Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore

ALICE DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE       B             

USA  (112 mi)  1974  d:  Martin Scorsese

A change of pace for Scorsese, his first Hollywood studio production while making one of the few women’s pictures in his career, along with Boxcar Bertha (1972), New York, New York (1977), and THE AGE OF INNOCENCE (1993), where Ellen Burstyn won an Academy Award as Best Actress for her role.  Burstyn had creative control of the movie from the start, as Warner Brothers was so impressed with her work in THE EXORCIST (1973) that they kept sending her scripts and gave her complete control over her next film.  According to Burstyn, “It was early in the Woman’s Movement, and we were all just waking up and having a look at the pattern of our lives and wanting it to be different… I wanted to make a different kind of film, a film from a woman’s point of view, but a woman that I recognized, that I knew, and not just myself, but my friends, what we were all going through at the time. So my agent found Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore.”  The opening sequence is one of the most remarkable in Scorsese’s entire career, spending two and a half times more money just for the opening set ($85,000) than he did for his entire first film, where after spending weeks building it, on the day of the shoot he was told by a child welfare worker that the child actress (Mia Bendixsen) was not allowed to speak any profanity, which is the kicker line in the opening sequence.  Fortunately Scorsese already recorded an earlier screen test shot, which is the one used in the film.  Opening in a WIZARD OF OZ (1939) dream world with a William Cameron Menzies style tinted red sky that accompanies a young girl’s dreams of becoming a star, that quickly cuts from this highly stylized, artificially illuminated fantasy childhood into a spectacular outdoor crane shot that purposefully jolts the audience ahead 27 years, adding some raucous energy from Mott the Hoople that much of the rest of the film lacks, where the would-be star finds herself sitting at a sewing machine, already consumed by the boring reality of day to day existence Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore -- (Movie Clip ... YouTube (4:00).  What’s immediately apparent is the film is not written by Scorsese, so it lacks much of the personal insight and fresh spontaneity of Mean Streets (1973), feeling like a more generic story that attempts to play upon populist themes.  Being a Scorsese film, however, there are highly inventive musical choices, well developed characters, and some stunning visual composition, again shot by Kent Wakeford in his last film working with the director.   

While some may find this film refreshingly honest, it’s also a film that pushes all the buttons it intended to push, as it feels at times like a movie with a feminist social agenda, much like Jill Clayburgh in Paul Mazursky’s An Unmarried Woman (1978), while at other times it’s much more risky in the way it freely allows characters to evolve naturally, where they don’t hide the growing pains of attempting to deal with the chaos in their lives.  At times it feels overwrought, where the weight of the world always falls upon Burstyn’s shoulders, where her performance often feels too showy, which is highly unusual for her, as after a long career in television, she made quite an impact with her brilliantly understated performances in THE LAST PICTURE SHOW (1971) and THE KING OF MARVIN GARDENS (1972), where she tends to exhibit wise-beyond-her-years, rock steady characteristics even as her world is falling apart.  Here, there are plenty of scenes where she just lets it go.  Trapped in a dysfunctional marriage with an emotionally stunted husband (Billy Green Bush), the man is just impossible to please, despite Alice’s most determined efforts, where apparently fighting is part of their family life, each with one another.  When her husband dies in a traffic fatality, it’s as if a part of her world had been sucked away, as she was used to relying upon her husband to pay the bills, sacrificing her earlier dreams of being a singer, as her husband didn’t want his wife to work.  One of the more memorable early sequences is seeing Burstyn with Lelia Goldoni as Bea, from Cassavetes’ SHADOWS (1959), onscreen together as neighbors and best friends, as Goldoni happened to be one of Burstyn’s real-life best friends at the time, so their affectionate camaraderie feels authentic.  Nonetheless, Alice and her 11-year old son Tommy (Alfred Lutter) hop in a car and hit the road, with recollections that her happiest times were in her home town of Monterey, California, thinking she could revive her singing career.  But California is quite a distance, and that costs money, where most of the film was actually shot on location in Tucson and Phoenix, Arizona, so she doesn’t get very far when she has to get up her nerve and look for a job, culminating in this breathy but intoxicatingly feminine audition which lands her a job Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1974, Martin Scorsese) Pian  YouTube (3:37).

