Please let me know in as much detail as you can provide what you thought of this week's film, focusing in particular on what it was about it that you appreciated the most (a scene, a performance, an aesthetic choice, etc.).Also, in this past week's reading from Scorsese on Scorsese, the director talks about how he and his friends have a running joke about referring to slow movies (those where the camera doesn't move much) as "mature." Scorsese read in the Village Voice that Jim Jarmusch said something like, "I'm not interested in taking people by the hair and telling them where to look." In response, Scorsese says, "Well, I do want them to see the way I see. Walking down the street, looking quickly about, tracking, panning, zooming, cutting and all that sort of thing. I like it when two images go together and they move."
At the conclusion of your response, let me know whose side you're on - Jarmusch's or Scorsese's? And briefly explain your choice.
I look forward to reading what you write!
19 comments:
Matt Fagerholm
All of a sudden, I’m seeing red, and it’s not because I’m angry. It’s because I feel like I’m reaching an epiphany about color in a Scorsese film, although I’m not exactly sure what it is. In my paper about Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, I noted how red seemed to symbolize Alice’s childish dreams, which she literally clings to in one scene (in the form of her red dress as her dreams of love with Ben come crashing down). Ever since that film, I’m seeing red everywhere—in Taxi Driver’s nightmarish climactic bloodbath, in the dreamlike “Happy Endings” number in New York, New York, even in our blog wallpaper! Hell, the reason Scorsese chose to shoot Raging Bull in black and white was because Michael Powell pointed out the inappropriate color of La Motta’s boxing gloves, which were, naturally, red.
Red is a major player in The King of Comedy, and also seems to represent the equally superficial dreams of its main character, wannabe comic Rupert Pupkin (who wears a pumpkin-like grin). It’s the color of his tie in the early scenes, concealed within a bland blue suit. It illustrates how his dream is practically bursting out of his seams, as he doggedly pursues his hero, late night host Jerry Langford, who he desperately wants to become. Eventually, as Rupert’s desperation increases (which eventually leads to him kidnapping Jerry), red starts to pervade other parts of the frame. He carries a red suitcase to Jerry’s office, which bears walls that are half white, half red. Back home, the wall behind Rupert’s fake talk-show stage is red (as is seen in our blog picture). Red also attaches itself to objects of Rupert’s desire, such as the clothes worn by his female infatuation Rita. As he and his equally psychotic pal Masha hold Jerry hostage, they dress him in a red sweater, even prompting Masha to declare, “I’m so glad I went with red.” The final scene is the culmination of Rupert’s dreams (and is arguably a dream), as he steps before an endlessly cheering audience on his own late night show. And he’s wearing a completely red suit.
The King of Comedy is a film that took me entirely by surprise. It is a masterpiece that easily achieves as much greatness as the more celebrated Scorsese films. What I loved about the film, apart from its aforementioned aesthetics, was how Scorsese put a deliciously comic spin on his specialty for staging excruciatingly awkward interactions between characters. The three lead actors—Robert De Niro, Jerry Lewis, and Sandra Bernhard—all outdo themselves here, giving Oscar-worthy tour-de-forces that are at once uproariously funny and profoundly disturbing. What really makes the film succeed is how Scorsese identifies with Pupkin, never allowing him to turn into a one-dimensional target where the audience can aim its ridicule. Scorsese makes you feel for everyone in the film, which makes its jet-black satire resonate on the deepest possible level. This is one of the best films I’ve seen in a while and my personal favorite I’ve seen so far in class.
While I respect both Scorsese and Jarmusch, and approve of their respective filmmaking approaches, I find myself moved a whole lot more by Scorsese’s technique. I haven’t seen many Jarmusch films (probably the only one I saw in its entirety was Broken Flowers), but I have yet to get involved in his style, which is oppressively slow and subdued. Scorsese sure does point the audience toward what he wants them to see (such as the color red), but his technique is not at all shallow and spectacle-driven. There is so much depth and complexity in the cinematic material Scorsese presents before our eyes. His ever-moving camera excites the audience, inviting them to delve into his world, whereas Jarmusch’s stationary gaze alienates the majority of filmgoers. Again, both of these storytelling approaches are equally valid, but Scorsese’s is more accessible. And red.
This weeks film The King of Comedy is one of my favorite Scorsese films we have screen so far. The film is saturated with Scorsese’s style. It reminded me of a melting pot that was filled with all of Scorsese and De Niro’s past collaborations mixed together, and left to stew until The King Of Comedy was what was finally served.
The film has an essence of all of De Niro’s past characters. It contains every bit of his immaturity of Mean Streets, his passion for fame and fortune in New York, New York, his struggle in his relationships with women in Raging Bull, and his inept attempts at gaining what he ultimately desires in Taxi Driver. All of this collected together, and allowed to flourish under Scorsese’s directorial hand.
