing alienation from friends and from himself. Nobody knows better how to get inside someone's head than Scorsese - we are talking about the man who brought us inside Travis Bickle's ticking time bomb in "Taxi Driver." These factors weigh in heavily, hitting like you ton of bricks and either you go along with it, or you don't. There is something to be said about DiCaprio's own forehead in this film - something about it burned a hole through my own head! This is not a weakness of his performance, just that DiCaprio's forehead started to bother me shortly after that horrifying plane crash sequence. I suppose I just wanted Hughes to calm down and not be so relentless. The man never sat down for a second, always cooking up his next dream, his next ambition or enterprise. When Ava Gardner can't even calm him down, then you know you are witnessing a dreamer with no limits because he has the wealth to do anything.

"The Aviator" details the Hollywood of the 30's with complete adoration, including some delightful sequences in the Cocoanut Grove club where we catch a glimpse of Errol Flynn (Jude Law). Still, for a director who made us feel the allure of the Copacabana in "GoodFellas," these earlier sections of the film lack much bravado or headlong excitement (and the two-toned Technicolor process can be tough on the eyes. Relax, peas are green, not aquamarine). I felt somewhat disconnected from these earlier scenes, though they are a remarkable recreation of a time America forgot. Using Benny Goodman's version of "Moonglow" has a becalming effect, especially during the scene where Howard takes Kate for a flight above L.A.

The movie, however, picks up tremendous pace when Katharine Hepburn is introduced and starts a love affair with Hughes (even meeting her family in Connecticut in the only humorous section of the movie). Blanchett conveys Hepburn's mannerisms and high-pitched guffaws flawlessly. Her best moment is a quiet one when she tells Hughes that everyone else sees them as freaks. Kate Beckinsale's Ava Gardner is not as impressive and the bulk of her performance seems to have been left on the cutting room floor. Why she stuck around with Hughes and put up with his wildly off-balance nature when they presumably never had sex is questionable. And the character of Faith is so short-changed that if you blink, you'll forget she was ever there.

"The Aviator" is occasionally entertaining, has terrifically authentic period flavor and one frighteningly realistic plane crash that will make you squeamish about ever flying with an experienced pilot (don't forget this is Scorsese directing). The actors are generally superb, including Alan Alda as the confrontational Senator Brewster and Alec Baldwin as Juan Trippe, a smooth Hughes nemesis from Pan Am who tries to uncover Hughes's plans. Of course, I cannot leave out DiCaprio who bears an uncanny resemblance to Hughes, especially during the Senate hearings. DiCaprio shows the man's drive effortlessly and keeps you on edge wondering what he will do next to wow the public. But we never sense much more than Hughes's own growing mental illness and what it is like to have the fear of touching a doorknob. The movie is told in fragments of Hughes's life, but perhaps the scope of this man is too ambitious for any one film (a sequel may not be such a bad idea). The mystery and the complex nature of Hughes continues to baffle many, and I suppose this film will only fuel that enigma. Scorsese understands all too well the enigma surrounding Hughes the perfectionist, and his obsessive compulsive behavior (shades of this exists in De Niro's Ace Rothstein character in "Casino").

"The Aviator" is quite good but it is not at the top of the game of what Scorsese can really deliver - at least, it is more focused than his Dalai Lama biography, "Kundun." The mammoth territory of this tragic man is too overwhelming and yet too truncated, even for Scorsese. Others might be too disturbed by the man and his drive, as I was. You be the judge.

Sexualized, hilarious and unsettling Scorsese tale of excess

THE WOLF OF WALL STREET (2013)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I recall attending a "GoodFellas" screening where a couple stormed out of the movie after a guy's head is blown apart, almost 2/3 of the way into the film. Within the first fifteen minutes, a few people in their mid-60's I gather, stormed out of Martin Scorsese's "The Wolf of Wall Street." Why? Because when Leo DiCaprio is snorting coke from a woman's netheregions, well, it is not quite like watching like someone getting killed but it may be offputting to some all the same. Such is the case with "The Wolf of Wall Street," the snappiest, funniest, sharpest and most outrageous black comedy in years. It will offend just about anybody who feels a movie needs to be Clearplayed in order to be accessible. Rampant nudity (and we also mean the male organ), coke-snorting parties that would put Charlie Sheen to shame, flagrant sex scenes, ingestion of goldfish, and sometimes drugs and sex mixed like a fine cocktail litter the screen. That is just the beginning - I have not discussed the F-word which might easily exceed its usage in Scorsese's "Casino." But this is a tale of a lifestyle that befitted its main protagonist - an excessive man with excess money and excess drugs who takes a nirvana state of Roman Epicureanism to a whole other level.

