Martin Scorsese's Divine Comedy

Front matter

Movies and Religion

Catherine O’Brien

Also available from Bloomsbury:

Part Three Paradise (Lost or Found?)

7 Encountering Jesus 8 The Compassion Connection 9 ‘The Mystery of God’s Love

Conclusion Bibliography

Filmography Index vi vii

Acknowledgements

I should like to express my sincere thanks to Lalle Pursglove and Lucy Carroll at Bloomsbury for their enthusiasm, dedication and highly valued advice. I also owe gratitude to Yoram Allon for his early encouragement and to Nelson Douglas for his very generous assistance.

The wonderful colleagues and the unforgettable students (especially the ones who chose my ‘Screening the Sacred’ elective) in the Film department at Kingston University have been a constant inspiration and made teaching a very happy profession. My long-time friend and ‘cell mate’ Andrea Rinke has been an ongoing source of support and humour, in good times and bad.

Finally, all my love and immeasurable appreciation go to Tom Ennis, who is beside me on our own pilgrimage of faith and makes the journey so enjoyable. With his invaluable help and patience, life is certainly a comedy rather than a tragedy.

Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible with Revised New Testament and Revised Psalms © 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

List of Images

The author and the publisher gratefully acknowledge the permission granted to reproduce the copyright material in this book.

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologizes for any errors or omissions in the above list and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.

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Figure 1.4 Figure 1.5 Figure 2.1 Figure 2.2 Figure 2.3 Figure 2.4 Figure 3.1 Figure 4.1

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The statue of St Lucia in St Patrick’s Old Cathedral - an image of sainthood in Who’ That Knocking at My Door Rodrigues’s hellish journey to Goto in Silence

The world of Stratton Oakmont: Heaven or Hell in

The Wolf of Wall Street?

Charlie ponders on the fires of Hell in Mean Streets

The entrance to the Underworld in GoodFellas

The devil at work: Trippe toys with his prey in The Aviator Max Cady: the avenging angel with evil intent in Cape Fear ‘A warm welcome to the Inferno!’ in The Wolf of Wall Street A poignant question in Cape Fear

Kichijiro: traitor or suffering soul in Silence?

The souls in Purgatory in St Patrick’s Old Cathedral in Whos That Knocking at My Door

Charlie: an everyday saint among gangsters in Mean Streets ‘If you love me, you'll understand’ Uncertain morality in Whos That Knocking at My Door

Tm not that guy? Repentance in Raging Bull

Catholic men with troubled lives in Raging Bull

Scorsese’s Paolo and Francesca: Newland and Ellen in

‘The Age of Innocence

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Earthly and heavenly mothers in Who’ That Knocking at My Door: the first shot that sets the tone Confused identities in Boxcar Bertha

The agony in the Garden in The Last Temptation of Christ:

humanity and divinity in conflict

‘It is accomplished!’ The triumphant ending of The

Last Temptation of Christ

A nightmare vision for the Dalai Lama in Kundun

The Joy of the priesthood - bringing the Eucharist to the Hidden Christians in Silence

On the way to Paradise: the Tomogi martyrs in Silence The peace of repentance in Silence

The sign of faith in Silence

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The third party copyrighted materials displayed in the pages of this book are done so on the basis of ‘fair dealing for the purposes of criticism and review or

‘fair use for the purposes of teaching, criticism, scholarship or research’ only in accordance with international copyright laws, and are not intended to infringe upon the ownership rights of the original owners.

Introduction

A statue of a Madonna and Child in a New York kitchen appears in the opening shot of Martin Scorseses Whos That Knocking at My Door (1967-9); and the final image of Silence (2016) is of a handmade crucifix glowing in the flames of a crematory fire in seventeenth-century Japan. It is inarguable that there is a Catholic dimension to Scorsese's filmography that can be traced from the Marian icon in his first full-length feature right through to his movie about Jesuit priests that was released around fifty years later. With due respect paid to the scale of the task, the following chapters engage with that particular cinematic trajectory and take seriously the oft-quoted words of the director himself: “My whole life has been movies and religion. That’s it. Nothing else’

Scorsese was born in 1942, educated by the Sisters of Charity and received his religious instruction before the mood of aggiornamento that was heralded by Pope John XXIII’s instigation of Vatican II (the Second Vatican Council of 1962- 5), which was an effort to modernize the Catholic Church. Indeed, religion(s) played a role in the young boy’s life, even down to the fact that his father Charles earned pragmatic money by lighting the stoves for his Jewish neighbours on the Sabbath. Although a cradle Catholic himself, Scorsese does not recall his parents being particularly devout, although he once revealed that ‘there were cardinals, way back when’ on his mother’s side of the family (in Wilson 2011: 91). However, he clarifies that his mother and father ‘were working out how one lives a good life on a day-to-day, hour-to-hour basis, with responsibilities, and obligations and decency’ (in Martin 2016).