The truly unique aspect of the film that I enjoy the most is the ambiguous line that Scorsese draws, dividing dream and fantasy from reality. The film constantly shifts back and fourth, evoking to the audience, Rupert Pupkin’s actual sense of reality. He himself cannot distinguish dream from reality so why should the audience?
The moment in this film where Rupert takes the woman from the bar to Jerry Langford’s vacation home, I had a revelation. I couldn’t determine whether or not it was real or just another fantasy conjured up by Pupkin. It was then that I had realized I had been pulled into Rupert’s world. His obsessions were my obsessions, and his fantasies and true life actions were out of my control.
In the argument between Scorsese and Jarmusch, I can identify with both of their opinions. Scorsese is absolutely correct in supporting the idea of a director wanting the audience to see how they see. Scorsese is known for the excessive amount of personal vision he puts into his films. This is how a filmmaker becomes an author by telling their story. If the filmmaker doesn’t make his film personal it might as well be a product developed on an assembly line manufactured to be entertainment and nothing else.
On the other hand Jarmusch jokes that slow films are mature films. Though I think he has a valid point, I wouldn’t necessarily generally categorize all slow films under the label of “mature”.
Films can just as easily be slow and lack a great sense of maturity. Take a majority of student films. It is often said that a student film usually bores an audience 15 seconds into a film. If maturity is defined by the pacing of a film why are so many student films slow? I would go as far to say that slow films, for the most part, show a great sense of immaturity in the fact that students don’t yet know how to tell a personal story, and at the same time engage their audience.
I believe what Jarmusch was trying to say is that “mature films” are “simple” in execution, but are still able to communicate the major themes, and evoke emotional responses in the audience. Just as in the maturity of The King of Comedy. It was a film that was simply executed, but just as emotionally powerful as a film with an elaborate style.
What I really liked about the film was how Pupkin would just delve into his own dream world from time to time. At first, it was funny, how he’d just pretend to be in some serious conversation with Jerry Lewis and it would start to cut back to Pupkin in real life, talking to no one. It’s something that originally I thought served more as a joke than as an indication to Pupkin’s character. But someone in class brought up a really good point that we never see his mother and that the entire ending of the film could’ve been fake too. That really changes those scenes completely. If Rupert’s mother is really dead and he’s having fights with no one, that’s pretty scary. He may know that his little conversations with Jerry are in his head, but if he still talks to his dead mother and doesn’t really remember that she’s dead, that’s something different altogether. It really makes his character more dangerous in my mind and the film becomes less of a comedy and more of a tragedy. Especially if the entire ending is all just in his head, because it very well could be.
What I loved about the ending is that at first, I completely believed that he’d have a show, that his book would sell millions of copies. I believed all of it because I wouldn’t put it past our society to love a crazy man that way, it’s been done before. We really love our crazy celebrities. But if the ending is fake, I wonder where Rupert really is, if he’s still in prison imagining this, or if he’s gotten out and he’s imagining it. And what will happen to him when he gets out if he isn’t famous. He’s the kind of character who would just do the whole thing all over I think.
Between a moving camera and a non-moving camera, I’d say I’d choose the moving camera. Although some films can work without a whole lot of camera movement, I think a moving camera is just more interesting to watch. And between Scorsese and Jarmusch, I’d watch a Scorsese pic any day of the week over Jarmusch. My favorite Scorsese films are the ones where the camera is almost always moving. I don’t think very many directors can zoom in on something and it look good, but Scorsese has a way of zooming in that almost makes it obvious it’s a zoom and it some how works. Not only that, but its fun to watch. In great films, it’s rare that an audience will walk away saying, “Hey, did you see that awesome shot when the camera was just still and those guys were standing in the frame?” Instead you hear, “Hey wasn’t that 5 minute dolly shot through the crowd amazing?”
I’m not saying Jarmusch doesn’t make good films because he doesn’t move the camera around, but I think moving the camera, like Scorsese says, is a great way to show an audience what to see, what to look at. It’s why people will go see a movie instead of a play.
Logan M. Futej
Andre Bazin had the theory that films should reflect a director’s personal vision. Clearly, this is something Scorsese has achieved in most of his pictures. When most people see a Martin Scorsese picture in the opening titles, people usually figure someone’s head is going to get cracked and the mafia will take up all the principal roles. But what we really see when we see this Directors name is an Auteur who keeps his style, and vision under any circumstance. From films such as Alice Doesn’t Live here Anymore, to Bringing out the Dead, to Raging Bull, and to King of Comedy there is a very strong consistent voice in all of his pictures.
