Raging Bull (1980) is Martin Scorsese's most challenging film - no mean feat, considering his filmography. Like Taxi Driver, it studies a malcontent, but Jake LaMotta lacks even Travis Bickle's accidental heroism. His rise and fall isn't pretty, but it's certainly compelling.Middleweight boxer Jake LaMotta (Robert De Niro) fights his way up the ladder in '40s professional boxing. Tough and resolute, he becomes an underdog hero by beating flashier fighters like Sugar Ray Leonard. His manager is brother Joey (Joe Pesci), a mob-connected hood. Jake leaves his first wife for teenaged Vikki (Cathy Moriarty), but the two soon grow estranged; Jake's jealousy and violence destroys his private life. Jake can't enjoy his success, going to seed early and descending into seedy nightclub jobs and eventually imprisonment.
Raging Bull most obviously deconstructs the sports drama. By 1980, gritty boxing flicks like The Harder They Fall gave way to Sylvester Stallone's Rocky, feel-good dramas about a street thug punching his way to happiness. Raging Bull isn't more realistic: Scorsese injects his fights with New Wave-style hard cuts and shock effects, the soundtrack filled with eerie, warped sound effects, LaMotta's punches spraying blood and sweat onto spectators. It's about visceral effect, a man defined by violence both in and outside the ring.
There's nothing pretty about Raging Bull's protagonist. Early scenes establish Jake as a tough boxer and abusive jerk. He slaps Vikki around between verbal bouts and even pounds Joey over invented slights. Jake's stern individualism lands him in trouble with the Mafia, who force him to throw a fight to contend for the championship. Scorsese and screenwriters Paul Schrader and Martin Madik don't give Jake any satisfaction from victory; his life's already unraveling.
Raging Bull follows the standard antihero arc to an extreme. Jake estranges everyone, leverages fame into an unsuccessful nightclub, then getting busted on a morals charge. Losing his title is merely secondary; soon Jake's reduced to emceeing strip shows and pawning the jewelry off his championship belt. The finale provides bittersweet redemption: unable to reclaim his old life, Jake's only growth is accepting his shortcomings.
Scorsese's striking direction blends several styles. Forties New York comes to life in grimy detail, Michael Chapman's photography using stark black-and-white, long takes, smoky bars and unadorned street scenes for faux-documentary realism. This verite verisimilitude gives way to artsier moments, whether in the heightened boxing matches, a home video montage and affected slow motion. Scorsese provides a typically adroit soundtrack, mixing contemporary tunes with Cavalleria rusticana. Robert De Niro won an Oscar, both for incredible physical transformation (gaining 60 pounds) and incredible talent. De Niro plays the role with simmering, inarticulate resentment, jealousy and doubt exploding in inarticulate fury. The film culminates in Jake losing his temper in a prison cell, some of the most raw, effective acting put on film. Rarely has an actor more deserved his accolades.
In support, Cathy Moriarty is quite a find, a platinum blonde with the brassy charm of Veronica Lake or Barbara Stanwyck. Moriarty has had a long but erratic career, never obtaining the stardom she deserved. Already possessed of foul-mouth and hair-trigger temper, Joe Pesci is nonetheless unusually sane and grounded. Frank Vincent plays a small-time hood, receiving the first of several beatings he'd endure at Pesci's hands.
Both stylistically and thematically, Raging Bull recalls Lindsay Anderson's This Sporting Life. But there's a key difference: Anderson posits Richard Harris as a tormented bruiser exploited by an unfair system. Jake LaMotta isn't self-aware enough to rage against the machine, nor does he deserve such an out; he cast himself into hell.
