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Scorsese: New Yorker, Cinema’s Dostoyevsky

There is a scene in Martin Scorsese’s film Gangs of New York where Leonardo DiCaprio, who plays Amsterdam Vallon, is running from John C. Reilly.  This is appropriate, since Reilly’s character Jack Mulraney aims to kill.

Amsterdam approaches Jack from behind and attacks. After a violent struggle, Amsterdam strangles the man to death. During the scuffle they knock down a few wooden supports, causing a work canvas to fall. After the dust settles we realize that we are in a church.

That’s a Martin Scorsese picture in a nutshell: Front and center is a violent, gritty struggle for survival, but watch closely and you can’t help but notice the underlying religious elements. It makes sense coming from a guy who once said, “My whole life has been movies and religion. That’s it. Nothing else.” And you thought you knew Martin Scorsese. So did I.

Photo of young Martin Scorsese


Scorsese is an iconic filmmaker who transformed the cinematic landscape. No self-respecting film critic or semi-literate filmmaker will deny his influence.  For good or for ill, he paved the way for shows like The Sopranos and filmmakers like David Fincher and Quentin Tarantino.

As readers of my blog should know, I’m not the world’s biggest Tarantino fan. He does some interesting things, but his films consistently get higher ratings from filmgoing hipsters than classic, more substantial films, and that annoys me. You can see what I mean by visiting this Top 250 films list as rated by IMDB voters: http://www.imdb.com/chart/top. Needless to say, the chance to explore a key cinematic predecessor of Tarantino was not reason enough for me to write this.

Scorsese doesn’t quite get the Tarantino treatment from filmschool scene kids, but he comes close. Movie posters of films like Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, and Casino still seem to be fairly well represented in college dorm rooms across the country. That usually suggests to me an oversaturated influence. Nothing wrong with that, but why write about it?

After all, who would argue that Scorsese isn’t a great filmmaker? Plus, I’m not someone who is wowed by graphic violence, but there is more to Scorsese than the way he uses violence.

I started to realize as much when I saw his name appear on commentaries for classic films like Red Shoes and The Tales of Hoffman, both of which are dream-like meditations on art, beauty, and love. They are excellent films, but they’re not the ones you’d expect to excite a master of the gangster-film genre.

Tales of Hoffman – 1951


Then I remembered that Scorsese also made Kundun, a film that surprised me with its Eastern sensibilities. That must have been quite an undertaking for a decidedly Western filmmaker. Scorsese himself acknowledges as much when interviewed by Richard Schickel, “It is antithetical to what we know as Western drama, but does everything have to be Western drama?”

Later I came across interviews where Scorsese would make knowing, appreciative comments about opera. So, the “you talkin to me” street-smart filmmaker is an opera enthusiast? Who would have guessed that?

Then along came Hugo, and that film swept me off my feet in a way that few other films have. Add to that Scorsese’s endorsement of the Canon C300 and his recurring interest in New York—I work for Canon, and I was born in New York—and it felt like he was someone I had to write about.

Scorsese on Canon’s Cinema EOS line


When I say that I had to write about him, I don’t mean that I merely wanted to write about him. I mean that I couldn’t resist the inclination to write this even if I wanted to.

I did resist for a while. I had seen many of Scorsese’s films already, and the idea of seeing them again was not that appealing. I respect the craftsmanship that goes into Marty’s pictures, and many of them are masterpieces, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching them all.

His films tend to be long, filled with unsympathetic characters, and prone to end in anti-climactic, even unresolved ways. Besides, I don’t take much delight in seeing people pummeled onscreen, especially when women are the ones being beaten.

Raging Bull –1980


In a Scorsese picture, it is almost guaranteed that someone, often a woman, will get a beating, and the violence isn’t choreographed in the whimsical manner of a classic Hollywood barfight. It is staged to look as gritty and realistic as possible.

As if it isn’t shocking enough when just an ordinary woman gets beaten, in Raging Bull  the woman who gets a beating is pregnant. Everyone gets a beating in that film, whether they deserve it or not, and at a certain point that violence does become exhausting to watch.

Nor am I thrilled by incessant swearing, and there are copious amounts of it in Scorsese’s work. Swearing has its place as I discuss here, but its incessant use in films has coarsened our culture. Even when I go to the mall these days, I hear some kid swear at his mom or at his friends. It wasn’t always like that, and filmmakers like Scorsese have helped to suburbanize casual swearing.

It’s not that I’m a complete prude. I enjoy watching The Godfather, for example. The violence in that film is carefully balanced with a sense of family and tradition. We first see Michael Corleone as a likable youth with a moral center, which gives his descent into the mafia a tragic, operatic quality. In a Scorsese picture though, it’s not unusual to enter an entirely unsympathetic world right from the start, making the decay more dissonant.

Mean Streets – 1973


In my resistance to writing this, I reasoned that it is already a challenge for me to stay on my feet without letting negative circumstances get the best of me. Why make it harder with a steady diet of cinematic carbon monoxide, exquisitely prepared though it might be? Still, it felt like there was a reason to proceed and that there was something about Scorsese I needed to discover, so I immersed myself into his films, even though I was fairly certain that watching Scorsese’s films back to back would negatively affect me.

Sure enough, I was more prone to angry outbursts and more likely to succumb to lust shortly after watching some of his pictures. That was enough of an issue that I tried to avoid his more violent films on days when I had important meetings planned. I also resorted to balancing his films with more positive ones, so that the darker things in Scorsese’s films would not overwhelm my psyche.

That mentality is not the norm when discussing films, so allow me a moment to expand on it. As a society, we readily accept the idea that we should be mindful about what we eat, especially before strenuous physical activity like a marathon, and in Super Size Me, Morgan Spurlock showed us the deleterious effects of bombarding our bodies with fast food on a daily basis. Why then are we not also mindful of the media that we consume, when it can significantly influence how we live our lives?

Taxi Driver – 1976


That’s not to say that Scorsese’s films should be avoided at all costs, only that it is best to proceed with caution. In order to discuss these ideas more thoroughly we’ll need to broach the topic of censorship and whether an artist should aim merely to satisfy himself or to also serve his community.

I will address these challenging topics later in this article, but before I do that I’d like to categorize Scorsese’s work in a more precise manner. Up to this point I’ve been discussing his work in a general way while alluding to Marty’s more violent pictures. That’s not the only kind of film he makes though.

Scorsese on set for The Aviator – 2004


This is an oversimplification, but for the sake of our discussion I’ve broken his films into 4 main categories: violent struggle for survival, music appreciation, film appreciation, and search for spiritual meaning. His films usually don’t fit neatly into one category but overlap in several. Still, it’s a good starting point.

Most of this post will be focused on Scorsese’s violent films since that is what he is best known for, but I will address each category at least briefly. The categories do represent a unique aspect of Scorsese that is important to acknowledge when trying to get a fully fleshed out overview of his work.

