HR:“You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home. All the rest is bullshit and you know it.”

“You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home. All the rest is bullshit and you know it.”

These words open Martin Scorsese’s Mean Streets (1973) one of the most personal and visceral of all of the new Hollywood films to emerge. It fulfills every single promise made by Scorsese’s earlier film Who’s That Knocking at My Door? (1967) and explicitly states who and what he was.
This is one of the films that knows how to speak “movie”. It knows the “reel” power of film inside and out and joyously exploits every trick it can. The story is minuscule points of life strung together into a more cohesive whole. It is a representation of a time and place in America.
It is so visceral and so vibrant and so energetic one can easily parallel the French New Wave. However, I believe that Scorsese was actually the only American New Wave filmmaker in this entire period. He made what he knew into movies with the same passion that he had for them. When the characters are in trouble or don’t know what to do with themselves-they go to a movie. When they are in turmoil and torment, they are in Roger Corman’s The Tomb of Ligeia (1964) which is the most tormented of his Poe adaptations.
The Catholic guilt Scorsese is famous for is present here, but it isn’t really about religion overtly. Religion is supposed to be a guide and Charlie just can’t find any guidance in it whatsoever. Yet, he will continually test himself over the flames both physically and mentally.
Since the 1970’s Scorsese has never made any films as visceral as Who’s That Knocking At My Door?, Mean Streets, and Taxi Driver. This is not to say that his later films are bad, but that they are completely of a different nature. His good films in the modern day and age all have the hallmarks of his earlier more cinema verite work. He needs to make movies to express the giant movie in his head. This I can completely associate with. I’ve never been to New York, but I can connect completely with what he is trying to get across. This is because these early films completely use every single frame to communicate with the audience in a completely direct way. Marty was coming from New York into a completely closed off world in California and has always really remained the other guy who makes passionate films.
There is a moment in Mean Streets that is almost a throwaway moment that has stayed with me ever since. It is such a simple moment where Robert DeNiro is supposed to come into a bar with two girls. Harvey Keitel watches intently. Anyone else would have just presented the scene normally, but Marty has the bar just completely bathed in red light and DeNiro comes into the bar in complete slow motion and you can just feel the ambiance and Keitel’s frustration. The soundtrack kicks in with Jumpin’ Jack Flash from a 45. The entire film is completely of a homemade quality because it really was done that way. The opening credits are 8mm home movie footage of the actors just goofing around. And it just works.
Scorsese had learned how to make an official feature on Boxcar Bertha (1972) for Roger Corman. This was really his first true movie of his own that was an official production. And it shows. It flawlessly blends the innovation and liveliness of Who’s that Knocking with the studio technique of Boxcar. Yet it is one from a personal place and this maintains the feeling of real life on the streets. Scorsese even participates in the film himself as both a gunman and the speaker of the opening narration with which I opened. Those words are not just scripted, but from the heart.
Since Taxi Driver, Scorsese’s films have been nowhere near the energy level of his debuts. The great ones have a more realistic grittiness; The King of Comedy, After Hours, The Last Temptation of Christ, Bringing Out the Dead. Goodfellas hearkens back to Scorsese’s childhood experiences with the Mob and all of the things that surrounded his existence. However, it has always left me out in the cold somewhat. Casino is often referred to as the lesser Goodfellas yet it has so much more to experience as a film. It is long (nearly three hours), convoluted, visually stunning, massive, and just full of so much to chew on that you could essentially get drunk on cinema.
When was the last time that you could actually claim you did that? Movies are an experience. Scorsese’s best works are a testament to that. The rest is bullshit. And you know it.