GREED

By Stroheim

You can talk of Erich Von Stroheim’s Greed as a wreck, as potential unrealized, if you are inclined that is. 

To do that means to despair a commercial system that would let a 9 to 10 hour monster survive as 140 minutes of true sensation, as rare and as cinema incarnate. 

Greed is an adaptation, of Frank Norris’ McTeague: A Story of San Francisco but it is so inherently Von Stroheim’s, it belongs to him entirely from frame one, from frames that one could assemble, that have been assembled through publications like Weinberg’s The Complete Greed.

But let’s talk about the movie itself. A movie that could be easily considered one of if not the greatest film of all time, a masterpiece made like most masterpieces are, clumsily and through a series of someone’s mistakes. 

Greed is a model of a kind of psychological realism, shocking, visually jarring, that horrified viewers initially.

Stroheim did one thing that so few filmmakers have done, that is given the viewer no one to like.

Greed proposes that a movie should read and feel like the novel, it stands as what could have been the most accurate of adaptations, unabridged and in line with the realist’s text. 

Stroheim then couples this with his breathtaking visuals, his use of the medium to show the character’s inner states—on how they became more dependent or controlled by their greed, their desire, plummeting them into madness and isolationism. These characters become more and more like you and me, they stopped being characters and were humans, that’s unnerving, in fact that’s awful, that isn’t why we go to see movies. 

And that is exactly why Stroheim is the master. He did what Von Trier, Jorodowsky, Lynch, Corbucci, Dali and countless others strove to do, use surrealism to convey the realistic.

Stroheim is in my eyes, the great manipulator, he controlled not only the audience but the studio system in such a way, making his movies all encompassing and so much more than simple entertainment. 

Stroheim in his dedication to design saw his films butchered, unreleased or generally unrealized, that was his lesson.

After his falling out with Irving Thalberg at Universal over Merry Go Round he made his way over to Goldwyn’s and made a deal to adapt Frank Norris’ novel. He would write and direct it himself, the story of McTeague the dentist and his friend Marcus; setting up in San Francisco in the pursuit of gold. 

He meets Trina and marries her hastily, finds that she is stealing his money and kills her.

Then the men meet at Death Valley where at last they find their gold but it’s all for naught.

It’s a movie that from start to finish is about satisfying one’s selfish goals by any means and the price that one pays for doing this. The controlling grip of greed around the throat of man, the desire to strike it rich, between the conniving Trina and the ever dissolving friendship of McTeague and Marcus, it’s a story that would be tragic if these people could be sympathized or empathized with. 

And that’s the big sell, Stroheim shows us that people can be or just are bad, have faults, faults that are entirely overpowering and pull others down with them. 

Stroheim shot his movie in 1923. Goldwyn merged with Metro and Mayer, established in 1924. In turn, Stroheim found himself under the thumb of Irving Thalberg yet again. There was a dispute in which a full version of Greed was screened for audiences, cerebral or otherwise and those who were open minded to Stroheim’s vision still considered it very much overdone. From this a commercial cut of Greed was put together and released, a bastard version of its proper self. MGM did a great disservice to itself by tossing the cut material, standard practice yes but still. MGM was a movie studio that released movies to see a profit while Erich Von Stroheim was very much a mad genius who wanted to use his movie as a psychological barometer and companion piece to the source material. 

At the end of the day, although gutted, Greed is not only essential viewing for any fan of high cinema but is a great indicator of film and its future.

Stroheim never realized that the audience was afraid of the dark.

He wasn’t the man to comfort them.

TAXI DRIVER

BY Scorsese

I’ve written about Martin Scorsese’s 1976 picture Taxi Driver more than any single subject. I’ve written 3 essays, one I’m very proud of and countless articles and blog posts that mention it. Why, why am I so consumed from those black title cards, that glowing blood red font onward? Hermann’s score, so romantic and yet, so sinister, why do I feel the compulsion to whistle the tune now and then? 

Why do I hold Robert De Niro in such high regard? 

Or Harvey Keitel for that matter?