First, the violent films. Cape Fear, Casino, The Departed, Gangs of New York, Goodfellas, Mean Streets, Raging Bull, and Taxi Driver obviously fit here, but so too does a character drama like Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. In that the violence is mostly verbal, but there are still a few pushing matches, and anxiety about survival is ever present.

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore – 1974


The characters in these violent films are vicious  and lacking in manners. The men gallantly spit ethnic slurs at opponents, abuse the less powerful and treat women like objects for their gratification.

The women aren’t much more admirable. They tend to be treacherous, status-minded, and inclined to sleep around to get what they want, specifically material comforts or power.  Maybe there’s a reason no one ever called a Scorsese picture a showcase of sugar and spice and everything nice.

No, It’s not a particularly admirable world that Scorsese conveys in those films, but it does have an aura of authenticity. That’s the New York school of storytelling on display, and Scorsese is Mr. New York.

Most of his films—even his period films like Gangs of New York and Age of Innocence—are set in New York. He was born there in 1942 and lived there most of his life. That’s also where he witnessed firsthand the ugly, unglamorous nature of mafia violence. The New York Film Festival influenced him as a child and advanced his career by supporting his films. And you know that classic Sinatra song, “New York, New York”? It actually originated in Scorsese’s film of the same title.  (Appropriate that Scorsese is the one who’ll be helming the upcoming Sinatra film, right?)

The title song from New York, New York – 1977


OK. So Scorsese is connected in many ways to New York, but what do I mean by the New York school of storytelling, and how is that different from the Hollywood style? I’ll elaborate with this aphorism I heard a while ago: When a New Yorker frowns and hits you with an f-bomb, he really means hello. When a Hollywood type smiles and say hello, he really means “f@#$ you.”

I was going to use the actual swear words, both above and throughout this piece, to make a point and to convey my antipathy toward Hollywood hipsters, but I thought better of it.  Truth be told, I felt like my initial, more caustic tone was not coming from a good place but from my anger at perceived slights from Hollywood types.

My conscience was bothering me about it, so I promised God that this story would be free of swear words if the Giants prevailed against the loathsome division rivals that are the Cowboys. The Giants won, so there won’t be any actual swear words in this post, much as that might disappoint Mr. Scorsese. To quote a Budweiser commercial, “it’s only weird if it doesn’t work.”


Said differently, the New Yorkers tend to deal with what is, with the grimy reality at the hand. That sensibility can be traced back to the New York artists who brought about the Ashcan School movement in the early 1900s, although you could make the case that the New York sensibility predates even that.

Stag at Sharkeys – George Wesley Bellows, 1909


In contrast, the Hollywood types tend to deal with what could be. They are more likely to offer happy endings, to toss around ideals like love, and peace, and diversity. In my experience though, the Hollywood types don’t have the fortitude to back up their ideals with meaningful action. They are just as power-minded and conniving, perhaps more so, than their New York counterparts, but they lack the honesty to admit as much.

Let me give you an example. Say you’re a Hollywood type who believes in diversity. Tell me more about how you’re open to dealing with people from both sides of the political spectrum. Also, were you amused when they put a decapitated George W. Bush head in Game of Thrones, even though it had nothing to do with the medieval fantasy world of Westeros?

Those are the tactics of thugs. If you can’t admit as much, then don’t ask me to come and sing Kumbaya by the campfire.

Over time I’ve moved closer to the New Yorker sensibilities. I can’t imagine that I would be heartbroken if I got a closer look at the Mad Men team and realized that they were actually self-serving, power-minded pigs. That’s an oversimplification of their superlative New York show, but it’ll do for now. My point is that if showrunner Matthew Weiner and company are even the slightest bit more virtuous than the characters on their show, then I would be pleasantly surprised.

The Hollywood types, on the other hand, seem to offer up high-minded, box-office pleasing ideals that they refuse to embrace when the cameras stop rolling. That is heartbreaking to discover.

I’m generalizing, based on my limited observations. If you’re a Hollywood type, you can prove me wrong or man up and be direct when you confront me. This is one of those rare times when I would be very happy to be proven very wrong.

I used to be more fond of the Hollywood types. Frank Capra, Walt Disney, and George Lucas are of the Hollywood school, and they were the ones who got me interested in filmmaking. If my path had crossed with those guys, maybe I’d feel differently. Hard to say.

To tie it back to Scorsese, the opening credit sequence of Mad Men does have some similarities to Scorsese’s Casino, does it not?

Mad Men – 2007

Casino opening-credits – 1995


Let’s talk about those credits in Casino.  All that fire, all that red, right after DeNiro’s car blows up, it’s almost as if it is meant to convey something, like say … hell. Casino is not the only film where a wash of red tints the guilty. It also happens in Mean Streets, Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Color of Money, The Departed, Gangs of New York, and New York, New York just to name a few.

In New York, New York there is an interesting variation of this motif. DeNiro’s character is acting badly, so naturally he’s in a red room. Then he is escorted out through this corridor:

New York, New York – 1977


Right after that the film dissolves right to a billboard of a … and it’s right on the … Well, I’m not telling. You have to look it up for yourself and draw your own conclussions, but when I saw it I thought, “well what are you trying to say there, Mr. Scorsese? Naughty, naughty!”

In Bringing out the Dead, the significance of the color red is the most conspicuous. People on the streets are dying from a potent drug mix called Red Death. Nic Cage visits one of the drug dealers and the walls of the dealer’s apartment are covered in red paint. Oh and there’s that movie poster:

Bringing out the Dead – 1999


More so than any other filmmaker who comes to mind, Scorsese excels at revealing what hell on earth looks like, and he does it in a very deliberate manner.

In Mean Streets, Harvey Keitel’s character Charlie muses to himself, to us, or to God, “It’s all bulls#!% except the pain. The pain of hell. The burn from a lighted match increased a million times. Infinite. Now, ya don’t f@#$ around with the infinite. There’s no way you do that. The pain in hell has two sides. The kind you can touch with your hand; the kind you can feel in your heart… your soul, the spiritual side. And ya know… the worst of the two is the spiritual.”

Again, my apologies to Mr. Scorsese for not including the actual swear words. What can I say? I really wanted to see the Giants win, and a deal is a deal.

Throughout Mean Streets, Charlie is running his finger over flames. It’s a poetic way of explaining that his character is trying to get as close to hell as he can without getting burned. It doesn’t work out so well for Charlie.

Compare that to a quote from Scorsese about his own excesses in Peter Biskin’s book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: “It was a matter of pushing the envelope, of being bad, of seeing how much you can do. Embracing a way of life to its limit. I did a lot of drugs because I wanted to do a lot. I wanted to push all the way to the very, very end, and see if I could die. That was the key thing, to see what it would be like getting close to death.”