In The King of Comedy we see a person who is isolated from society, but wants so badly to be embraced by it. We see a true loner, and an outsider. Sound familiar? Something that really intrigues me is the violence in this film. It’s there, but its’ not. I think it is all very internal. As the story moves on, it just builds and builds inside of Rupert, just as with Travis Bickle and Jake LaMotta. It’s as if Rupert wants to be Jerry’s friend on the outside, but deep down Rupert just wants to take his place. The scene where Rupert is hosting a show in his basement with cardboard cut outs of Liza Minnelli and Jerry is by far one of the eeriest scenes in cinema that I have ever seen. It’s funny at first, because it comes off as goofy and corky, but when you really look into the scene things get creepy. It’s as if Rupert really believes he is talking to both of these celebrities, and we truly see the loneliness that consumes Rupert and what it makes him do. Along with being odd, this scene really bums me out for Rupert. I think Rupert deep down is just someone who needs a little attention.
Overall, the acting is what really gets me in King of Comedy. De Niro’s performance is just amazing. Being well known for the tough guy roles, we see an Actor with quite a range. Especially bouncing from many films during the period that The King of Comedy was made. Films such as Deer Hunter, True Confessions, and not to mention Raging Bull. But what we see in Rupert is this corky character, completely off beat to what De Niro is known for, which is why I think it’s popularity lagged. Still we clearly see that this Director / Actor duo can accomplish anything. We also see that Scorsese is able to direct women once again, and has no fear in doing so. Especially under the circumstances of Sandra Bernhard and the character she is playing.
I really have somewhat of a Bias opinion, but I think neither Jarmusch nor Scorsese are wrong in the way they do things. Both explain why they do them, but Scorsese states that he wants people to see the way he see’s, which to me is something clearly personal. As for the whole comment that Sergio Leone made, maybe he was just saying that because he thought the acting was great, and De Niro was working on his project right after. Who knows?
I love the scene where the Rupert is fantasying about taking over the show for Jerry. I love how the cross cut betweens the two scenes of him in the restaurant and him in his apartment.
They really play up the reality versus fantasy. Even the shots of reality on the Rupert are close up then the fantasy is a medium shot.
I think this scene is where we first get into the characters head. This scene and several after that make me wonder just how sane Rupert is. He seems to be mixing fantasy with reality.
It seems he switches where is reality is fantasy and his fantasies are his reality.
It definately was not what I expected and I think Scorsese was showing just how much the media can play a role in our ideal of a person. But that even has me questioning whether then end was reality or fantasy.
I agree with Scorsese. I believe whether Jarmusch realizes it or not but he sub consciously leads the audience. If not by the camera then by the score or story. That is usually was a film does is it points the audience where it wants to. Whether it is a motif, color, aesthetic etc. Even when you try not to direct the audience I think you do by using other technics. That's just how movies are.
De Niro and Scorsese. Scorsese and De Niro. A mixture we had the privilege to witness throughout the last few pictures and this time we take a giant leap into the realm of comedy – or rather dark comedy. At first, quite frankly, I was a little freaked out by Rupert Pupkin played by De Niro. I mean, we’ve just watched Travis Bickle driving the dark streets of New York with suicidal tendencies and an urge to cleanse the city of the filth, and then Jake La Motta, the tragic anti-hero boxer who beats everything fair and square – even the people he loves. And now I’m supposed to buy into Rupert Pupkin, a naïve but super-motivated rookie stand-up comedian who tries to take every chance to get into the entertainment business. Although disguised by the mustache, it was hard for me to believe that role at first but soon I was intrigued by this Pupkin character and his predicament.
Clearly something I enjoyed the most about his film was the sense of disorientation Scorsese created throughout the film. Cutting between reality and dream world, I lost myself wondering in so many scenes whether that was another of Pupkin’s crazy imaginations or wishes or if it really was happening. Not only does it add to the comedic yet embarrassing and tragic tone of this movie, but it also keeps me, the viewer, in the same state of mind. The steady never-resting Pupkin goes to great lengths with his patience and the scenes in the office are remarkable, sometimes unbearable and really hard to watch. I feel for Pupkin because sometimes, embarrassment and selflessness are part of getting those few minutes with a higher-up person. Only in Pupkin’s case, too many obstacles are blocking his way.
The great ending, lead up by the remarkable abduction of Jerry Langford which partially reminded me of Sidney Lumet’s “Dog Day Afternoon” where just too many things went wrong, Rupert finally gets to do his “thing” on Jerry’s show. This ending reflects and stands on its own completing the picture by showing how show business indeed is working. The irony, the circumstance, the police and investigators in the back, Jerry being simultaneously seduced by Rupert’s accomplice and Rupert Pupkin’s impressive and seriously funny stand-up mark the peak and complete the picture in a way, it couldn’t have been made better.
As far as camera movement goes, I do support both opinions. Overall, it always depends on the story, on the characters and of course on the director. Scorsese loves the moving camera because he might experiences life or has experienced life the same way – constantly looking left and right, behind, up and down. Simply based on the pace of his speaking, one can only imagine how he must observe things. In the end, as long as the movement is justified, serves the story in a sense that the movement is generated either internally (thoughts) or externally (movement by characters) it helps and it is invisible. But as soon as the camera takes over and floats around for no reason it becomes distracting and ultimately hurts the story.
