Mean Streets (1973)

Widely considered to be Martin Scorsese’s first feature length (Who’s that Knocking at my Door? and Boxcar Bertha were student projects at NYU), Mean Streets is the celebrated director’s most personal, and I would argue, most cryptic film in his vast anthology. The narrative follows small time mobster Charlie (Harvey Keitel) as he attempts to cope with his own Catholic guilt through fraternal care for the irascible, erratic, but nevertheless amiable Johnny Boy (Robert DeNiro, in what would prove to be his first of many collaborations with Scorsese). The film takes place all across Scorsese’s hometown of Little Italy in New York, bouncing between bars, street festivals, and movie theaters as Charlie, Johnny Boy, and the rest of their gang partake in frivolous exploits, validating their masculinity like so many bullies across an urban playground. Unlike Goodfellas or Gangs of New York, Scorsese’s gangsters in Mean Streets lack any sense of gravitas, promising to score a couple kids some fireworks and instead piling into a Cadillac and using their money to see The Searchers. All the while, Charlie dates Johnny Boy’s epileptic cousin, ostracized for her condition. What appears petty throughout proves to possess catastrophic consequences, as Johnny Boy’s nonchalance tries the patience of Charlie and, more importantly, those less forgiving.

Look familiar?

While Taxi Driver relied largely on the collaboration of writer Paul Schrader, the acting of DeNiro, and precision directing, Mean Streets is wholly Scorsese. The man understands Little Italy for its nuances and subtleties, but more importantly, conveys them onscreen in a deeply personal fashion lacking in his more recent projects. The trademark Scorsese tropes of Catholicism, masculinity, race, class, redemption, and guilt pervade the entirety of the film from its opening shots, serving as the most incendiary introduction possible for one of, if not the, greatest of American directors. Additionally, Scorsese scores the film perfectly, and it’s been said that securing the rights to all the pop and rock songs cost half the film’s budget. The film is awash in the neon reds and blues that would fill the canvas in many of his later projects. The use of a handheld camera, rising just as much out of economic necessity as a desire for intimacy, grants the film its deeply personal aura. Keitel and DeNiro perform, predictably, incredibly. I can’t recommend this film enough; with such easy access on the Queue and repeated viewings, it could become my new Scorsese favorite.