Scorsese ended up in the hospital a few times after overdosing on drugs and came close to killing himself. Is it any surprise then that so many of his characters are self-destructive, suicidal drug addicts? Scorsese has been divorced three times, and his first marriage lasted only a year. Is it any surprise then that dysfunctional families are the norm in his work? He did, after all, modify the Cape Fear script to make the family more dysfunctional so that the story would better suit his sensibilities.

I mentioned earlier that some of the Scorsese films had a negative affect on me when I rewatched them. Might they not also negatively affect others? Might a director’s inclination to push the limits in his own life come across in his work, and might that not also influence others to do likewise?

Vhing Rhames helps to bring a drug addict back to life in Bringing Out the Dead. 


When a filmmaker like Scorsese pushes the envelope to gain acclaim, our society tends to applaud that. When a troubled young man pushes the envelope to gain acclaim by imitating what he sees on the big screen and killing people, we are shocked.  I’m thinking specifically of Aurora, but this applies to more than that.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe there is value in self expression and even in exploring the darker motives of human behavior. For example, Scorsese’s films serve as a handy primer on the kind of treacherous behavior that might be encountered while pursuing a film career.

Let’s not forget that showing the ugly side of things can take some courage, since most people prefer, when possible, to avoid the ugly truths about themselves and their communities. The real world doesn’t always offer a happy ending, at least not in this life, and Scorsese doesn’t shy away from stories that acknowledge as much, even though it means that his film might make less money.

Nor does Scorsese rely entirely on glamorous people or sexy moments to fill his stories. In Bringing Out the Dead he shows us feeble people close to death and believable drug addicts, neither of which are pleasant to behold. In films like Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, much screen time is given to the irritating antics of the young boy like his snotty nose sniffs and his annoying, failed attempts at humor.

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore – 1974


Other filmmakers would edit those moments out, but Scorsese builds his stories around them. Again, that’s the New York approach on display.

Stories of go-it-alone types like New York, New York, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, and After Hours  are also distinctly New York minded. After all, too many New Yorkers have learned the hard way that it doesn’t pay to rely too heavily on others.

The reality is that everyone’s looking out for himself first and foremost, and if you can’t do the same, then you won’t last long in the mean streets.  Is it sufficient though merely to show the reality at hand even if that means it might make things worse in the world at large?

In a “Fresh Air” interview with Terry Gross back in 2002, Scorsese suggests that it is: “In my mind, you know I think it is very important to depict this lifestyle, and you have to show the downside, and this is the downside of it, and you have to be honest with it. I just think you have to honest with the portrayal of violence, not glorify it but just put yourself in that position to understand the brutality of it,” and I grant him those points.

Scorsese on set for Taxi Driver – 1976


I will add too that it is not possible to get a sense of what it means to human unless you take into the account the villainy as well as the majesty. It’s just that there is a danger of spreading evil when you aim to merely examine it. There is also something to be said for a civil society, one in which people treat each other with respect, where husbands and wives love each other, and families are happy.

I wouldn’t want to do something to eat away at the tenuous social fabric just to satisfy my own desires for self expression. I am not somehow denying truth or stifling my creativity by using the bathroom in private and not relieving myself in a public place.  I am doing so out of respect for others and out of a desire to inhabit an enjoyable space. It’s sort of like that with what I choose to include or exclude in the art I produce.

Contemporary artists tend to place self expression above all else, even to the detriment of society, but artists and statemen need not be at odds.  I’ve mentioned this quote from Old-Hollywood, award-winning director Rouben Mamoulian before, but it bears repeating: “I feel the judgement on a film is if a person who sees it leaves the theater a little better person than he was when he walked in”

Rouben Mamoulian


If films make for better citizens then noble artists and statesmen have a common goal, but that kind of thinking has gone out of fashion. Why is that?

In sports, we want to see a coach do his best to get a win for the team but not to do so by compromising the safety of the players. The professional leagues are constantly reviewing the rules of their respective games to ensure that the players are protected. You don’t hear players lamenting freedom of expression violations when they are not allowed to throw bats at the spectators.

Question a filmmaker’s actions though, and you might get a response like this: “You can’t censor me man. Ever heard of freedom of speech, you Nazi?”  Although Scorsese faced censorship challenges in his career, he strikes me as being more thoughtful than that, but I wouldn’t say the same thing about some of his proteges.

But those censorship Nazis, like that Will Hays who oversaw the bygone Production Code, what deplorable excuses for humanity they were. Right?

Actually I ran across some footage of the guy in doing research for this. He seemed rather charming, the kind of old-world entertainer who might break out into song at any moment just to make you smile.

Will Hays


But listen to what this monster said, “The code sets up high standards of performance for motion picture producers. It states the considerations which good taste and community value make necessary in this universal form of entertainment: respect for law, respect for every religion, respect for every race and respect for every nation.”

You heard the man. He wants to respect the law and every religion and nation! He is a Nazi if I ever saw one! Wait, he wants to respect everyone, AND he values good taste? Hmm … that doesn’t sound so bad, but what does he really mean? That must be some kind of Nazi code!

As if we needed more proof of that, look at the films made when the Hays Code was in effect: Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, Citizen Kane, The Searchers, and Lawrence of Arabia. How did people live with such sparse and oppressive cultural contributions? Now that the Nazi has been vanquished we can enjoy American Pie, Saw, and Tarantino’s Deathproof! Ding Dong the Witch is Dead, people! Well, that one was also made during the Production Code, but you know what I mean.

I guess the Hays Code is a relic of the Hollywood school of storytelling, not the New York school. What can I say? I’m conflicted in my allegiances.

Some of this might seem like a digression. It is, sort of, but I don’t know how to do a full assessment of Scorsese’s work without looking at the way the landscape has changed because of his influence, and thanks to Scorsese filmmakers are now more inclined to depict vice in an explicit manner.  

Scorsese on set for Taxi Driver – 1976


Remember, when Taxi Driver first came out the film’s graphic violence was deemed by a few critics to be shocking and morally reprehensible. Now that style has become commonplace, and films that explore the lives of psychopaths and snipers have increased, as have real-life mass shootings.

I’ve spent some time addressing my reservations about Scorsese’s work, but that does not mean I lack admiration for his work. I’m just conflicted in my admiration.

Here are some of the attributes of a Scorsese picture that I do admire:

His attention to detail is astonishing. He carefully calibrates shoe style, hair cut, and shirt collars to perfectly convey character.  His ethnic groups aren’t caricatures but astutely delineated approximations. To evoke the style of a certain era and in the spirit of authenticity, Scorsese will even resort to more cumbersome, antiquated technology as he did with the color processing on the Aviator or with the effects in Hugo.

Martin Scorsese featured in an American Express commercial


You see Scorsese’s love of cinema and dedication to excellence in the complexity of his shots. It’s as if he challenges himself to find the most elaborate way to convey a certain plot point to the audience, and then he refuses to move on until he gets that moment exactly right.

