**In the video I refer to “Il Bidone” when I meant to say “I Vitelloni.” Please excuse me.**
There exist in this sometimes sad world, moments that remind you that you are alive.
You know these moments well. Blood rushes from your toes to your cheeks. Or from your cheeks to your toes. Either way you are made aware of its movement.
A great energy is felt in your jaw and in the ends of each strand of hair. Your fingers curl. Your hands turn into fists or claws. Everything is hot. You shudder violently (the energy must be flung off or you will be eaten alive). This all happens in two seconds. It is stunning.
There is a scene in Martin Scorsese’s Who’s That Knocking At My Door that gives me this delicious sensation every-single-time-I-see-it. For four minutes and thirty seconds I am paralyzed with pleasure. A curious kind of paralysis. A mixture of sexual desire, odd violent inclinations, jealousy and tenderness. If you have ever cuddled a baby animal and wanted to literally crush it with affection, you will know what I mean.
Though Scorsese films populate the favorite movie section of the bro dude’s Facebook page, the man remains a genius. One of the few commercially successful directors whose films always have a true visual dynamism. Maybe you have forgotten. It’s easy to forget the actual artistry of popular directors (Spielberg uses the background TV like nobody’s business), but return to their early works especially and you’ll be reminded.
1967’s Who’s That Knocking At My Door is a movie about young aimless men, very much in the tradition of I Vitelloni. One of these men is J.R. (Harvey Keitel). J.R. wants to marry a girl (Zina Bethune). Sadly this girl has been raped. This causes J.R. much grief. After struggling with intense Catholic guilt, he decides he’s man enough to marry her. Unfortunately she is unimpressed with his attitude and turns him down.