Martin Scorsese
Toro Scatenato

A Portrait of La Motta

Jake La Motta was not just any boxer. Yes, he was probably one of the toughest and least liked boxers around the 40s and 50s, but his memorable sporting battles justify his title as a legend.

His main characteristic was to throw hundreds and hundreds of punches without a moment's pause, but he was also an excellent absorber (because La Motta wouldn’t dodge blows). Just consider that he even defeated Sugar Ray Robinson (the greatest of all time "pound for pound" "regardless of category"), and against Robinson, he never hit the canvas.

Jake never gave up in the ring, even on February 14, 1951 (the St. Valentine's Day Massacre), La Motta didn't fall to the ground, forcing the referee to declare a technical KO in the 13th round. La Motta's face was unrecognizably inhumanly marked by Robinson's punches, and probably these performances, at the limit of human endurance, convinced De Niro and then Scorsese (then reluctant to sports films) to gift us with this bitter and heartbreaking depiction.

The Film

I still remember the applause, I still hear them in my ears, and I'll carry them with me for life. I remember one evening I took off my robe and the world dropped: I had forgotten my shorts. I remember all the KO’s, the hooks, the jabs: it's the worst way to go on a diet. My life wasn't sordid either: I too had... But I would like to be applauded when I act, as you do with Laurence Olivier when he acts Shakespeare: "A horse, my kingdom for a horse"... It's been six months since I hit one! But I am not Olivier, though I would like to be. And then I'd like to see him in the ring performing: if he were to measure against Sugar, who knows how many he would take! So give me an arena since the Bull is unleashed, because besides boxing I am a refined actor! This is a spectacle!.

The ex-boxer Jake La Motta (Robert De Niro), overweight with a cigar in hand, tells how life in the ring is often similar to a show. Hence the beginning of a long flashback retracing the story of Giacobbe "Jake" La Motta, an Italian-American boxer from the Bronx who, after winning the middleweight world title, finds himself alone, abandoned by his wife Vickie and his brother Joey.

Yes, alone... because La Motta was not only a legendary boxer, he was also a man incapable of softening the harshness of his nature with an inescapable propensity for self-destruction. This is probably why he remained a champion for only a year, six months, and 29 days (nothing compared to modern boxers like Bernard Hopkins, for example, who was on the middleweight throne from April 29, 1995, to July 16, 2005). And it is precisely on his animalistic nature, his sudden and violent outbursts of emotions, the self-destruction of a violent man against everything and everyone who uses the ring almost to self-flagellate, that Scorsese focuses with his traditionally flawless direction.

"Raging Bull" is the portrait of a man who fails to accept himself and make himself accepted even with a belt that effectively defines him as a champion because he cannot separate the ring from everyday life. Indeed, because there is the ring where you have to fight and be stronger than the other, but in life? Many scenes clearly characterize La Motta and his existential discomfort; among them, one can cite the scene when locked in a cell he headbutts and punches the wall, moaning "I'm not an animal!" or the scene preceding a low-profile match with a challenger his wife finds attractive: his morbid jealousy leads him to effectively reduce the attractiveness during the match.

The actors' performances are of absolute level. Clearly, above all Robert De Niro (for me the greatest actor ever) who in the shoes of La Motta is superb in expressing the character's nuances, grasping and implementing the violent, paranoid, and gloomy side of La Motta: he is marvelous in interpreting a champion who is also and above all a man; a man proud of never hitting the canvas in the ring, but paradoxically always being knocked out in life. De Niro's interpretation materializes in an identification with the part that leads him to build a boxer's physique, to then gain thirty pounds, risking in fact serious breathing problems, as well as having actually fought three boxing matches (winning 2 of them) during the film's shooting.

De Niro received one of the most deserved Oscars in history for his titanic effort, but honorable mention also goes to Joe Pesci's perfect interpretation in the brother-manager's role. The boxing component isn't placed on a pedestal, but the fire of the noble art is obviously pregnant in this film, and it's essential to describe its importance. The boxing sequences are incredibly truthful and realistic, a credit that must be equally shared, clearly, between Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker (Oscar winner for best editing).

Spectacular and bloody scenes, the incredible ability to recreate the violence of the punches, the incredible attention in recreating the moment of turmoil and bewilderment of the boxer in difficulty, the sweat, the blood (you seem to see it "red despite being black and white"), make Raging Bull the most beautiful boxing-themed movie. Deserved mention goes to the excellent black and white documentary style of Chapman, chosen by Scorsese to make the boxing massacre scenes less gruesome; and Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana in the opening titles, which accompany the slow swaying of the boxer in the ring with an almost mystical effect creating strong emotional tension.

With this film, Scorsese adds another wonderful tile to his interpretations of Italian-American life in New York and once again the violence of the characters prevailing wears down relationships: Raging Bull is the raw and violent mosaic of Jake La Motta, where each tile finds its natural place.

For me, a masterpiece.