Well, there may not be a direct, causal connection, but there certainly is an indirect path from his financial exploitation of Italian-Americans to an eventual socio-cultural malignancy that destroys the brain cells of his suffering fan base. Martin Scorsese is vulgar and relatively short on imagination. He gets away with saying the word, "nigger," by inserting it into his films, beginning with his own cameo appearance in the back of a cab in Taxi Driver, where he tells the taxi driver how he going to kill a "nigger." I suppose he justifies his blatant "artistic racism" by claiming the office of authenticity as impetus. Bowel movements are authentic, too, but that's an insufficient reason to preserve the act for millions to consciously absorb while chomping on popcorn. Or Milk Duds. Anna Paquin took a shit in the film,
Margaret, but it added nothing but a disgusting, reality t.v. element that cheapened the otherwise very good film. I mean, you could actually hear the goddamn thing hit the water! Plop. Artistically it was probably intended to represent the purging of her secret in the film. But still . . . .
The "nigger" thing isn't Scorsese's only problem, but it's a good place to target with the first round of chemotherapy. They say chemotherapy destroys unintended, collateral areas in its process. Here, that may actually be beneficial to the cultural health of the crowd.
Scorsese feeds that part of us that should be starved. To death. No, that part should be drawn and quartered and fed through a hamburger shredder with fake blood splashing all over a team of exploited and fat Italian-Americans as they again push the word, "nigger" further into accepted vernacular.
And, by the way, the darker dogs of my nature absolutely loved
Goodfellas, though the draw of the film was heavily influenced on the use of a musical score, which was so good it would have made a Ted Nuget documentary damn near worth watching, or, more to the point, listening to.
How many quarts of fake blood you think Marty goes through in a single week of filming. "More blood, goddammit! We're killing Stacks Edwards, for God's sake!" Since Stacks black as molasses Scorsese splashes blood everywhere else.
Nobody's insisting that Scorsese should be blacklisted. The point here is that a MFA dropout with enough money, fake blood, "authenticity" and borrowed collection of albums can make a good gangster film. Gene Simmons and his band, Kiss is a fitting parallel with Scorsese; the lack of talent is absorbed in the flashy coxcombs, which divert attention away from what's tonally lacking. At least you can listen to Kiss without looking at it, if that's how you choose to spend your time.
The Godfather is the gold standard for gangster films, with its brilliant musical score, which wasn't knocked off from somebody's CD collection. Scorsese hasn't come close to Francis Ford-Coppola's masterpiece, which, though artfully presented, unfortunately glorifies the continuation Italian-American thievery, extortion and serial murder as top-drawer human entertainment.
We're screwed.