Think of the classic Steadicam shot in Goodfellas, the shot in Color of Money that follows the pool ball into the pocket or the one where Tom Cruise makes the shot without looking, the introduction to Paris station in Hugo, or the heavily choreographed fight sequence that opens Gangs of New York. How interesting our world would be if all of us put that kind of effort into our own work, cinematic or otherwise.

I opened this piece with a scene from Gangs of New York, but let’s take a closer look since it is important part of Scorsese’s work, and it does much to clarify his work at large.

Gangs of New York – 2002

In the commentary, Scorsese talks of the film affectionately as a kind of origin story for his mobster films and for his beloved New York City.  The Five Points, where the film takes place, was a real neighborhood in New York, and it was no walk in the park. When Dickens visited it he found it to be worse than anything he’d encountered in London.

In spite of his affection for the city, Scorsese resists the urge to romanticize New York. Instead he dramatizes the ugly parts, showing us in a heightened way the racism amongst rival ethnic groups, the rampant street violence, the aversion to President Lincoln’s reforms,  the corruption of Tammany Hall, the strong-arm voter tactics of the time, the damage done by rivalry between fire departments, the way the soldiers were coerced into fighting in the Civil War, the rowdy blackface performances and circus spectacles, and the decadence of the opium dens. That’s weeks of American history packed into one dramatically compelling, occasionally savage, film.

American Express commercial featuring Robert DeNiro, Directed by Scorsese – 2004


Those are not qualities most of us want in our cities, but there is value in acknowledging their existence. Assuming that the corrosive reality does not somehow corrupt the observer, which is a legitimate risk, then seeing the ugliness of things as they are can lead to corrective action. 

It is worth mentioning too that the film came out in 2002, and the film  concludes with a kind of time lapse of modern day New York. It ends with a skyline of the Twin Towers.

Daniel Day-Lewis’s Bill the Butcher is the savage villain at the heart of the story. He doesn’t hesitate to kill those who stand in his way, but he does not try to kill Leonardo DiCaprio’s Amsterdam Vallon when he first learns of his treachery. Instead he allows him to raise an army against him because he admires his “murderous rage.” Bill the Butcher goes so far as to suggest that there is something inherently American in a savage struggle for survive, and Scorsese seems to agree.

Bill the Butcher, Gangs of New York – 2002

It’s not exactly how John Ford would phrase it, but it is a valid interpretation of American history. Is it the one we want to pass on to our kids though?

That said, if you strip away all the spectacle of that film, you’re still left with a morality tale. Over at Satan’s Circus (that’s the actual name of the hideout) you have Bill the Butcher—a murderer, racist, and schemer—and his assortment of rogues, corrupt officials, and pickpockets. On the other side is Amsterdam Vallon, oppressed Irish immigrants, liberated blacks, and believers of democracy. Want to guess where they are headquartered? That’s right. At the new church they’re building.

This quote from Amsterdam is their rallying cry: “The past is the torch that lights the way. Where our fathers have shown us the path we shall follow. Our faith is the weapon most feared by our enemies. For thereby shall we lift our people up against those who would destroy us.”

Faith: There it is again. It’s not in the pristine, easy-to-digest form that some of us have come to expect from our spiritual leaders, but it is there nonetheless. If you don’t acknowledge its presence, there is only so much depth you’ll take away from Scorsese’s films. It’s sort of like reading Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment because you’re looking for a terse psychological thriller: You’re missing the point, and so you’re better off consuming the fast-food equivalents.

Scorsese’s film Last Temptation of Christ was definitely not an easy-to-digest film for many religious types. The film caused such controversy that Scorsese received death threats for it and had to travel with bodyguards for months after the film was released.

Scorsese on set for Last Temptation of Christ – 1988


From what I saw and read of them, the protesters were acting from an impression that Scorsese was this infidel Hollywood type who was trying to desecrate a faith dear to them. While I can understand their reactions, that’s not the impression I got of Scorsese in my exploration.

Scorsese himself explains that when a studio head asked him why he wanted to make the film, he replied by saying “I wanted to get to know Jesus better.” In his film, he shows Christ as a man who sees the ugliness in the world but wants to transcend it, who starts to sense that he has a higher purpose in this world but must grapple with the ever present, pulsating temptations that try to distract from that purpose.

There were one or two shots that I could have done without, the ones that added fuel to the controversy without adding much to the story, but overall I embrace the film as a personal, courageous exploration of faith.

In the film, Christ does imagine what it would be like to raise a family and be sexually intimate with Mary Magdeline, but he chooses instead to avoid that option and face the hardships that come with his divine destiny. Spoiler alert: He dies. To say that Christ was tempted is not inherently blasphemous, but the merit of the idea’s execution is open for debate.

Scorsese acknowledges that the film was his way of exploring what it might be like to be both God and man, and what man isn’t tempted by a beautiful woman, Scorsese implies. Did it really happen that way? Who knows, but it is a personal look at Scorsese’s own struggles with faith, much in the same way that Matthias Grünewald painted Christ as if he were afflicted by the same plague that was ravaging Europe when Grünewald was painting.

Isenheim Alterpiece – Matthias Grünewald, 1512-1516


It may not be historically accurate, but it gets across a greater truth: Christ was a man of sorrows who suffered much and faced temptation similar to what we’ve all known. Neither Scorsese’s nor Grünewald depiction of Christ matches the pleasant, air-brushed Jesus who is brandished by those who want to keep things comfortable.

Martin Scorsese often puts himself in his films in interesting ways, and notably in Last Temptation of Christ, he uses his own voice for that of the Devil in the wilderness. Scorsese has repeatedly quoted parish priest Father Francis Principe’s critique of his films that he shows “too much Good Friday and not enough Easter Sunday,” so it is almost as if Scorsese is acknowledging his own death-bringing tendencies that can, if fully embraced, lead himself and others astray.

Still, it is only fair to point out that Scorsese is far more reverent in his treatment of the Dalai Lama. At no point in his film Kundun does the young Dalai Lama violate the tenets of Buddhism, although presumably he would have been tempted to do so, much like Christ was. This might be due to Scorsese’s reverence toward a religious tradition of which he is an outside observer. Kundun also came several years after Last Temptation of Christ, so Scorsese’s feisty defiance of religious conventions may have mellowed somewhat.

That being said, the taboo-breaking aspects of Last Temptation of Christ still testify to the subversive side of Scorsese. Then again Doestoyevsky had a subversive streak too. After all, in Crime and Punishment it is Sonya the prostitute who brings the message of God’s grace to Raskolnikov. Well…nobody’s perfect!

There is something to be said for being spiritually minded but also acknowledging the struggle, instead of whitewashing reality. If only the saintly and the immaculate were to speak of spiritual matters, then the rest of us would despair at being so far from the ideal.

It’s sort of like how Director of Photography Michael Chapman was encouraged by seeing Scorsese’s rough storyboards. As Chapman explains, their unpolished nature reminds him that, contrary to how he might appear from a distance, Scorsese too is mortal.