Are they really people like Rubert Pupkin? I was squirming in my seat for most of King of Comedy because of the Pupkin’s character. He seemingly just didn’t get it? Did he? He just put the car in drive, slammed the gas full throttle, and smacked into a wall over and over and over again. Instead of spending years in the clubs working his way up, Pupkin’s “genius” got him his own show, book dead, etc. And, we finally get an uplifting ending for one of Scorsese’s flawed protagonists.
I liked this film for all of these reasons, yet there was one thing that was very important to me about this dark comedy. In In My Voyage To Italy, Scorsese reviews the Italian director Vittorio De Sica, and Scorsese reviews how De Sica combined comedy and drama so close together that it was to the point where the audience didn’t know whether it was appropriate or not to laugh at the scene. In a way, I found De Sica’s approach to comedy a recipe for dark comedies. Scorsese can also be found successfully applying De Sica’s approach, not just in King of Comedy, yet in many of his works. All talk more about this during the presentations when my partner and I will research and lecture about De Sica’s combination of comedy and drama and how it has influenced Scorsese over his career.
Well, it looks like Scorsese and Jarmusch find themselves having the same kind of debates that teacher and students have in Prod I and II classes. I think this is one of the most frequently revisited arguments I’ve heard here at Columbia. I’ve probably heard this argument more than I’ve heard people arguing over the Stones or Beatles! Okay… so you know, here’s the way I’ve always looked at it. Plain and god honest truth. Screw it. It’s your film! If you see things a certain way, and have a certain cinematography preference, then use it. It’s your film, it’s how you see it, and it’s how you want the audience to view it. So what you believe is right and screw everyone else, even if everyone else disagrees with you. It’s your film. I will say this though. I will say one thing with Sergio and Jim on what my definition of mature is. When a director/cinematographer is able to take the camera away and make it unnoticeable, when the audience doesn’t recognize the techniques being used in the soundtrack, when the stars become actors and the actors become characters and a film becomes a story and the audience isn’t thinking about any of this, that’s when you’ve accomplished a feat. Being able to put the audience in disbelief of reality and place them in the world of the narrative takes a mature director to do so. And I believe this can be accomplished from both Scorsese’s and Jarmusch’s stances. If done well.
This film to me was very different than Scorsese’s prior films. This is his first dark comedy. At first it caught me off guard. I’m used to seeing people shot at, punched in the face, or lives being tragically ruined. In fact, the last film we watched, Raging Bull, had all of these elements in them. Scorsese also chose to use Robert Deniro once again. Deniro’s performance was second to none, but considering his previous acting appearances it was hard for me to adjust at first.
After the brief adjustment period, the film began to take shape. People have said this is one of Scorsese’s must mature films. He does not move the camera as much as in his previous films. I think this is partly due to the fact that he just got done shooting Raging Bull, which he assumed would be his last. He put every ounce of effort into that film, every unique and creative thought sweat from his tired body. Scorsese needed a break. I believe he purposely chose to minimize his camera movements and allow the actors to carry the film. This does not hurt the film in anyway. He was blessed with the talented Robert Deniro and Jerry Lewis. He also did not shy away from his reoccurring shooting styles, which are seen throughout his works. For example, the use of mirrors, I think is present in each and every one of his films. During the scenes at Pupkin’s favorite bar, Scorsese aesthetically designs his shots with the mirror showing the actions. I have not taken note if other directors seem to use mirror shots as much as Scorsese, but after watching his films up to this point I’d say he is the King of Mirrors!
I really liked the scene when Pupkin is being chased in and out of the studios hallways. Again, Scorsese did not move the camera. He stayed in one shot and let the actors run back and forth across the frame. This is very effective and much more beneficial for the result of being comical. Scorsese loves to use ideas from films that have influenced him. This particular shot reminds me precisely of the Three Stooges films. They have chase scenes in many of their films that are directly shot in this fashion.
One thing I did not like in this film was that there was no difference in the dream sequence shots to the reality shots. This confused me. I personally think if Scorsese used different lighting or a different style of some sort during these dream shots it would have helped carry the story better. It took me away from the suspension of disbelief. I was instead distracted left wondering if this was real or not and was not involved directly with what was happening.
Scorsese would not be critically acclaimed as one of the top directors of his time if he listened to Jarmusch. Scorsese is Scorsese because his films are all so personal. He puts as much as himself into the film as possible. Which I believe makes his films so intriguing. One can feel his presence in each and every shot. Scorsese is a perfectionist. He wants people to see every minor detail he puts into the film. Everything is important. If people did not appreciate every last inch of the film frame he would not be satisfied with his work.
Brandon Schiffli
Thus far, out of Scorsese’s work I have enjoyed “Taxi Driver” and I have really enjoyed “The King of Comedy.” These are my two favorite Scorsese films. The reason why they are so interesting to me and I enjoy them so much is because they are mainly driven by one character who embodies each scene with his presence. De Niro’s performance as these characters adds to it as well. Just as I was during “Taxi Driver,” I was infatuated with this character that Scorsese was presenting to me on screen.
