The post I wrote yesterday about stars and thumbs couldn't have had a better first example of my newfound determination not to overpraise films I don't actually like that much.
Who's That Knocking at My Door, the 1967 feature debut from Martin Scorsese -- and the debut feature of this series, Settling the Scorsese -- has all the hallmarks of a film I have tended to give too much credit in the past:
1. It represents the early work of a great director.
2. It showcases all the thematic preoccupations that would come to define that director.
3. It's done in an artful, some might say arthouse, style, that isn't instantly accessible.
4. It's in black and white.
(I should clarify. I have no problem with black and white -- in fact, I love it -- but a black and white film long past the era when that was the dominant means of presentation carries with it a different sort of meaning. It tends to signal that you must honor the artistic pretentions, some might say pretentiousness, of the artist.)
5. It makes bold choices with camera placement, editing, use of freeze frame, music, etc.
But did I like this film?
No, not really.
In addition to being Scorsese's debut, it's the debut of Harvey Keitel as an actor, and that's also interesting. And it's also the sort of thing that might cause me to overpraise the movie just for its historical significance.
But did I like this film?
No, not really.
The use of Keitel -- something Scorsese has gone on to do five more times -- reminded me of another director, and how much the (later) beginning of his own career resembled that of Scorsese's. That's of course Quentin Tarantino, who has worked with Keitel only three times, but certainly would consider Scorsese one of his influences, even though I haven't specifically heard him pontificate on that particular subject.
What reminded me of Tarantino about this was the way Keitel's character, J.R., is always going on about John Wayne to his girlfriend, who is nameless (a telling Scorsese detail), but who is played by Zina Bethune. His various short disquisitions about Wayne and his specific roles and films felt like something right out of a Tarantino diner scene. Like Tarantino a quarter of a century later, Scorsese was interested in paying homage to his cinematic influences, which would have included westerns (though that doesn't appear all that much in his work), not to mention the French New Wave (which is all over this film).
What didn't remind me of Tarantino was the way this movie has no effing story.
Who's That Knocking at My Door is probably what you would consider a consummate hangout movie, in that mood and character are prized over narrative. But to me it's the worst kind of hangout movie, as it is mostly a mishmash of conversations without context, and actually really not that much about character at all. If we're going to spend this much time with J.R. and the rowdy New York boys with whom he roughhouses -- who are quite clearly early versions of the characters in Mean Streets -- then it would help to feel like we were getting to know any of the other characters. But we don't even really get to know J.R., who remains fundamentally a mystery despite being in nearly every scene.
What we do know about J.R. is that he's got overdeveloped Catholic guilt, a point belabored in the tedious montage of Christian imagery that closes the film -- and belabored in Scorsese's career, one could argue. He won't sleep with his girlfriend, so instead he goes and sleeps with prostitutes and other loose women. (Not sleeping with her is to keep her unspoiled, not him.) It was all there from the start.
If I haven't given you much plot synopsis it's because there isn't much to give. It might actually have the shortest plot synopsis I've ever seen on Wikipedia, just two paragraphs and a total of 217 words. Now of course, some brand new and less significant films have shorter synopses, but this is the first film by The Great Martin Scorsese (I don't know why I capitalized that, I do really think he's great), and it's 55 years old. If there were more to the movie the plot synopsis would be longer.
There is a central plot point, which is the girl's revelation that she was raped by a former boyfriend. J.R. recoils in horror at this story but not out of sympathy for her. First he doesn't believe her, which is crazy. Secondly, he assumes she was "asking for it." Then he thinks she's spoiled now and rejects her. Nice guy. This is not the end of this topic but it might be best for me to leave some of the movie unspoiled. Can't keep the girl from being unspoiled, but can keep the movie that way.
Throughout there are interesting techniques and brazen choices, circling cameras and popular music, some of an ironic nature. Thelma Schoonmaker was with him from the start and some of the editing choices are very interesting, especially during a montage of sex and nudity when J.R. goes off the deep end at one point. There's also use of freeze frame as previously mentioned.
But the most telling part of my assessment of the film is the way it brought to mind another director whose early films bothered me. That's Jim Jarmusch, who had to get a couple misfires out of his way before he start hitting with Down by Law in 1986 and really started hitting with Mystery Train in 1989. The one I really hate is Stranger Than Paradise, which I know operates as a gateway independent film for a lot of people. I loathed it and this reminded me of it in certain parts, though I like this better.
Look, it is interesting to witness the origins of the man who has come to be considered one of the greatest directors in cinema history. But I actually don't know if the presence of many of his career-long obsessions in this first film is actually a positive or a negative. Although he would certainly branch out in subject matter over time, I'm worried that many of these early films will just be hitting the same notes over and over again, and I've got a few left to get through in this series.
We'll see how I go in April, when a film that sounds similar in subject matter by its name alone -- 1977's New York, New York -- is next up. If I can find it, that is, as this has been a problem so far. If I can't, I guess I move on to The Color of Money in '86 and figure out later on what I do about the total number of films in this series ... or maybe circle back to it later if I can get myself more comfortable with the idea of piracy. (And if I can do that, might as well do it now and keep the chronological order for April.)
Oh, and did I give Who's That Knocking at My Door the 2.5 stars I said I'd give such a film in yesterday's post?
No, I did that one better. Only two stars.
It's a true assessment of my boredom and disappointment watching a film that felt a lot longer than its 89 minutes would suggest.
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