After the release of his premier debut into the musical genre, with New York, New York (1977), Martin Scorsese was interviewed by the Rolling Stone Magazine to discuss the shift. A prominent topic were the overarching themes that the Italian-American director had deemed worthy enough to carry on from his last acclaimed work, Mean Streets (1973). One of which was guilt - an omni-present emotion in both his personal and filmmaking life. He explained it's continued inclusion as a bi-product of his upbringing, describing it as: "a double shot of Catholic guilt with a garlic chaser" (Rolling Stone, 1977).
This quote has since followed him throughout his illustrious career spanning over half a century and set the foundation for “typical Scorsese” : Someone who does wrong, knows it, feels the guilt, and is in search of redemption. Growing up in a working-class Catholic household, Scorsese understood the role guilt needed to play in his life. In fact that little metaphor directly shows us that to him, the emotion of guilt is hardly a burden, but a pillar of his culture and faith. There can be no renewal without guilt, no absolution without the shame to make you realize your mistakes first.
Just as garlic is a central ingredient to any traditional Italian dish - often running the risk of overpowering the meal - Scorsese's characters and narratives driven by guilt are what make his best work, well frankly, the best. In Mean Streets (1977), often described as Scorsese's first true masterpiece, we experience guilt through the eyes of lower echelon Mafiosos, punks, and petty criminals. The protagonist Charlie played by Harvey Keitel seeks expulsion for his existential and sexual sins not through faith but rather on the streets, where life has truly condemned him. The film's tagline reaffirms this emotional tug between religion and the grit of reality: "Go to Church on Sunday. Go to Hell on Monday.
Balancing a tumultuous relationship with the erratic Johnny Boy and an immoral love with Teresa, Charlies feels the weight of his wrongdoings, as the film ends on a redemption-denying note for all of them. This initial exploration of guilt, allowed Scorsese to frame the emotion from many different perspectives, and introduced us to his justice-served style. There can be no escape from the consequences, even for someone like Charlie, who despite being by surrounded by bad people doing bad things, tries to keep a moral code.
Yet for all the moments Scorsese chose to lay the hammer down on his characters, and show us the crippling effect of immorality, he eventually allowed for accountability to conduct the end of his stories. In 1980, Raging Bull was released and quickly touted as some of his best written work, providing us with the first true example of a one-man act surrounding guilt. It centers boxer Jake LaMotta's battle with inferiority complex as he rises through the ranks in the ring, while careening towards a life defined by aggression and jealousy outside of it.
After abusing his wife, and cheating on her with a 15-year-old whom he grooms into marrying him, it would seem that LaMotta's directly undermining everything around him. However, we soon realize that these heinous acts are corrupting his own life, leaving him more dependent on his vocation, and the violence that comes with it. Eventually, a 6-month period in solitary confinement, years after his retirement and estrangement from his family, ensues ownership and a cry of despair. This plea may not be interpreted as much by many viewers, who are unable to see past his obscenities, however it does elicit guilt in it's purest form. Accountability may not be the right word, but as Jake forcibly hugs and kisses his little brother after his release, we get this creeping sense of forgiveness…and maybe even a little bit of empathy.
Martin Scorsese may never seem to release a “bad” movie, but few have reached the level of cultural importance and influence that Raging Bull has. This however, did not stop him from sticking to his guns, and continuing to tell stories about all the rough and tumble, dirt-dwelling suckers who need some sort of saving. From the alienated Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver (1976) to the betrayal and psychological decay for the mobsters in The Departed (2006), you can always count on some sinful shit to come from some people who could be best described as “real works of art” in any of his films.
Emotional themes are tricky things. There's either not enough time to cover all of them, or lackluster direction and novelty to tell us about just one. I think Martin Scorsese has perfected the latter, and it's not to say he's formulaic, I mean there's a trope and then there's the guy who invented it - and he's forever exempt from using it “too many times”. Especially when guilt has clearly played such a pivotal role in his life, and directly inspired a lifetime of revolutionary work. Just as “a garlic chaser” defines the legacy to his Catholic upbringing, Scorsese's films always leave a beautifully satisfying thread of guilt for us to uncover. But don't get me wrong, nobody can do it quite like him without being called played-out, only because he's been developing his own unique recipe with just the right amount of this proverbial garlic. As Anthony Bourdain once proclaimed: "Garlic is divine. Few food items can taste so many distinct ways, handled correctly. Misuse of garlic is a crime".
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