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Oeuvre: Scorsese: New York, New York

For over half a century, Alfred Eisenstaedt’s iconic photo of a U.S. Navy sailor kissing a dental hygienist (who’s uniform apparently reminded him of a military nurse’s) in Times Square was held up as the epitome of America’s restored hope and jubilance in the immediate aftermath of World War II. In the early 2010s, it was revealed that the duo in the picture were not only not a couple, but the man had, in fact, grabbed the woman, who was a complete stranger, and forcibly kissed her before she even knew what was happening. Even some 70 years after the photo was taken, the dismantling of this supposedly romantic gesture, which had long been intertwined with unfettered patriotic fervor, caused quite the commotion via the #MeToo movement.

Long before this recent uproar, Martin Scorsese peeled back the idealistic façade of the popular imagery that came to define America during the war and postwar years to find a misogynistic cesspool in the deeply unsettling, yet still wildly entertaining New York, New York. It’s a film that often gets unfairly lost in the shuffle of Scorsese’s filmography not only because it’s sandwiched between several of his greatest films, but because, perhaps unsurprisingly, a two-and-a-half-hour musical drama focusing on emotional domestic abuse released when the musical genre was well in decline didn’t exactly ignite the passions of critics or audiences in 1977.

While New York, New York is certainly a bit bloated and unwieldy on a narrative level, it slots in nicely with the countless other genre deconstructions in ‘70s Hollywood, from revisionist westerns to neo-noirs, which brought a modern sense of cynicism to their critiques of traditional heroes and beloved institutions in classical genre entertainment. Scorsese’s model was the MGM musical, exemplified by big, bold musical numbers, splashy colors, elaborate crane and dolly shots and a blend of melodrama and broad humor. Certain scenes in the film bring to mind the studio’s sailor-specific entries like Anchors Aweigh and On the Town, but the protagonist here is about as far as you get from an endlessly charming Casanova in the mold of Gene Kelly or Frank Sinatra.

Robert De Niro’s Jimmy Doyle may see himself as God’s gift to women, but his obscene, unwavering pursuit of USO singer Francine (Liza Minnelli) immediately marks him as a predatory sleazeball, who’s insatiable need to control women is all too apparent even when he’s hitting on them. This opening sequence, in which he incessantly badgers Francine amidst the widespread celebrations of V-J Day and which goes on for over 20 minutes, is an excruciating depiction of a man who, quite literally, won’t take no for an answer. Trying time and again to earn the affections of a woman who won’t fall for any of his increasingly desperate moves, Jimmy doubles and triples down on his harassment of Francine, which is ironically muffled by all the surrounding hijinks, balloons, streamers and big band music that’s setting the buoyant mood for the day.

Like the man in Eisenstaedt’s famous photo, Jimmy is engaging in behavior that was primarily viewed as acceptable at the time and his obsession with Francine would likely have been passed off as part of the chase men must naturally engage in to “catch” a woman. If this opening sets off red flags about Jimmy’s neuroses, the rest of New York, New York goes about further deconstructing the character to reveal the deep-seated insecurities and overwhelming neediness that lurks beneath this particular brand of all-consuming, domineering hyper-masculinity.

It’s Jimmy’s skill with a saxophone that ultimately wins Francine over, as it provides her with the avenue to take her singing to the next level. What follows is an age-old tale of a tumultuous relationship in the world of showbiz, but rarely has a film so unflinchingly and comprehensively examined the sociopathy of a true narcissist and the various, elaborate means they go to in order to maintain control over their partner. The film mercifully takes occasional breaks to allow the audience to enjoy stellar jazz numbers by Jimmy’s band (although it’s rightfully Francine’s solo show-stopping performances of the titular number and “But the World Goes ‘Round” that resonate most deeply as the credits roll). But every time it appears like Jimmy may have turned a corner and won’t behave abominably, De Niro turns on the anti-charm to show the boundless depths of his character’s self-absorption.

It’s as unsettling a performance as the actor’s more famous turns as Travis Bickle, Jake La Motta, and Rupert Pupkin, and as with those characters, De Niro and Scorsese often walk the line between the darkly comic, the pathetic and the outright terrifying. Jimmy is a man who, after all, is inspired to propose to Francine after reading a romantic diary entry and repeatedly asking, “Is it all about me? It’s all about me!?,” and even, after going down on one knee, desperately pleads “I don’t want anyone else to be with you” as if that were a reason for her to say yes. Jimmy’s is a form of sociopathy that’s frankly exhausting, for both Francine and the audience, but in detailing it so meticulously, Scorsese gets to the heart of the circular nature of the destructive relationships men like Jimmy get into.

By couching Jimmy’s violent, tyrannical behavior within the sheep’s clothing of a classic Hollywood musical—in one shot that feels straight out of a Gene Kelly film, Jimmy watches a sailor dancing with a girl under a bridge, and certain sets were constructed to feel deliberately artificial—Scorsese confronts the then recently established legend of the Greatest Generation on its own mythological terms. No genre, aside from the war film perhaps, so consistently glamorized and revered both musicians and men in uniform, and in helping to solidify those macho figures as the era’s masculine ideal, these films frequently present the exploits of men aggressively chasing women as not only admirable, but ultimately, as fully and enthusiastically endorsed by the women often seen as merely playing hard to get. New York, New York exposes the menace, self-loathing and misogyny that can sometimes lie hidden beneath that pattern of male behavior.

Scorsese’s film is obviously something of a downer musical and its bleak worldview would pair well in a double feature with Bob Fosse’s 1979 masterpiece, All That Jazz. Both films are equally concerned with exposing the self-destructive internal angst of their protagonists, but they also give ample focus to those whom their chaotic behavior has harmed, particularly the women in their lives. De Niro’s performance is so relentless and intimidating that it can often overshadow Minnelli’s own fantastic work. But where much of the film is dominated by Jimmy’s outrageous acts, Francine remains the heart of the film—something that comes through particularly in the film’s devastating final act.

The incredibly raw power and dynamism Minnelli brings to her vocal performances of “But the World Goes ‘Round” and “Happy Endings” helps to beautifully capture Francine’s resilience in the face of tragic circumstances. She is a victim, of both circumstances and the times, but she is a genuine fighter, who forges success out of the ashes of a dysfunctional marriage. Scorsese is often unfairly accused of never having strong female characters, but in just a span of a few years, he gave us Ellen Burstyn’s Alice, Jodi Foster’s Iris and Minnelli’s Francine. Indeed, those final few musical numbers in New York, New York explicitly celebrate the hard-fought victory of a woman in the face of male abuse and oppression, and do so with a visual flair and vibrant emotional pitch that still today lands a forceful blow against the patriarchy.

The post Oeuvre: Scorsese: New York, New York appeared first on Spectrum Culture.


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