Scorsese’s storyboard for New York, New York – 1977


In our spiritual struggles through life, most of us need to see the rough sketches, the works in progress of others. It is reassuring to see that others too are struggling, and if others can prevail in their struggles, then perhaps we too will someday find the grace to get past ourselves.

Hugo is based on a children’s book, but it is still very much a film about spiritual struggle.  As Hugo explains, “everyone searches for purpose. Maybe that’s why broken machines make me so sad. They can’t do what they’re meant to do. Maybe it is the same with people. If you lose your purpose, it’s like you’re broken, like Papa George. Maybe we can fix him.”

I first saw that film when I was getting the devastating, thoughtless treatment from a few Hollywood types. I was at the point where I was seriously questioning my interest in working in an industry where people can transition so effortlessly from smiling at the cameras to being monstrous when they’re off, but the optimism of Hugo, its celebration of filmmaking and of the power of cinema at its best reinvigorated my career aspirations, for a few months at least. It is by far my favorite of the Scorsese pictures, but ironically enough it is also the most Hollywood in its sensibilities.

Scorsese on set for Hugo – 2011


Usually Scorsese is not so rosy in his movies about filmmaking. In the commentary track for Casino, Marty suggests that the casino bosses were not unlike studio executives. I can only imagine the kind of studio executive who would be flattered by the comparison, but I’m sure he’s out there somewhere.

In the Aviator, director-producer Howard Hughes is a visionary but also a self-destructive narcissist driven to madness. I know  that one is based on a true story, but it is worth mentioning that Hughes is the only famous filmmaker that Scorsese has chosen to profile.

Says Scorsese, “It’s a fascinating story for me because he’s the richest man in the world, yet he’s not safe from himself.” Would you want to spend months of your life working with that kind of man? And yet, someone’s got to do it and get paid handsomely for the trouble. Otherwise films wouldn’t get made.

King of Comedy – 1983


In The King of Comedy, the Jerry Lewis character, Jerry Langford  is the typical dismissive celebrity jerk when he isn’t doing his routine, and the only way that Robert De Niro’s character, Rupert Pupkin can get any respect from him is when he threatens Jerry with violence. Then again, Rupert is willing to kidnap Jerry just to get a chance at fame. Ah, show biz! Regardless of where your sympathies lie, the film does not exactly make you want to dive right in to the worldwide web of entertainment, but it is honest. 

Then there is The Color of Money. There are many films that talk about filmmaking under the guise of a different subject, but they do so in a subtle way. Not Color of Money. It’s about as direct as it can be about its preoccupations.

When Tom Cruise’s Vincent gets angry that Paul Newman’s Fast Eddie Felson was feeling up his girlfriend for the sake of a con, Fast Eddie responds by saying, “I’m acting. It’s acting.” His girlfriend adds, “Hey look Vincent, when you go into movies and you see people kissing, what do you think, they go home together? They’re professionals, Vincent.”

The Color of Money – 1986


The reality is that actors do go home with each other after working on a film shoot and that the acting  they do can strain relationships, especially when ambition and desire for money are the driving forces behind those relationships. In the film, Fast Eddie is actually partnering with Vincent’s girlfriend to manipulate him into compliance.

Fast Eddie tells Vincent, “Human moves, kid. You study the watch, but I study you.” That’s as concise of a description as you can get of a film director at work.

Vincent goes along with Fast Eddie because he is intrigued by the opportunity but also because he looks up to Eddie and sees him as a kind of father figure. Eddie though sees Vincent as just a potential paycheck. It is heartbreaking enough when Vincent starts to realize this, but it is even more so in context of the 1961 film The Hustler.

The Hustler – 1961


The two films are 25 years apart in production, but the Color of Money is still a legitimate sequel to The Hustler, directed by Robert Rossen. In the Hustler, Paul Newman also plays Eddie Felson, but in that one he is the apprentice to Jackie Gleason’s Hustler. ( A neat casting choice to allow Newman to revisit the character, right?) As an apprentice, Paul Newman is the earnest young man, but the Hustler is gaining influence with him. Realizing that she’s losing him, Eddie’s saintly girlfriend pleads with him to choose love, but he chooses the life of the hustler instead.

Fast forward to the Color of Money. Eddie is a broken, miserable man, but he is still trying to turn Vincent into a version of himself. Eventually Vincent gets better at running cons, as Eddie obsesses over how to get back in the game and get bigger than ever. The film ends with no one finding satisfaction, and by then it is clear that the color of money isn’t green; it is red.

Scorsese’s music films tend to be a little more optimistic, and that probably has something to do with the role of music in his life. Says Scorsese at the beginning of his documentary The Blues: Feel Like Going Home, “I can’t imagine my life or anyone else’s without music. It’s like a light in the darkness that never goes out.”

The Blues – 2003


Similarly in Bringing out the Dead, when Nic Cage is trying to resuscitate someone he asks the family, “Do you have any music? Music. I think it helps if you play something he liked.” (The family looks for a Sinatra album to play.)

The choice of music adds distinct vitality to Scocerese’s troubling violent sequences in films like Mean Streets and Who’s that Knocking at My Door. And yes, Scorsese was using music as counterpoint long before Tarantino ever tried it. In films like Gangs of New York and The Departed, the music gives texture to the ethnic communities on display.

Scorsese’s documentary film The Last Waltz is considered by many to be the definitive rock concert film, although I wasn’t familiar with it prior to preparing for this post. When I saw the list of musicians involved, I figured that they had a strong music budget to be able to include a wide range of songs, but the list pertains to musicians who were actually IN the film as performers!

Here are just a few of the musicians who perform along side The Band in the film: Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Muddy Waters, Van Morrison, Emmylou Harris, and Neil Young.

The Last Waltz – 1978


To have all those performers in one place to send off The Band gives the film a surreal quality. It’s almost as if the musicians sense that their time on earth with each other is limited, so they’ve got to make it count. It’s the Last Supper of a fading generation’s Rock ‘n’ Roll legends, and what a supper. 

In Scorsese’s documentary George Harrison: Living in the Material World, there is a similar ethereal sense, contrary to what the title suggests. The film begins by showing all the distractions that the Beatles faced: the fame, the drugs, the girls, and so on.

It’s as if the film is trying to convince us how unlikely it would be for someone to find a spiritual path amidst all that, but that’s what George Harrison did. He retreats from the material world, seeking spiritual fulfillment instead, and so it ends well for him. I don’t want to spoil it, but it is one of the most transcendent endings of a Scorsese film, up there with the ending of Last Temptation of Christ and the Last Waltz

George Harrison: Living in the Material World – 2011


Let me close with Scorsese’s Age of Innocence. That one took me a while to classify in relation to his other films. It’s not quite a vicious struggle for survival. Nor is a romance or a story of a spiritual awakening. It’s more like a story of a spiritual journey that almost was, but one that didn’t quite work out.