Who is this protagonist? He is Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio), an ambitious Wall Street broker who finds the world of stock exchange far more glamorous than anything shown in Oliver Stone's "Wall Street" (Gordon Gekko does get a mention). He gets firsthand knowledge from a martini-loving, chest-thumping, coke-sniffing smooth handler (Matthew McConaughey) who makes it clear that stocks mean nothing  - "You move the money from your client's pocket into your pocket." Words that Jordan lives by until the market crashes in 1986 and Jordan has to find a way of playing the stocks. He will not work for the Wiz (a chain of stores that is sadly gone). Jordan finds penny stocks at a firm that none of the richest 1% would ever purchase and turns everything in his favor - he's got a persuasive charm about him and he can coax anybody into doing anything. That is his attractive quality and it soaks up everybody, including Donnie Azoff (Jonah Hill), his devoted sidekick and friend who helps sell the penny stocks to clueless investors and gain a 50% commission. Eventually, Jordan starts his own brokerage firm, Stratton Oakmont, and the lavish parties begin before we even learn that Jordan and associates are skimming millions of dollars to fester on prostitutes, marching bands, "little people" tossed at targets, helicopters on top of luxurious yachts, copious amounts of cocaine and Quaaludes, stacks of money strapped to Swiss women and much more. The critics who have already stomped on this hubris tale have mistakenly associated morality with drug-taking - not so, the lack of morality are the victims who were duped to support Jordan Belfort's lifestyle and are never mentioned once.

"Wolf of Wall Street" is Scorsese's "The Aviator" turned up to 1,111. It is gleefully and comically over-the-top and you will be laughing at all the debauchery and wasteful spending in spite of yourself - this is because the guys really do have fun. Whereas "The Aviator" dealt with Howard Hughes' own dilemma to buy out businesses and think big, this Jordan just wants to party and is not looking for respect. "This is America, the land of opportunity," he says, without missing a beat. Scorsese's and writer Terence Winter's strengths lay in not judging its characters, adding comedy instead to the mix so that we don' t think too hard about how Jordan and company are screwing up to the wealthiest 1% and every other investor they cold call. Everything is a game to them, and everything is sexualized (including the cold calling). If there is no sex, there is time for multiple Quaaludes. If there are no Quaaludes, there is time for cocaine. If nothing else is available, then it is time to quit but, hey, being sober is boring.

Scorsese brings us into the world of stockbrokers who do nothing less than utter profanities, crack jokes and party. It is all a fulgazi, a fake, a tempestuous world of complete avarice with no regard for the Dow Jones stock market index or any brand of ethics. That is why Jordan Belfort loves it - money is all he needs. Jordan does have his flaws - he divorces his first wife and marries another woman ,Naomi (Margot Robbie) because she looks sexy (the yacht is named after her). Is there anything more to Jordan? Apparently not, and after three hours, you will be exasperated and exhausted by his schemes yet you still can't wait to see what he cooks up next. Leonard DiCaprio gives Jordan a likability that proves to be engrossing and captivating - I have never seen DiCaprio be this animated or potent on screen before. Same with Jonah Hill, who is funnier and more depraved than he's ever been before. These two can give you a heart attack each time they appear together on screen - it is likely the Academy voters will admire their work but may choose not to honor such depravity with a nomination.

The rest of the cast is excellent. Rob Reiner is deliriously manic as Jordan's "Mad Max" of a father who is confounded when anyone spends $28,000  on one dinner (Occupy Wall Street protesters will find plenty to protest about from this movie). Margot Robbie ("Pan Am") is stunning in more ways than one as Jordan's second wife - she feels cut out of movie until the last third when we realize she has something up her sleeve. There are also some rich turns by Joanna Lumley as Naomi's English aunt who tells Jordan to slow down, Jean Dujardin as a smooth Swiss banker, Fran Leibowitz as a judge, Kyle Chandler as an FBI agent who wants to nail Jordan, and even Spike Jonze who introduces Jordan to the penny stocks.

"Wolf of Wall Street" is loud, rambunctious, hilarious and pulsatingly alive. It is not for all tastes and the sexualized atmosphere will give some pause (though we still live in a world where graphic violence is tolerated but not graphic sexuality). The film is dense with details and packed with information, like an abrasive, supercharged, jazzy documentary with an antihero who breaks the fourth wall (Ray Liotta's first-person narrator also broke the fourth wall briefly in "GoodFellas") with his foul-mouthed narration and behind-the-scenes spectacle of Wall Street and brokerage firms as money-grubbing institutions. Though Scorsese's "Wolf" resembles the director's own "GoodFellas" and Casino" in its excess and excessive narration, it also has its own identity. Jordan Belfort may have regrets about his hedonistic lifestyle and having bilked his investors in hindsight, but he might wish he could pop one more Quaalude or have sex with one more prostitute. I kind of wished he could, and I hate myself for thinking that. He has that kind of effect on you.

Wolf of Wall Street is not porn!

WOLF OF WALL STREET REVIEW AND CONTROVERSY