Fresh from Scorsese’s last few films, Harvey Keitel makes another memorable appearance here as Ben, a regular customer who takes a shine to Alice, devoting plenty of time and attention that she initially deflects, but she eventually warms up to the guy, even as she knows little about him.  No one could possibly anticipate just how far Keitel takes this film over the edge, as it’s a brilliantly explosive scenario that comes to a quick end as they hightail it out of town, landing in Phoenix where Alice reluctantly gets a job as a waitress in Mel & Ruby’s Café, aka: Mel’s Diner (since Ruby’s long gone), a real-life diner located at 1747 NW Grand Avenue that is still in operation in Phoenix, the greasy spoon diner which was the setting for the spin-off TV series called Alice (1976 – 1985), where Vic Tayback plays Mel the cook in both.  Diane Ladd as the foul-mouthed and sexually charged Flo, and Valerie Curtin as the always spaced out Vera, play the other two waitresses, where after a brief battle of wills, Flo and Alice bury the hatchet and become friends, beautifully expressed here in a near surreal visualization Ellen Burstyn and Diane Ladd in "Alice Doesn't Live Here Any YouTube (1:45).  Add to the mix Kris Kristofferson as David, a local rancher who becomes Alice’s regular customer and new love interest, while also bursting onto the scene is a young child actress named Jodie Foster, an iconic figure from Scorsese’s next film TAXI DRIVER (1976), playing young Audrey Jodie Foster in Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1974) YouTube (4:37), a local girl that schools Tommy on how to shoplift and drink cheap Ripple wine, who after an arrest utters the memorable phrase “So long, suckers!” as her mother embarrassingly drags her out of the police station.  One of the more novel dynamics of the picture is the mother and son relationship, where the child must be devastated at being cooped up in a motel room all day during the summer months while his mother goes off to work, which is a nice contrast with the mother’s annoyance at being imprisoned by a small child who relentlessly demands all of her attention over and over again.  Although Burstyn has an achingly real sequence in a disarming moment where she acts out a childhood vaudeville routine, Keitel, Diane Ladd and Jodie Foster add needed spice and personality to this film, where the secondary characters are often more fun than the leads, where their spark and originality make this more than a conscious raising film coming early in the Women’s Movement of the 60’s and 70’s.  This is a film where women as well as men should re-examine their own lives, change or re-evaluate their perspectives, and reflect upon the old values of compliance and obedience in the role of a dutiful wife.  While the film does emphasize women’s issues, shifting to a position of empowerment, it’s certainly not a radical film in any respect, especially with such a conventional (or cop out) ending, much to the disappointment of many, feeling exactly like the end of An Unmarried Woman, where in both, despite being labeled feminist or women’s films, women were not yet ready to completely let go of the idea of needing a man.         

Mean Streets

MEAN STREETS               A             

USA  (112 mi)  1973  d:  Martin Scorsese

You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home. The rest is bullshit and you know it.  
 —Charlie (Harvey Keitel), voiceover narration actually spoken by director Martin Scorsese, a technique he saw used by Fellini in I Vitelloni (1953)

For some, still the quintessential Scorsese film, a raw, pulsating, brilliantly acted and powerful film set in New York’s Little Italy neighborhood, although most of the interiors were shot in Los Angeles studios, with an almost non-top musical soundtrack which is just as energetic and explosive, my favorite being Ray Barreto’s “Ritmo Sabroso” Ray Barretto Ritmo Sabroso - YouTube (2:56) blaring out the window of a jubilant Puerto Rican party (an example of another ethnic group pushing into the boundaries of their turf), but also including Italian opera, the Shirelles, Smoky Robinson, the Rolling Stones, and others.  Shot by Kent Wakeford with a rough documentary quality, this is one of the best uses ever of hand held cameras, creating a wonderful sense of exhilaration and urgency throughout, a jarring yet always fascinating window into a unique world, intimately capturing the movements and language, as well as the darkened dinginess of just a few city blocks following the lives of 4 small-time hoods.  Scorsese accentuates how personal this film is over the opening credits to the music of The Ronettes “Be My Baby” 'Mean Streets' opening credits YouTube (3:10), highlighting a movie projector that streams brief glimpses of the movie characters we’re about to meet through what resembles home movie images.

In an interesting concept afterwards, the characters are introduced through short sequences before they are identified by name on the screen.  Tony (David Proval) owns the neighborhood bar, while the ranking hood (or the one who appears most concerned with his hierarchal position) appears to be Michael (Richard Romanus), the neighborhood loan shark whose constant interest is tracking down the money he’s owed.  Robert De Niro’s Johnny Boy introduction sets the tone for his character, seen dropping a bomb in a mail box as he slinks down the sidewalk afterwards admiring his work.  Set during the lively street activity of the San Gennaro festival, which is intermixed throughout, there is also a running dialogue with God from one of the characters, Charlie, Harvey Keitel, making a confessional appearance in a beautifully ornate Catholic church, where his inner thoughts (heard throughout) introduce his views on trying to be a saint while living in sin, not only the main theme of the film, but of Scorsese’s entire career.  “If I do something wrong, I just want to pay for it my way, so I do my own penance for my own sins…  No you don’t fuck around with the infinite.  There’s no way you do that.  Pain in Hell has two sides, the kind you can touch with your hand, the kind you can feel in your heart, your soul, the spiritual side, and you know, the worst of the two is the spiritual,” which has a beautiful lead-in to the local neighborhood poolroom bathed in red during one of those signature Scorsese shots that zooms in on the end of the bar as Charlie is once again introduced with the Rolling Stones “Tell Me” Rolling Stones 'Tell Me' in Martin Scorsese "Mean YouTube (2:43).