Many critics muse over the detail that Scorsese was an altar boy at St Patrick's Old Cathedral on Mott Street - the first Catholic cathedral for the diocese of New York (and now a basilica) - that was only one block away from his family’s home in Little Italy. In those days the Mass was in Latin and the altar server recited the responses. Fr Principe, a diocesan priest whose influence on the young Martin Scorsese is repeatedly acknowledged by the director himself, once explained the overwhelming effect of the dramatic liturgy on his protégé ‘in this very large church with this absolutely mind-boggling, beautiful sanctuary, with these magnificent statues and magnificent organ’ (in Wernblad 2011: 18). Scorsese talks about his interest in the drama of Holy Week, which he would eventually strive to capture in The Last Temptation of Christ (1988); and he has now adapted the novel Silence by Shusaku Endo (1923-96), a writer who has been characterized as ‘a Holy Saturday author describing the darkness of waiting for Easter light to break into our world’ (Fujimura 2016). Before the young Scorsese was ‘discharged’ from his duties (reportedly because he was late for Mass), he served at a number of funerals, and he evidently gained an early introduction to the rituals of death - a memory that he incorporates into The Departed (2006) when the young Colin Sullivan (Conor Donovan) swings the thurible of incense during a Requiem Mass.

Much is also made of Scorsese's one year in the Minor Seminary on 86th Street in the Archdiocese of New York, when he felt that he had the calling to become a Catholic priest, although he obviously found that he did not have a traditional religious vocation - a change of heart (as he readily admits) that was provoked by a growing interest in the female sex. As a result of his low grades, Scorsese was not admitted to Fordham (the Jesuit institution) but found a place to study Liberal Arts at New York University; and, enthused by one of the tutors called Haig Manoogian, he chose to focus on cinema. But filmmaking can be regarded as a vocation as well as an industry, and it is one to which Scorsese has dedicated his life. He famously admitted: ‘I guess the passion I had for religion wound up mixed with film, and now, as an artist, in a way, I’m both gangster and priest’ (in Kelly 1996: 31) and he has expressed a ‘fascination, not necessarily with the Church, but with the teachings and trying to understand what the teachings are about’ (in Kakutani 1999: 103).

Scorsese has remarked on his adherence to Catholicism in his younger days: “Well, I did believe it, every word of it. I wouldnt touch meat on Friday, and I believed I would go to hell if I missed Mass on Sunday’ (in Flatley 1999: 5). Discussing his faith during conversations that accompanied the release of Silence, he commented: ‘I trusted the church, because it made sense, what they preached, what they taught. I understood that there’s another way to think, outside the closed, hidden, frightened, tough world I grew up im (in Elie 2016).

However, Scorsese was a young man at a time that the Catholic Church was ‘struggling though an agonized period of growth and transition’ (Greeley 1967: 295). Vatican II resulted in a number of key constitutional documents (see Tanner 2012) and, for the Catholic in the pew, there were changes to the liturgy that were coming into force at the same time as American society was experiencing the Sexual Revolution and the war in Vietnam. Although Scorsese stopped being ‘a regular churchgoer’ in the 1960s, he stated in an interview in 2016 with the Jesuit journal La Civilta Cattolica:

I believe in the tenets of Catholicism. I’m not a doctor of the church. Pm not a theologian who could argue the Trinity. Pm certainly not interested in the politics of the institution. ... But the idea of the Resurrection, the idea of the Incarnation, the powerful message of compassion and love - that’s the key. The sacraments, if you are allowed to take them, to experience them, help you stay close to God. (In Spadaro 2016)

In 1966, Scorsese wrote a screenplay called Jerusalem, Jerusalem! that begins with a quotation from Robert Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest (1951): ‘God is not a torturer. ... He only wants us to be merciful with ourselves’ and involves a group of eighteen-year-olds, including one called J.R. (Scorsese's alter ego) who appears in Who's That Knocking at My Door and then reappears renamed Charlie (both roles played by Harvey Keitel) in Mean Streets (1973). The teenagers go on a three-day Catholic retreat (as Scorsese himself did) run by Jesuit priests - thereby introducing a reference to the Society of Jesus, founded by St Ignatius Loyola, in this early artistic effort that will reach its apogee in Silence. As Richard McBrien explains, “The Catholic sacramental vision “sees” God in all things (St. Ignatius Loyola): other people, communities, movements, events, places, objects, the environment, the world at large, the whole cosmos’ (1994: 9); and many critics of Scorsese have identified an immanentist and analogical sensibility in his films (see, for example, Blake 2000: 30-1; and Casillo 2006: xii) and the kind of approach that tends ‘to emphasize the presence of God in the world’ and ‘the dangers of a creation in which God is only marginally present’ (see Greeley 2000: 5). Indeed, Scorsese once confirmed that his ‘films would be inconceivable without the presence of religion’ (in Monda 2007: 151).