Rupert Pupkin, as much as he is sad and pathetic, is a fascinating guy. His obsession with Jerry Langford makes his motives very questionable which is why I am compelled to invest my time into this character. What does he want? That was the question that I kept asking myself as he obsessed over this man. Does he want to be friends with Jerry Langford? Does he want Jerry Langford? Does he want to be Jerry Langford or does he want to be like Jerry Langford?
It seems at times that he wants to be Jerry, especially when he dresses like him. When he imagines that he is sitting and talking to Jerry in his fantasies he wants to be friends with Jerry. When he kidnaps Jerry it seems he wants Jerry. It is revealed in the end that he wants to be like Jerry, but it is set up as if he has nothing in common with him and couldn’t possibly be a comedian.
This film is very awkward. Everything that Rupert does is embarrassing. The scenes where he is in the lobby of Jerry’s office are uncomfortable. When Rupert goes to Jerry’s house when he is out golfing is unsettling. That is what this movie is all about. It is set up for this guy to go over the edge and end in failure. Most interesting of all, it doesn’t end like that. I was pleasantly surprised that Rupert is not a bad comedian and he becomes successful because of his stunt. It is a happy ending and ended up being a much better film than I had anticipated throughout.
I agree with what Scorsese says about directing everything. To truly see what a director is trying to get across, every shot must reflect how they see things. It should reflect how they see the world while walking down the street. Scorsese sounds like he is describing himself in terms of what the world looks like in his head. It is almost as if he is describing what he sees things through “looking quickly about, tracking, panning, zooming, cutting…”
When considering what exactly was the single most impressive aspect of the film The King Of Comedy, there are a lot of things that come to mind, but overall I believe it is Robert De Niro's performance as Rupert Pupkin that makes the film what it is. As Pupkin, De Niro walks fine lines between cocky and vulnerable, disillusioned and determined, understandable and completely insane among others. The role is played to perfection as we the audience are forced to watch a man that truly wants something, doesn't get it, but refuses to give up on it; it is a character that should be understood by anyone who has ever had a dream lay seemingly out of reach. Through the film I struggled to determine whether I should be mocking Pupkin, or rooting for him, but I ended up doing neither, I was just along with him for the ride as he laid it all on the line. The film's conclusion shows Pupkin succeeding as a television personality. I have a hard time believing this as a reality, but instead look at it as a Taxi Driver type ending, where the character is heralded for his radical actions, but perhaps we should question he legitimacy of what we are shown.
In terms of Jim Jarmusch and Martin Scorsese's opposing views on who's eyes the audience should see the film through, their own, or the directors; I have a hard time choosing just one. Both of these directors are responsible for some wonderful films, so who is to say that one of them is right in the debate of camera movement. I feel that each film needs to showcase aesthetic choices that contribute to the relaying of the story. For Scorsese's films the jerky cameras in particular scenes contribute to the presentation of the settings by making the audience feel like a character. However, a film like Jarmusch's Elephant presents long takes that put the audience in the mood of a ghostly all seeing being who witnesses events as the unfold in realistic timing. Both of these techniques work in the respective films, so I can not easily choose one over the other. But, with a gun to my head, i would say I agree with Jarmusch's statements, because they reflect how films should be subjective and open for interpretation, which I agree with in nearly all cases.
The King of Comedy
After my first viewing of Scorsese’s The King of Comedy last week I must admit I liked it a great deal. The story was great and the performances were amazing to say the least. De Niro in particular really blew me away playing a character that is so much in the opposite direction of the characters he has become famous for. If anything, I almost find his performance in this film much more impressive than most other films I have seen him in. De Niro does such an amazing job of becoming this utterly pathetic, slightly disturbed, but nonetheless strangely funny character that at times I forgot who I was watching. De Niro’s performance aside, Jerry Lewis and Sandra Bernhardt also did more than hold their own on screen cranking out hauntingly honest and disturbing performances. I must admit though, I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing Sandra Bernhardt in her underwear and been happy, but unfortunately, The King of Comedy brought this moment to eyes.
Not only did I find the plot of the film completely enjoyable and entertaining but I also found it to be a very powerful statement on the reality of hero worship and kind of powerful hold it can have on us. It really brings into question the status of celebrity and really what comes along with that word both from the celebrity’s point of view as well as the adoring public’s eye. The scene where De Niro is the his basement, or his mothers basement, having the imaginary talk show brings up the question of whether these are delusions stemming from his hero worship for Jerry or delusions of the celebrity he has made himself in his own mind? It is interesting to wonder just how sane Rupert was, especially taking into account the scenes where reality and fantasy suddenly begin to blur, particularly the very ambiguous ending.