Scorsese’s initial inspiration was the music, all taken from his own collection, claiming “Mean Streets featured the music I grew up with and that music gave me images… For me, the whole movie was 'Jumping Jack Flash' and 'Be My Baby'.”  De Niro’s explosive Johnny Boy, a crazed, gun-loving, bomb throwing, cocky, smart-assed bastard is introduced by the Rolling Stones “Jumpin Jack Flash” Mean Streets - De Niro's entrance YouTube (1:10) in a Slo-mo intro to the poolroom with two girls hanging on his arm, carefree and oblivious to the fact he owes money to everybody in the neighborhood, particularly the ever insistent Michael, and Charlie is the only one vouching for the kid, trying to keep him in line, while at the same time keeping a steady inner dialogue with God in the process.  Charlie has a Mafia uncle who can ease his path to riches and sends Charlie to collect payments for him, but he models himself after St. Francis of Assisi (“St. Francis didn’t run numbers”) who does for others, seeking penitence for his sins by trying to help Johnny Boy.  They all meet in Tony’s red-lit neighborhood bar, drinking 7 and 7’s, watching strippers, playing pool, and inevitably getting into fights, sometimes with others, ultimately with themselves.  The anguish underneath it all is mixed with horror and humor, rock ‘n’ roll and opera, but also realism and theatricality.   

De Niro exhibits a freewheeling abandon throughout that is especially riveting, actually carrying much of the spontaneous energy of the film from his sheer unpredictability, where working with the complex and morally conflicted character of Keitel is movie magic, as the camera follows the exploits of these two young men in a keenly observed, gritty, and violent picture, with a simply extraordinary musical rhythm section (ironically racially diverse) underscoring Scorsese’s impressionistic portrait.  With very little narrative to speak of, part of the pulsating energy of the film is the extraordinary intimacy captured by the almost giddy experimental feel of the gliding tracking shots, pans, zooms, and quick cuts from the ever curious camera which, like an unseen character, is the eyes and ears to everything that happens, where the immediacy of the moment is always connected to the vibrant energy of the streets.  The sights and sounds of the festival are interspersed into the lives of the characters, creating larger than life operatic moments, where tempers flair, threats are made, usually over money, where people like to be treated with respect before they hand over the cash, turning the act of making payments to a mob boss into a rite of passage, where each of them has to pass the test if they want to stay in business.  What’s immediately noticeable is the calm demeanor of the mafia uncle Giovanni (Cesare Danova), always exercising patience and restraint, while the hothead hoods in their 20’s are forever making threats, getting themselves into instant trouble, often starting it, and usually over nothing.   

The one weak link in the picture is the female character, Amy Robinson as Teresa (who never had much of an acting career and became a producer instead, actually writing the story for John Sayles’ 1983 film BABY IT’S YOU), Johnny’s cousin who has seizures, so is considered an outcast by the Mafia chieftans, calling it a disturbance in the head.  Embarrassed to be seen with her (as he is with a black stripper, Jeannie Bell, later in the picture), Charlie can see her from his bedroom window and has always had a crush on her, where the extremely volatile relationship has its off and on moments, where Charlie’s connection to his uncle and to the neighborhood are paramount, where in his eyes women are secondary, which leaves Teresa fuming on the sidelines, always trying to squeeze into his life, and when she finally does, she pays a heavy price for it, as she has no business being anywhere near the kind of heavy trouble these guys get themelves into, as this is the story of small-time hoods trying to build a name for themselves in the exclusively all-male Mafia hierarchy.  While most likely accurate in terms of representing the authenticity of the street language as well as their racist mindset, derogatory comments in the film are made about blacks and Jews, which may make some in the audience wince, but you have to make the connection that these are not the most educated individuals, but are instead testosterone-laden petty criminals who often embarrass themselves using gutter language or by speaking out of order.  Perhaps the best evidence of this is Johnny Boy, who’s constantly shooting his mouth off at inappropriate times, putting the lives of everyone around him at risk.   

Michael is always whining and complaining about Johnny’s late payments, using Charlie as his intermediary, but eventually this comes to a head when Johnny Boy discovers the power of a gun, waving it around like a big shot in a penultimate scene with all 4 hoods together Mean Streets - $10 on a $2,000 debt - YouTube (4:01), stupidly thinking this is somehow a solution to his problems, but all it does is bring the wrath of God down upon him in an apocalyptic fury, where the streets become a Hellish purgatory of no escape, where these men live by the sword or die by the sword, all following the same outdated creed that must be centuries old.  Whether it makes any sense or not hardly matters, as it’s the only language these men seem to understand.  Interestingly, in front of a movie theater, there are John Boorman POINT BLANK (1967) and John Cassavetes HUSBANDS (1970) movie posters seen outside.  Also David Carradine has a small role as a drunk who’s shot and killed by no less than his younger brother Robert Carradine, while Scorsese does the opening voiceover narration for Charlie and plays Jimmy Shorts, one of Michael’s sidekicks, where he’s actually the trigger man in one of the key scenes at the end of the film.  Stylishly inventive and brilliantly observed, mostly written and edited by Scorsese himself, this is a breakthrough film with youthful flaws intact, where he’s made more perfect looking films like Goodfellas (1990), but it’s debatable whether the director has ever done anything better throughout his storied career than this complex and penetrating study perfectly capturing a youthful moment of romanticized hopefulness set against such an oppressively harsh and bleak reality.