In Jerusalem, Jerusalem! a scene takes place in a Chinese restaurant when a character named Bud cradles a cup of hot tea in his hands and raises it, as the priest would lift up the chalice at the consecration during Mass, and says mockingly, ‘Introibo ad altare Dei’ (in Kelly 1980: 43) (‘I go unto the altar of God’), the Latin words spoken by a priest at the start of the Tridentine Mass. In Silence, a Jesuit missionary named Fr Sebastian Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) utters those very words as he begins to say Mass for the hidden Christians in Tomogi village; and Fr Francisco Garupe (Adam Driver) takes on the role of the altar server, with which Scorsese would once have been familiar, and responds, ‘Ad deum qui laetificat juventum meum (To God who givith joy to my youth).

As he wrote his Jerusalem, Jerusalem! script, Scorsese presumably did not realize that he would one day make a film about Catholic missionaries that would premiere in Rome at the Palazzo San Carlo to an audience of Jesuits, or that the director himself would be granted a private audience with (the Jesuit) Pope Francis the following day.

A contemporary Dante

While many books on Scorsese take a chronological approach to the films of this celebrated Italian American director, I have chosen a thematic structure that was inspired by a remarkable Italian from a much earlier era: Dante Alighieri. Although Dante (1265-1321) never visited New York for several very obvious reasons, he is honoured by a sculpture erected in 1921 that stands in a small garden across from the Lincoln Center in Manhattan - it is a symbol of the historical links between the United States and Italy, spanning the thousands of miles that were traversed by Scorsese’s grandparents as they sailed across the Atlantic to make a new life for themselves. This geographical bond with Italy has been repeatedly recognized by Scorsese, most obviously in the moving documentary that he made about his parents, Italianamerican (1974), and in his own tribute to Italian cinema entitled My Voyage to Italy (1999). Therefore, it is not surprising that commentators have frequently made allusions to one of Italy’s cultural heroes in their analyses of Scorseses work, with notable intertextual links between Scorsese's films and Dante's The Divine Comedy, the poem in 100 cantos that charts a pilgrimage through the realms of the Afterlife towards God. First guided by the poet Virgil, the Pilgrim spirals down through the darkness of the nine circles of Hell in Inferno; in the morning light he begins to climb the steep Mountain of the Seven Deadly Sins in Purgatorio; and he finally encounters heavenly glory in Paradiso.

In his biography of Scorsese, Vincent LoBrutto finds inspiration in The Divine Comedy for his early chapter headings. Relating events from the director's childhood, LoBrutto describes the ‘Paradiso’ of an idyllic life in the house in Queens where Scorsese was born, followed by the ‘Purgatorio’ of illness. In 1950, when the Scorsese family had to move back (for undisclosed reasons) to the Lower East Side, the director witnessed the ‘Inferno’ conditions in the Bowery - an area that would eventually figure in his film Gangs of New York (2002). Scorsese himself describes the change as traumatic: “Thrown into that area at that point, having severe asthma, it was a difference of day and night. It was something in my mind that was idyllic: suddenly cast out of Paradise, so to speak, into the diaspora (in Martin 2016). Commenting on the violence that he saw in the streets as a child, the director explained that ‘the worst thing was the thinking, the medieval kind of tribal way of thinking’ (Scorsese 2017a) - a way of thinking with which Dante would have been familiar.

In fact, the Dantean allusions have been frequently made by commentators throughout Scorseses career. In his student film Its Not Just You, Murray! (1964), Scorsese’s mother Catherine plays her first cinematic maternal role and encourages her onscreen son, the eponymous Murray, to ‘Eat first’ - a line that ‘has heavy antecedents in [La Pias] note in The Divine Comedy [Purg. V] where Dante is told, in effect, to take care of the body’ (see Kelly 1980: 72).

The streets of New York in Taxi Driver (1976) receive particularly ‘hellish’ comparisons in the observations of Christopher Deacy (2001: 115), among others. Comparing Raging Bull (1980) to Rocky (Avildsen 1976) would be like the difference ‘between Dante's Inferno and Hollywood heaven, claimed Andrew Sarris (in Rausch 2010: 82-3); while Roger Ebert described Frank Pierce (Nicolas Cage) ‘as a paramedic whose runs through Hell’s Kitchen are like a bus route through Dante's Inferno’ (2008: 231) in Bringing Out the Dead (1999). When The Wolf of Wall Street was released in December 2013, several reviewers made explicit reference to Dante’s vision of Hell. Indeed, in reflecting on his role as Jordan Belfort, Leonardo DiCaprio described Mark Hanna (Matthew McConaughey) as ‘the devil that leads me to Dante's Inferno’ (in Dean 2013: 4).

