“New York, New York” (1977)
Scorsese is the ultimate film fan and he has tended to genre-hop almost manically. This is never better illustrated than the jump from “Taxi Driver” to the kind of musical that is “New York, New York,” with its stylized, artificial sets, sweeping musical numbers, camera cranes, etc. Really, it’s the culmination of a young boy’s Hollywood dreams (and with the daughter of Vincente Minnelli and Judy Garland no less!). The ultra-artifice and stylization, represented by Liza Minnelli’s singer character Francine, is juxtaposed with Robert De Niro’s naturalistic performance as jazz saxophonist Jimmy Doyle, and the opposites don’t always attract (both thematically and cinematically). It’s ambitious, to be sure, and occasionally reaches great, ecstatic heights, such as Minnelli’s jaw-dropping climatic performance of the titular song (later made famous by Frank Sinatra). Scorsese lets his muse Minnelli (with whom he had just embarked on an affair, leaving his pregnant wife, no less) shine in the way only she uniquely can. The film is uneven, yes, and overly long but the moments of greatness that it does achieve make for a thrilling tribute to the grand movie musical. [B-]
“The Last Waltz” (1978)
“This film should be played loud!” the title credits scream. And it’s not bad advice for Scorsese’s first full-length documentary and concert performance movie. After 16 years, first as The Hawks backing Bob Dylan, and then as The Band, the rock superstar group including Robbie Robertson, Rick Danko and Levon Helm among others, decide to call it quits, but not before mounting a farewell show at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco. Shot by Scorsese at the behest of Robertson, the two would go on to become cocaine buddies, which is still incredible when you think about it (who would have thought the asthmatic and already over-caffeinated Martin Scorsese would ever need blow?). Featuring appearances by Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, Eric Clapton, Muddy Waters, Ronnie Hawkins and more, the exuberant concert doc is far more a celebratory evening than it is tearful goodbye. Interspersed with interviews with The Band, Robertson and company tell their tale which paints a portrait of road warriors who paid their dues, slept on floors, abused their bodies and lived to tell about it—sometimes it’s best to get out when the getting is good. “The music took us to some strange places … physically, spiritually, psychotically. It just wasn’t always on stage,” Robertson reminisces. Regarded as one of the greatest concert documentaries of all time, the concert itself is shot in standard form (though there is one studio soundstage performance with Emmylou Harris) and is a little on the jammy and solo-y side (and yes, we’re fans of the Band and all the musicians involved), but the film overall largely transcends any niggles like that. [B]