Lastly, in the Scorsese vs. Jarmusch battle royale I must side with Scorsese’s corner. I love his style of a very active camera and personally wish I could incorporate more of this in my own work. When I am watching a film I am giving myself over to it and letting myself be taken for a ride. Scorsese provides this ride and in turn creates a greater sense of involvement in the story for his audience. The camera not only gets the audience more involved but also can be used as a tool to manipulate our emotions, which Scorsese has done time and time again. The slow moving, solitary camera style of Jarmusch may indeed fit the type of story he is trying to tell but if it’s a matter of my personal opinion I think it can get very dull at times. I do not have a problem with Jarmusch or his films but I guess I must side with my Italian brethren in this situation.
The King of Comedy is a film that I love mostly for the performances of its three stars, Robert DeNiro, Jerry Lewis and Sandra Bernhard. This film would not be nearly as good without them. (I can imagine other actors in these roles but cannot imagine their performances would surpass the ones in the film.) Scorsese's ability to handle the actors, let them define their roles, shape and fit them around their individual personalities is, ultimately, the major aesthetic victory of The King of Comedy.
Bernhard's largely improvised seduction/confession scene with Lewis should have won her an oscar. I haven't heard a funnier line than, "I want to be black!" Her character is so thoroughly insane that anyone would be terrified by her presence. But because we have the distance of the screen, we can see how often times crazy people, in their moments of pure honesty, are so ridiculous that it's funny. Nothing she says in that scene makes any sense because she's delusional--her notion of reality, her own life even, is completely confused with her fantasy projection of herself. That is, what she wants to be (ostensibly, Lewis' girlfriend and, by association, famous) is precisely what she is not. In reality, she is a desperate, psychotic, delusional, sociopathic celeb-ophile who can't accept her life. She is anonymous when she wishes to be popular (if even to just one man, Lewis).
DeNiro's Rupert Pupkin is very similar. Both seem to be in need of love and acceptance; DeNiro because he has always been rejected by his peers in school (as evidenced by his fantasy wedding on the late show), by women (from his mother to girls he fell in love with, to his "friend" and accomplice Bernhard), by celebrities and their world of producers and secretraries and limo drivers and security guards, and by the public, all of whom collude in depriving him of the one thing he wants more than anything: fame. Which is to say, love.
Pupkin is possibly the most un-loved cinematic persona ever to be filmed. Whether he achieves fame and thus love and acceptance by the film's end is debatable. But, clearly, the absence of love is his motivation for everything he does in the film. And I think that idea is something Scorsese is more interested in exploring. Why is this guy so unloved? Sure, he's overbearing, pushy and overly ambitious, but he's likable too. He's pretty funny, he's fairly intelligent, and he's not entirely incapable of attracting attention from women. What's the deal? Is it because he was abused by his parents, as he alludes to during his stand-up routine? Was it because he was bullyed in school? Is it because he lacks any sort of spiritual awareness? Is it because society kind of makes freaks of us all if given the right circumstances and a vulnerable and susceptible state of mind? Who knows. The fact that Scorsese saw it fit to meditate on these possibilities rather than present some logical and straightforward reasons for Pupkin's delusions and actions is what makes this film resonate and feel real. After all, even if we knew Pupkin ourselves, we wouldn't be able to shed any more light on the nature of his character than Scorsese does in this film. All you can really do is turn the camera on him in the most honest way possible and let the audience decide for themselves.
As for the the Jarmusch/Scorsese debate, I think both approaches are acceptable. I think the difference has more to do with personalities than to theories of filmmaking. Jarmusch seems very laid back (smokes tons of reefer) whereas Scorsese is so the opposite of that. Maybe Jarmusch was always sort of a cool kid (even at 12) and Scorsese wasn't really a cool kid until he got to NYU. Who knows. Both make interesting films, Jarmusch's tend to be slower but certainly not more mature than Scorsese's. These two come from different planets.
King of Comedy seems to be filled with well placed oddity. This is a complete departure from what we traditionally see from Scorsese. Typically we are subject to vividly realistic performances, any quirks to character is seen only to enhance depth. Here he only focuses on the oddballs. Pupkin is not only a stranger to normal society but he is interpreted by an actor who doesn't attempt to bring reality into his performance.
Scorsese has covered the screen with funny people and/or supremely talented actors. In this situation he does the right thing, he allows them to interpret the character as they see it, even if this means a stretched performance. Within this the characters are still grounded in reality, obsession with image plays an intriguing theme to this film. The frightening portraits are brought to life by Sansra Bernhart and Robert DeNiro. Particularly I am attracted to the performance of Bernhart who Scorsese allows to completely set herself loose. This adds layers to her performance which otherwise may have seemed a typical psychotic. Here she drowns on about things that begin in the realm of hilarity then slowly moves into awkward fright. Here Scorsese has shown that he can allow elements of his films completely out of control, letting the acting push past technique.