The film makes us believe that Daniel Day-Lewis’s Newland Archer would be happy sharing his life with a certain woman, but society does not agree. This discourages him, and so he keeps the lady at a distance, but he does not give up entirely on the prospect.

In a fateful moment that resonates throughout the film, he tests fate. “He gave himself a single chance,” the narrator explains. “She must turn before the sailboat crosses the limerock light. Then he would go to her.” 

Age of Innocence – 1993


What happens next changes his life. Was it his fault? Was it hers? Society’s? Hard to say, but clearly something that should have been wasn’t. Newland tries to forge a new life, but he is never quite the same after that.

The film ends on a poignant note with Scorsese’s dedication to his father, who died on the same year of the film’s release. The story does parallel in some ways the details I’ve read of Scorsese’s childhood, so I wonder how close to home the film hits.

Further reflection on Age of Innocence put the rest of Marty’s films into perspective. Scorsese’s main characters tend to be on some kind of spiritual quest, but most of the time they don’t get it exactly right. They are instead led stray by one thing or another, by violence, by sex, by social pressures. Whatever it is that gets them, it doesn’t let go easily, and more often than not, the characters don’t find their ways back.

They cling to their distractions, and in so doing they place themselves in a hell on earth of their choosing. If only someone had been there to help them get it right, but that’s not usually how it goes with a New York state of mind.

Hugo – 2011


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As always, thanks for reading and God bless.

Cameron Crowe: Our Rock and Roll Warrior for Optimism

“There is a good bet that I will erase all of this from my laptop, and you will never read it.  But if you are reading it, and you’re reading it right now, it is only because I was unable to stop.” Those aren’t my words; they’re from the mission statement in Jerry Maguire—you’ll need the special edition to read it—but I can relate.  Cameron Crowe wasn’t the guy who got me interested in filmmaking, but his movies have been a big reason why I’ve kept at it in spite of the heartaches that have come along the way.

It’s hard enough to write about someone whose abilities I greatly admire,  but it’s a whole other ballgame when his work has impacted my life in a deep, sometimes searing way.

Photo credit: flickr.com/michelleu-c


I figured I could either do a polished, impersonal pass at it, or I could tell the truth. It’s an obvious choice if I want to honor the things Cameron Crowe values: the power of telling the truth even when it hurts is a recurring theme in his work.

Some examples to prove my case: “Let us be honest,” are the first words we see Jerry Maguire write in the mission statement I mentioned at the beginning. Writing it changes his life.

In Vanilla Sky, Tom Cruise’s character gets a chance at true love only when he can honestly confront the ugly parts of himself.  William, the Cameron Crowe alter ego in Almost Famous, has to choose between looking cool and being honest.  Like almost every other Cameron Crowe hero, William chooses honesty and takes a beating for it, but he emerges stronger by the end.

Photo credit: flickr.com/yewenyi


Don’t forget, the first movie Crowe directed was titled Say Anything.   The name comes from an understanding between a father and a daughter that they can say anything to each other as long as it is honest.  When the dad gets caught lying, it destroys their relationship.

OK so we’ll be honest, but let’s get some context before we dive too deep.  “Rhythm,” “dissonance,” and “rebellion” are words you might expect to find in a rock & roll discussion.  But optimism? The word seems a little out of place.  That is, it seems out of place until you throw Cameron Crowe into the mix.

Photo credit: flickr.com/bluepisces


An accomplished filmmaker, Crowe has earned rock & roll cred by writing for Rolling Stone, where he got to interview and tour with some of the biggest rock bands of the 70s.  Plus, he’s penned liner notes for bands like Led Zeppelin and Lynyrd Skynyrd and  done music videos, and he’s currently finishing up a documentary on Pearl Jam.

Then, of course, there are his movies. Singles and Almost Famous are both grounded in specific music scenes, Seattle grunge for Singles and 1970s rock in Almost Famous.  Along with Nancy Wilson, he  created a fictional band for Almost Famous and then recorded a few of their songs.  His other films have compelling soundtracks that he’s helped to arrange.  He plays music on set to get his actors in the right mood and talks about his movies in musical terms.

With just a line or two of dialogue like the quote that follows, he gives us insightful music commentary but makes it feel like it’s the most casual observation in the world: “So this is what’s become of rock and roll, a smashed guitar behind a glass case displayed in some rich guy’s wall.”  Oh yeah, and he was married to Nancy Wilson, the guitarist from Heart.

Photo credit: flickr.com/edberman


So where does optimism fit in? To hear Crowe tell it, it’s as if optimism and rock & roll were made for each other. In this interview with beliefnet.com, Crowe states, “I think if you have an open mind and you aren’t too strict about where the greatest messages in life can come from, and honor the message itself, you’ve got to say rock & roll is a powerful, powerful messenger for goodness-as well as subversive elements that are there in all elements of the world. But I love great music and the transcendent place that it takes you to.”

It was Cameron Crowe who described himself as a “warrior for optimism” in an interview with Entertainment Weekly, and he’s earned the title with his body of work. His movies remind us of why we’ve grown cynical but then conquer that cynicism with sincerity and decency.

Before she meets her true love, played by Campbell Scott, Krya Sedgwick’s character in Singles gets conned by someone who only wants her body.  That makes her a little more guarded.  Steve has his own setbacks to overcome.  He has committed all of his efforts at work to building a monorail.  In most movies he would succeed at his goal, and win the girl in the process.  In this one, his project fails entirely.  Still they make it work by sharing their frustrations with each other.

Pearl Jam, “The Fixer” directed by Cameron Crowe


If you haven’t seen Singles yet, give it a shot.  There are lots of fun cameo appearances.  Some of the guys from Pearl Jam are in it, playing in a band called Citizen Dick. They’re as cheesy as you’d expect with a name like that.  Then there’s Tim Burton who we learn is going to be the “next Martin Scor-ceese.” He makes ridiculously awful dating videos for his clients.

And let’s not forget our friend Paul Giamatti of Lady in the Water fame.  He plays “Kissing Man,” but he does so much with his few moments on screen.  There is passion but vulnerability.  Ferocious intensity, but also a longing desire to get past the superficial aspect of it all.  It’s like he’s channeling James Cagney and Earnest Borgnine at the same time. OK, I’m just kidding … about the James Cagney bit.  Still it was a good moment for the Giamaiester, and I’m guessing the casting director for Sideways liked his work in Singles enough to give him the keys to kingdom. Anyway…

In Almost Famous, the band does sell out.  They listen to Jimmy Fallon’s promoter and opt to go the route that will get them more money and publicity.  In the process they leave young William high and dry, and they do away with their beloved band bus, nicknamed Doris, to get a jet.   Symbolic of their decision to sell out, the jet literally almost kills them. Eventually, the band members confront their flaws, and Russell Hammond does right by William. Only when the band rediscovers its soul does Doris the bus return.