Too many questions, it’s because Taxi Driver is everything any storyteller, any man should strive to make with his own two hands. Along with a script, drawn from experience and life, written by the masterful Paul Schrader, Taxi Driver stands not only as a cinematic feat but as a national one. A young, hungry Martin Scorsese, a powerful Robert De Niro, an unproven Jodie Foster, the gorgeous Cybill Sheppard, the ever terrifying Harvey Keitel, the self-depreciating tone of Paul Schrader’s dialogue and carried by the sounds of the master, Bernard Hermann in his last and in my opinion, greatest feat, Taxi Driver tells a story about disorder in the heart of America, about the crumbling of the great city of New York in the mid seventies, a story about ugliness and the blurring of morality in a time seemingly without. 

Taxi Driver is a great idea in concept, a man can’t take the madness of city life anymore, the ugly streets, the crime, the self-centeredness of politicians and the so called good people so misguided, he takes on the role of a vigilante, a hero, trying to restore New York to its former glory one concealed pistol and date to the porno theatre at a time. 

Travis—it’s clear that he expects to be alone, he’s an insomniac, directionless after his  from the marines. Despite his solitary nature, Travis is searching for his dream woman (be it exploiting Betsy or being Iris’ savior). 

Travis doesn’t want these women in his life, he wants to envelop them, he wants them to belong to him, he want’s Iris to live a good life by his terms, he wants Betsy to listen to Kris Kristofferson with him and fall deeply in love with him despite his lack of tact, social skills or any desirable traits. 

When he interacts with these characters, he seemingly pushes them away, his clumsy date with Betsy to the porn theatre or when he’s tailing Iris, staring ominously at them. He wants to be with them but as a taxi driver and only a taxi driver, it is being alone that defines him. Taxi drivers have passengers sure but it’s through near anonymity and silence that they are defined. Travis is a non-person, he doesn't truly have interests, beliefs, ideals, and so his turn is more captivating because of this. 

The scene where Palentine and his buddies are sitting in the back of his cab asking Travis about his feelings on the city, on politics and Travis’ responses can be likened to shrugging and saying it is what it is. He’s salt, he’s dirt and yet in this Palentine finds a man who represents the needs of the new American. The new American doesn't know why they went to war, they don’t know why they can’t sleep and why they don’t read in their spare time. 

So Travis in turn, slighted by Betsy, by normalcy takes a different direction, one of rebellion, he chooses to attack the tarnished streets aggressively, on their terms. 

As time goes on his goals change, flippantly, he targets Palentine initially because he represents what, America? Betsy? Her ideals? It’s hard to say, but his madness is captivating, his target changes almost overnight from politics to the scum of the street, embodied by urban pimp Sport (Harvey Keitel). 

He chooses instead to try and liberate Iris (Jodie Foster), a child prostitute he meets and previously stalks because he feels it’s the right thing to do, he’s saving her. 

In a essay written by film analyst David Thomson, he likens Travis’ cleaning up the city and liberating Iris to him acting as a demented running mate to Palentine, that he’s trying to win the city, to do what Palentine cannot do. 

He is trying to best Palentine, Betsy’s false idol. In a petty and purely Travis move, he hopes to win Betsy back at first by eliminating Palentine as his “rival” and later, to defeat him politically. 

Taxi Driver can be analysed to hell and back and let me tell you, I’ll be first in line to do it, it’s a film you relive not review. 

Schrader and Scorsese have what now could be seen as a warped portrait of urban American when in fact their New York wasn’t too far off, Taxi Driver is the first American film to depict the modern city, noirishness and religious impulse/ideology so naturally, with such connection in mind. 

Akin to Bresson, it’s a story about one soul striving to save a city or in a more globalizing scale, to preserve the American dream. 

And to end so powerfully on the image of Travis, returned to the status quo, driving, lonelier than ever before, Hermann’s rueful saxophone playing throughout, street lights bathing the street.

An ending that defies convention, that stands as a testament to what noir could have done if censorship wasn't so rampant, a story telling reality first. 

Every time I view the film, something different emerges, I’m unsure of where it will take me this time. I’m unsure if I’ll make it back. 

I would like to dedicate this piece to Alex Withrow of And So It Begins, someone who loves this film as much, maybe more than I. I consider him as great an inspiration as any, and I consider him a good friend. 

It was his words of encouragement that lead to my writing this review and starting The New Cinema in the first place.

Thanks mate, good luck in LA. 

Check out Alex's much better blog at 

http://www.andsoitbeginsfilms.com/