I think the question posed is interesting. I think Scorsese uses too much movement in his films. Trying to direct the viewer too much creates a lacadazical experience which is exactly what people detest in hollywood film. Whereas I do believe that Jarmusch has a tendency to turn film into stage, which can completely bore the viewer. The argument is interesting, typically I tend more toward a film that plays out the performances rather than stressing them with camera moves.
The King Of Comedy
Okay, this is the one I liked the most, so far. As you know, comedy is what I enjoy the most when it comes to movies. I like to be entertained. Sometimes I don’t want to have to think much about what I’m watching. I just want to sit back and laugh sometimes. Martin Scorsese usually has something in his movies that makes me laugh. With The King Of Comedy I was laughing for the majority of the movie. The whole time it wasn’t jokes that were just said and made everyone laugh. There were parts that made you feel really uncomfortable and all you could do was laugh to not feel embarrassed. It isn’t my style of writing, but I have a great respect for someone that can evoke that kind of an emotion that makes you want to turn away, but you can’t. You want to look at the wall for a minute, but you keep your eyes on the screen. Like the part where Robert DeNiro and the girl go to Jerry Lewis’ house. The whole time you feel uncomfortable that he is there and leading on the girl, but all I could do the entire time was laugh.
Robert DiNiro gave an excellent performance as a comedian. I thought he was crazy the entire time which was perfect. He may have been a little crazy, but like his performance in Taxi Driver, what is crazy exactly? He is devoted to becoming and stand up comedian and be somebody that he would do anything, even kidnap Jerry Lewis. So, maybe he isn’t crazy really. I like how Scorsese plays on that. To most people the main character is insane, but if you think about it, their want becomes a necessity to survival and will stop at nothing to achieve it. It’s like how some people need money. They will sell out their own family to get it. Sick, huh?
I wanted to mention also that I needed to see Robert DiNiro do the stand up comedy at the end. I needed to see his routine. I was scared throughout the film that they weren’t going to show it. We would just hear about it. He really was funny and had good comedic timing. I remember in class that we talk about movies that set you up for something and don’t deliver. Well, he delivered what I wanted most out of the movie and I thought it was great.
I guess I would have to be on Scorsese’s side. It’s hard to chose because sometimes it does get a little annoying. It depends on the film. In King of Comedy I didn’t want the camera to move around a lot. Yet, in Taxi Driver it helped develop the characters, along with Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. Scorsese understands that the camera can be a person looking on to a scene instead of a scene being like a stage where the characters move in front of us. Also, when the camera moves, we see more of the setting which gives us a better picture of where the character is and what is actually in the scene.
I never expected to like The King of Comedy. The idea of Scorsese trying to tackle a pure comedy made me slightly uneasy. I thought it would turn out like Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, a venture into a genre where he wasn’t strongly suited and which didn’t totally accommodate his style, but I was proven wrong. Scorsese perfectly mixed comedy with drama in this film and I was presented with arguably one of my favorite films in his oeuvre.
The reason this film resonated so much with me is because it is presented with two layers. On the surface it’s a hilarious story about Rupert Pupkin (Mr. Pumpkins?) a down and out comedian trying to make it in the stand up comedy world. He obsessively follows around his idol Jerry Langford in hopes of getting his big break from him. It operates on the level of a comedy movie and does so with great success, but the reason I feel it’s a truly great film is that it goes deeper than that.
There is a pitck black side of the film which is very dark and unsettling and which I found to be utterly fascinating. Rupert, like many Scorsese characters, is enmeshed in a dream world where he alternates between reality and fantasy, sometimes imperceptibly. He has absurd daydreams about going to dinner with Langford and trying to talk him out of having him host his show for a few weeks and he banters in his basement with a Liza Minelli cardboard cutout. These fantasies are used to serve a comedic purpose, but also to show the troubled nature of Rupert.
A perfect example of this duel edged nature is when Rupert finally gets his shot on the Jerry Langford Show to do his bit. His entire routine was about how screwed up and funny his childhood was which never leaves us concerned since we are too busy laughing. But once you realize that everything he is saying could very possibly be true, it becomes much more disturbing. He talks about how his parents were poor, how his mother was alcoholic, how the kids used to beat him up and how he tied Jerry up across town to get on his show. I got the distinct feeling that these things were all true and while I was still laughing, I was very uncomfortable. It illustrates the old cliché that there is truth in every joke. I think it’s a powerful monologue because we all use humor when we are uncomfortable or insecure. Like the kid who jokes about his parents getting divorced or people cracking wise at a funeral.
It’s difficult for me to choose one side of the argument because I agree with both to some extent. I hate it when at movies everything is spelled out for the audience in an insulting way. That’s the reason I hate Ron Howard’s films so much because this guy is good, this guy is bad, look at this, don’t look at that. If the audience isn’t given any freedom to decide for themselves what’s visually important then it’s just like being spoon fed the moral of the film. On the reverse when the frame is too vague as to what you’re supposed to be looking at films can get boring and hard to watch. I like that can lead to messy, lazy filmmaking since you’re not taking the time to plan out your shot and what the most important elements of the mise en scene are. I guess that I prefer Scorsese’s film to Jarmusch’s so I will side with Scorsese.