Photo credit: flickr.com/jerryjohn


Jerry Maguire is inspired to write his mission statement because he notices that “in the quest for the big dollars a lot of the little things were going wrong.”  People at his agency were willing to do anything to make more money, even if that meant lying or putting the health of their players at risk.

Everyone remembers the phrase “show me the money” from that film, but Jerry’s mission statement actually emphasizes putting personal relationships above profit. He wants to be in the business of caring about his clients, of doing the right thing.  That’s why he gets fired.

Oh yes, I do remember when I first saw Jerry Maguire.  I was in London, studying abroad. It was a new city for me to explore, full of history, of drama, of possibility. We were sort of a family, me and all the American kids in my program, but slowly the all-too-familiar feeling of being out of place returned.

How awful to feel that way even in a seemingly magical metropolis. I had to numb myself.  It was the only way I knew to deal with the pain. Doing that sort of thing only hurts when the numbness wears off, but when it does, it is so very hard to get up and fight again.

I didn’t want to get up and fight again. Things did not change for me, no matter what I did or where I went.  I was about to go to sleep, but something told me to turn on the TV.  I did and saw that Jerry Maguire was playing.  I thought, “no way do I want to watch an egotistical jerk shout about getting more money.” Still, the voice insisted. Curious, I started to watch.   Soon the movie got to the part where Tom Cruise’s character realizes that he’s good at business but horrible at intimacy. That got my attention.   It did more than that, in fact.

Photo credit: flickr.com/thomashawk


On one level, Jerry Maguire is about a man who carves out a new and noble sports business for himself, but on a deeper level it is about a man who learns to love by remembering the notable example of his now-absent father. As he tells us in voice over, Jerry becomes his father’s son again when he writes the mission statement. Then, he bonds with Dorothy’s boy because they both miss their fathers, and the boy wants Jerry Maguire to be his new dad. That brings Jerry closer to Dorothy, which forces him to break through his fears of intimacy and finally arrive at love.

Seeing Jerry Maguire find love made me a little more hopeful that I could someday make things work. My reaction was like that of the kid in Say Anything who hears about how Lloyd Dobler, a financially challenged jock, is daring to make things work with a more affluent girl who happens to be the school’s valedictorian: “This is great. This gives me hope. Thanks.”

Photo credit: flickr.com/thomashawk


It was Jerry Maguire and the hug of one girl in London that made it possible for me to write my first script. The girl was the first one who ever hugged me in a way that felt like it meant, “I am so very glad that you are here.” I didn’t know hugs could do that.

Back to our director’s films.  It’s not just in Jerry Maguire that Cameron Crowe makes dramatic use of an absent, noble father.  There’s no father in Almost Famous, a dead one in Elizabethtown, an incarcerated one in Say Anything, one who abandons a boy in Singles, and a distant, corporate one in Vanilla Sky.

The absence of a caring father is so devastating to Tom Cruise’s character in Vanilla Sky that he imagines a surrogate father into his life.  Add to that what Tom Cruise the person has shared about his own abusive father, and Vanilla Sky becomes, more than any other film that comes to mind, a sort of cautionary tale about how the absence of a noble father can sour the development of a young man. (There is also a bit of that in the TV show Lost, but you’re in a different category when you have lots more hours to tell your story.)

Photo credit: flickr.com/alan-light, 1989


Vanilla Sky is actually a retelling of the Spanish film Abre los ojos (Open Your Eyes).  Both are excellent films, but Vanilla Sky has an added layer that examines celebrity culture.  It comes with the territory of having Tom Cruise in your movie, and his performance consists partly of playing up to our expectations of him as a celebrity.  That’s why it has more of an impact when he also plays against those expectations in the film.

Taking into account Almost Famous, Jerry Maguire, and Vanilla Sky, I don’t think it’s a stretch to conclude that Cameron Crowe has a bit of a love-hate relationship with celebrities. On the one hand, the famous ones are often capable of awe-inspiring greatness, but on the other hand they can be thoughtless in how they treat others. They’re also sometimes enabled to damage the world by those who protect them from the consequences of their actions.

In Almost Famous, the band trades Penny Lane to another band for a case of beer.  When Penny finds out she tries to kill herself.  At first, even Jerry Maguire protects the sports stars he represents from sexual allegations until he gets a change of heart.  Tom Cruise’s character in Vanilla Sky is oblivious to how his actions are hurting others, until it is too late.

Photo credit: flickr.com/brandoncwarren


Still, one of the big ideas in Vanilla Sky, as Crowe himself tells us, is the value of being able to take the sweet and the sour that life has to offer. That’s also not a bad way to think about celebrities.

Sure, a band might abuse drugs and women, but that doesn’t negate the joy they spread when performing.  Celebrities like Joan Crawford or Tom Cruise might have their dark sides, but that doesn’t detract from their dedication to their craft or their capacities for emotional honesty.  It is possible and quite healthy to admire others without overlooking their flaws.

That kind of approach has been enormously helpful to me.  It allows me to confront bad behavior even when it comes from people I admire, and for almost everyone there is the sour that goes with the sweet, even for Cameron Crowe.

Photo credit: flickr.com/margolove


He is one of my favorite filmmakers, but I still wince at some of his tendencies.  He does fight for optimism, but his movies also encourage a more casual attitude toward swearing.  It’s not that swear words offend me or that I don’t ever swear myself, but there is something to be said for civil discourse in public.  It bothers me a little more when it’s the young kids in the scene who say the swear words, as happens in Say Anything and Jerry Maguire.

And then there is Fast Times at Ridgemont High.  That’s the one he wrote but didn’t direct.  Prior to listening to that commentary track, I thought his commentaries always added depth and texture to his films. I mean, how can you not admire a guy who includes the perspectives of his mom and his wife in his discussions?

Well, the Fast Times commentary is the only one I’ve ever heard that has made me like a film less.  In it, Crowe explains how he was so excited to hear Sean Penn say “dick” that he would plead for him to say it every time he saw him.  When I heard that, I imagined Cameron Crowe as the kind of  kid who would punch the piñata he carried in celebration every time someone described a girl’s breasts.  Classy.

Photo credit: flickr.com/brandoncwarren


Also, he and Amy Heckerling bemoan the mean ol’ ratings board that would not allow them to show erect penises along with the two naked chicks that they already featured, one of them almost showing full-frontal nudity. Crowe laughs off concerns from the critics that they were exploiting teenage girls for their film.  The characters might have been underage he tells us, but the actresses were at least 18, and the girls wanted to go even further with the sex scenes.  If anything, the filmmakers were showing tasteful restraint, Crowe suggests.  What a jerk, I thought.

I enjoy seeing beautiful women as much as the next guy, but it is such a challenge not to get caught up in treating women like sex objects, and movies like that don’t help. Sex is such a big part of our lives, but it can be devastating when we get it wrong, so why make things tougher on the audience by showing them such explicit images?

