Raging Bull: A Dual Biography
To say that Raging Bull is as much about Scorsese as it is about its title subject is in no way stretching the truth. The movie–like just about all of Scorsese’s movies–is about sin, redemption and, ultimately, salvation. That its director and subject both hail from a Roman Catholic background cannot be dismissed as coincidence.
The scene under discussion takes place, within the framework of the film, after Jake LaMotta has finally won the title he so tirelessly fought to achieve. Numerous fights, both in and out of the ring, have led to this climax. In fact, to gain a shot at the title, Jake even threw a fight and was barred from boxing for a time. The preceding scene has Jake attempting to talk to his brother whom he has not spoken with since Jake accused him of sleeping with his wife.
The scene begins with a bruised and tired LaMotta in his corner, being attended to by his corner men and washed with water soaked with his own blood. The soundtrack is an hallucinatory mixture of amplified noises that include cheering, Jake’s labored breathing and a salesman somewhere in the crowd barking out “beer, beer, beer.”
LaMotta charges out of his corner and he and Sugar Ray trade punches over an announcer’s voiceover, on screen and on television screens within the screen’s reality. Eventually, we reach the thirteenth round, “the hard luck round”, according to the television announcer.
Robinson throws a flurry of punches to a stationary LaMotta, his back against the ropes. Robinson pulls back and LaMotta, vehemently, urges him to complete his beating. “Come on, come on, what are you standing there for, come on, Ray,” LaMotta says to him.
Scorsese simultaneously dollies his camera back and zooms in on Sugar Ray, from Jake’s perspective, creating a weird, surrealistic unbalance between the giant, looming fighter and the long, distorted ring with the small faces of the crowd peering back. The soundtrack deadens to utter silence. Sugar Ray stand motionless.
Cut. We start backing in on LaMotta’s face, recognition that he knows his fate.
He welcomes his fate.
He desires his fate.
It comes. In a series of excruciating close-ups, a thousand, a million punches attack Jake. Blood spurts, bones crack, flashbulbs pop. Then it ends. Momentarily.
Once more from Jake’s angle we see Robinson looming, even larger than before. He raises his arm and, in a crushing blow to the face that spews blood out of the ring and onto some spectators, he gives everything he has in himself. The referee comes between them and stops the fight, LaMotta still hanging onto the ropes.
It is here that the pivotal moment of the film takes place. Before Jake struggles back to his corner, he makes it a point to lunge his way into Robinson’s corner. His face purple and battered, barely able to see through the blood, he offers the key line of dialogue. “I never went down, Ray. You never got me down.”
Atonement.
Throughout the film we are subjected to Jake’s mistreatment of his wives, his brother, and practically everyone else. It is my contention that this fight, in miniature, sums up that which we have seen and foreshadows that which is to come. For Jake LaMotta, this fight represents his sin, guilt, atonement and, in the end, his salvation. He will stand up. He never went down.
The final shot of this scene is a closeup of the rope of the boxing ring. It has been ripped apart and is dripping with blood. There is no doubt that this film, and especially this scene, is equally representative of Martin Scorsese. A man who rode to the top of the film world on the strength of movies like Mean Streets and Taxi Driver.
Films which are themselves imbued with nagging doubts and overwhelming guilt. A Catholic with three divorces behind him at the time, maybe Scorsese had tempted the fates too many times.
Given the responsibility of living up to his early talent and success, he was handed a real championship match: A multi-million dollar budget for an old-fashioned Hollywood musical starring no one less than the daughter of a bona fide Movie Legend, Judy Garland.
To many, he blew it. A critical disappointment and a commercial disaster, the failure of New York, New York was too much for him to handle. His guilt convinced him that the powers-that-be weren’t going to let him make any more movies and for three years he didn’t make a standard Hollywood dramatic film. With Raging Bull, however, he willingly crept into the dark abyss of the ring and not only came out standing, bruised to be sure, but a winner.
Salvation.