I’ve seen some movies about obsessive sociopaths, some of them good, some of them horrible, but The King of Comedy really stands out. I always wonder just a little bit when someone makes a convincing piece about a lunatic. Is there some kind of crazy person inside Scorsese, on the verge of kidnapping and terrorizing to get a point across?
Anyway, DeNiro rivals what would later be an ultimate masterful performance by Ted Levine doing Buffalo Bill. I seriously thought for about twenty minutes that there was nothing that wrong with Rupert Pupkin. He was just a little nutty. But, oh, no, once Ru started talking to Cardboard Minelli and opening his arms before an imaginary crowd, hearing what I suppose was his dead mother’s voice, it was evident something freaky was afoot.
The scariest thing, maybe, about someone as off their rocker as Pupkin is the parts we can relate to. Yeah, so, I’ve made-believe in my head now and then that I’ve managed to grab hold of some success. And, yeah, I’ve hoped that someone smarter than me would think I was brilliant. Not to the extent that Rupert fantasizes, I promise, but still little bits here and there of things I wish would come to pass.
And maybe this harkens back to the idea of fantasy becoming nightmare. Rupert gets his shot on national television, but his ten minutes of fame are doomed to be followed by his arrest. And the ending? I think it’s possible most of that was in his head. Let’s face it, Rupert’s stand-up made us chuckle here and there, but it’s nothing we haven’t heard before. It’s the classic “take my in-laws… PLEASE!” routine, where all the jokes are antiques. Except, of course, for the classic bit about kidnapping Jerry to have a shot at being on the show. Dramatic irony never fails. Well, almost never. And, at length, Rupert’s realization of his fantasy leads to his downfall.
So what made this movie for me, as much as the nice, steady pacing leading up to the kidnapping was, was the main characters. I will fall for a story about fucked-up people nine times out of ten. And not only is kidnapping a TV host as a means to impress a girl you’ve got no shot with an insane gesture, it’s pretty creative. The thought, thankfully, has never occurred to me at any point of my flirtations with someone.
Then, of course, there’s Sandra Bernhard, whose obsession with Jerry freaks me out on two levels. First, stalking can get creepy. But secondly, and much bigger, did you see her half-naked? She had a negative amount of body fat. It’s like she spent so much time jilling off to thoughts of Jerry that she forgot to eat. Ever. She’s like a horny, make-up-covered corpse. That’d put a halt to my stand-up career, if I were Jerry.
And, you know, Jarmusch of Scorsese, I don’t really care. It’s all silly. Directs will get in their head how they see the movie, and I’m fine with that. Movies are adapted from ideas adapted from screenplays adapted from stories adapted from ideas. It’s all subjective. If someone thinks a movie should be static, fine; if someone else thinks a movie needs camera movement, fine. Variety is the spice of, well, you know.
The King of Comedy, though not my favorite of Scorsese's films had many great qualities. I love the blur between reality and fantasy of Rupert. I was totally lost when I found out that he really was taking the bar girl to his getaway home for the weekend. The film was hard to watch at times and I had to revert my eyes at some of the more desperate moments when Rupert's hurt psyche comes out from the wood works. I still have yet to decide whether or not the end is real or fantasy because part of me believes it but another just says it can't be he's still living with his mother. Which I love how you never see the mother, almost as if even she is a part of his fantasy like Norman Bates and his mother always telling him what to do. Now more than half way through the semester and seeing many Scorsese films I have learned they are not about violence and gangs, like a beginner to Scorsese might think but they are of obsessed characters who are always fixated and driven towards a singular goal.
Between Jim Jaramush's style and Scorsese's I choose Scorsese but I love the camera moving and the kinetic quality in his pictures. Not to say I don't love a static camera I just prefer movement throughout a film and the static camera at strategic points.
The King of Comedy, though not my favorite of Scorsese's films had many great qualities. I love the blur between reality and fantasy of Rupert. I was totally lost when I found out that he really was taking the bar girl to his getaway home for the weekend. The film was hard to watch at times and I had to revert my eyes at some of the more desperate moments when Rupert's hurt psyche comes out from the wood works. I still have yet to decide whether or not the end is real or fantasy because part of me believes it but another just says it can't be he's still living with his mother. Which I love how you never see the mother, almost as if even she is a part of his fantasy like Norman Bates and his mother always telling him what to do. Now more than half way through the semester and seeing many Scorsese films I have learned they are not about violence and gangs, like a beginner to Scorsese might think but they are of obsessed characters who are always fixated and driven towards a singular goal.
Between Jim Jaramush's style and Scorsese's I choose Scorsese but I love the camera moving and the kinetic quality in his pictures. Not to say I don't love a static camera I just prefer movement throughout a film and the static camera at strategic points.
Keep up the good work.
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