Photo credit: flickr.com/seeminglee


On top of that, one of the girls in the movie spends more time deliberating about what dress to wear than about whether she should get an abortion.  In this movie, picking the right dress requires consultation, but getting an abortion doesn’t.  It’s just a matter of finding the right person to drive you to the clinic.

I know that abortion is a tough subject, and I don’t expect every filmmaker to share my point of view, but how disappointing to see that getting an abortion was played as such an obvious choice.

I was actually depressed for a few hours after watching the movie and hearing the commentary.  Why was I admiring the guy largely responsible for such a shallow film?  Clearly he was just like everyone else, and I was so wrong about him, and if Cameron Crowe is like that then why not settle for a shallow existence?  Then I got a nice text message from a friend, and that sent away my sour thoughts.

To be fair, the book version of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, which I read shortly after re-watching the movie, was more enjoyable.  That’s the one Cameron Crowe wrote before he turned it into a screenplay, and it has more nuanced character moments in it.  For example, Spicoli the pothead isn’t just there for comic relief.  He’s trying to cope with his dysfunctional family and his struggles in school.   As to the abortion scene, we actually read about the girl’s feelings of dread and isolation at the clinic.  She asks the doctor, “Does it hurt more to have a baby?”  He responds, “Yes. But you mind it less.” That does change the context a bit, don’t you think?

Photo credit: flickr.com/brandoncwarren


It’s encouraging that Crowe’s depictions of sex have matured in his later films. There’s nudity in Vanilla Sky, but it is handled in a more tasteful way.  In his comments about that film, he talks about the merits of not having sex right away and about how casual sex is never as casual as people pretend.  Then there’s the line from Cameron Diaz:  “When you sleep with someone, your body makes a promise whether you do or not.” In Elizabethtown, Kirsten Dunst’s modesty is protected by a few foaming bubbles, and so the scene becomes flirty but not lascivious.

A few days went past before I realized why Fast Times affected me the way that it did.  I had been idolizing Cameron Crowe, and doing that can lead to trouble.  No man is God, regardless of how talented or famous.  Cameron Crowe is a big inspiration, but he’s human just like the rest of us.  He has his virtues and his vices.  I just wasn’t willing to acknowledge that before I started preparing for this post.

That’s why I defended Elizabethtown as a great movie when it first came out.  It isn’t.  It’s a well intentioned film with terrific music and moments of greatness, but it has its flaws.

Instead of allowing the ensuing action to develop from the inciting incident, Crowe tries to expand the story by resorting to attention-grabbing set pieces like an over-the-top wedding party unrelated to the main characters, a TV show about exploding houses, and Susan Surandon doing a comedy routine about boners.  Her routine actually causes a plane-like bird to crash and start a fire.  Subtle realism that scene is not.

He didn’t have to resort to those kinds of tricks on movies like Jerry Maguire or Vanilla Sky.  I’m guessing the problem was that certain aspects of his own father’s death were still too painful for him to explore in a creative project.  Still, the movie made enough of an impression that it inspired me to take a road trip and to seek out some of the cities that the movie mentioned.

Photo credit: Me, road trip 1: Beale St., Memphis.  (Photos from Road Trip 2 are here.)


Anyway, my reaction to Fast Times got me thinking about how people might see me if they only  saw certain moments of my life in isolation.   Some moments might suggest that I’m a monster, others that I’m a saint, but I’d like to think I’m just a guy trying to do the best I can with what I’ve been dealt. I’m still waiting for God to fix the parts in me I can’t resolve.  Someday.

I’ve definitely done things I’m not proud of doing.  I’ve tried to move on, to do better, but sometimes I still stumble.  Meaning well doesn’t change the fact that there are still consequences to the things we do, no matter how much we try to avoid them.

Remember the girl in London I mentioned earlier? Things never work out. At that point in my life I wasn’t ready to meet her.  I was too busy trying to numb the pain, and so I lacked the character I needed to really connect with her. Sad when that happens.

Photo credit: flickr.com/c-reel


It’s like Jason Lee explains to Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky, “You can do whatever you want with your life, but one day you’ll know what love truly is, it’s the sour and the sweet.”  You can’t have one without the other.

The holidays can be a time of celebration, but they can also be a reminder of all the things in our lives that aren’t working.  If you’re hurting, don’t give up.  Actions do have consequences, but to quote Vanilla Sky once again, “Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.” What’s done can’t be undone, but it’s not too late to fix the future.

Photo credit: flickr.com/bea-258


In Say Anything Ione Skye begs a banker to “be a little decent,” but why be just a little decent? Be boldly, outrageously decent and take that leap of faith. All kinds of interesting things might happen if you do that, but you’ll never know if you never jump off that building.  Good is out there. It’s just a little harder to see in our cynical world.

In a featurette for Jerry Maguire Tom Cruise tells us, “Optimism in many ways is a revolutionary act today. People who are optimistic tend to get battered a little bit in this world at times.”   That’s true even for Cameron Crowe. Elizabethtown, the last movie he made, took a beating from the critics, and his divorce to Nancy Wilson just got finalized this month.

Photo credit: flickr.com/bea-258


So, this Christmas lets send our prayers of gratitude and hope to Cameron Crowe: May you stand up once again, like the noble warrior that you are, and lead us bravely into battle once more.  For what it is worth, I’m still fighting, and you’re a big reason why.

Let’s end with a story.  My mom is the kind of person who always seems to walk in on a movie at the most inopportune moments.  One year when I was watching Jerry Maguire at home, she came in during the sex scene at the beginning.  “Why are you watching this trash?” she asked.  I tried to explain that it wasn’t as graphic as it could have been, and that the movie actually had a positive message.  She walked away unconvinced.

Later she came back during the climactic football scene at Christmas.  She studied the screen for a moment then spoke.

Photo credit: flickr.com/pagedooley


She mentioned John 3:16, as if she had just won an argument.  “What do you mean?” I asked. She pointed it out.   Sure enough there is a poster prominently positioned in the stadium that says “John 3:16.” I had never noticed that before.  At least the movie has something that is right, her words and gestures conveyed.  Yeah. Rock and Roll, Cameron Crowe.

Merry Christmas everyone, and God bless.


To learn more about Cameron Crowe or to read some of the articles he wrote for Rolling Stone, check out his site at cameroncrowe.com.

If you appreciate my writing, why not write a comment to say thanks or share the post with a friend? It would encourage me to keep writing and sharing bits of my heart with you.  But, I don’t want to keep spending time on things that people don’t value, so would you please speak up if you want me to keep writing.

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I only write if I believe I have something worth writing and after I’ve spent some time finessing my thoughts.  If you’re following along by email, you’ll know right away when I have a new post waiting for you.  It is very easy to unsubscribe, and you won’t receive anything unrelated to my blog.  As always, thank you for reading.