The dialogue of Cape Fear (1991) markedly foregrounds the Dantean theme when Max Cady (Robert De Niro) confirms that he has indeed read Inferno (a copy of which is visible among the books on the shelf of his prison cell) when he informs Sam Bowden (Nick Nolte): Tm Virgil, and Pm guiding you through the gates of Hell’ Serendipitously, for the purposes of my argument, Scorsese himself drew attention to his personal knowledge of The Divine Comedy when he commented on his first impressions of Nicholas Pileggi’s book Wiseguy, which was the source text for GoodFellas (1990): ‘It seemed that Nick was taking us through the different levels of purgatory and hell in the underworld, like Virgil or like Dante’ (in Schickel 2013).

Drawing on this popular analogy, this study expands these brief inferences and envisions Martin Scorsese as a contemporary Dante, with his oeuvre offering the dimensions of an onscreen Divine Comedy. Scorsese offers visions of

(a Living) Hell; (a Daily) Purgatory and a striving for Paradise that contemplates the Divine, from the perspective that Hell and Heaven ‘can be anticipated even now. And this can help us to make sense not only of the existence of hell but also of the compatibility of hell with the infinity of the divine love’ (Barron 2011: 256). Scorsese's films present a range of human virtues, understandable foibles and outright wickedness that would enable a twenty-first-century poet to imagine the protagonists’ post-mortem positions in colourful terms, as Dante did with the characters in his epic fourteenth-century poem.

Obviously, with the exception of Lazarus in The Last Temptation of Christ, and Rose (and her ghostly companions) in Bringing Out the Dead, Scorsese's focus is on his characters’ mortal existence. However, earthly actions have consequences whether or not one believes in life after death. David Sterritt considers Shutter Island (2010) to be ‘an inspired instance of cinema hauntology’ which ‘displaces its near-homonym ontology (i.e. that which is grounded presence and being) with the figure of the ghost as an incomprehensible intruder on our world’ (2015: 106). When the inhabitants of Dante’s Hell recount their own tales, ‘the sins they describe reveal that life on Earth is just as horrific as the experience of Hell - that the world, like the Inferno, is full of damned and tormented souls (Parker and Parker 2013). The screenwriter and director Paul Schrader, whose Calvinist upbringing has served as a dynamic counterpoint to Scorsese's Catholicism during their collaborations, has pointed out: “We are both quite moral, we believe decisions have consequences. There is right, there is wrong, and in the end, there is a price to pay (in Wernblad 2011: 21).

While Dante was known for the dolce stil novo - the sweet new style that indicated ‘a unique poetic voice’ (Shaw 2014) - Scorsese brought a fresh dynamism to New Hollywood as one of the Movie Brats, alongside Francis Ford Coppola and Brian De Palma in the 1970s. It was the poet Boccaccio who added the adjective ‘divine’ to the title of Dante's poem (Reynolds 2006: 116), but one of the reasons that this epic medieval work is called a ‘Comedy’ is that it is written in Italian (rather than Latin), using the language of everyday life, including vulgar vocabulary. One of the infernal demons, Barbariccia, ‘sounds the advance, not with a bugle but a fart’ (Reynolds 2006: 178); and while Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (whose version is used throughout this book) translates a line in Canto XXVIII of Inferno as ‘His heart was visible, and the dismal sack / That maketh excrement of what is eaten’ (Dante Alighieri 1867), other translators are not afraid to use the word ‘shit’

Scorseses films have been criticized for the recurrent deployment of expletives, most obviously in the depictions of the gangster community and the stockbrokers of Wall Street. Indeed, at the opening night of Mean Streets (1973),

Mrs Scorsese was keen to talk to members of the audience and say, I just want you to know, we never used that word in the house (in Schickel 2013). It is a stance that she reprises in Casino (1995) in her role as a gangster’s mother, when she reprimands her son Piscano for his repeated use of bad language. As a result, Scorsese’s ‘family filn? Hugo (2011) was something of a surprise to many viewers (see, for example, Keyser 1992: 159).

One of the Pilgrims most joyful meetings in The Divine Comedy is with Beatrice - a character who is reportedly based on Beatrice Portinari, a young woman who captivated Dante’s heart when he was aged nine. He was about eighteen when he next saw her, but she ‘then later still cut him dead, to his great sorrow (Shaw 2014). Dante wrote:

Whenever and wherever she appeared, in the hope of receiving her miraculous salutation I felt I had not an enemy in the world. Indeed, I glowed with a flame of charity which moved me to forgive all who had ever injured me; and if at that moment someone had asked me a question, about anything, my only reply would have been: ‘Love, with a countenance clothed with humility. (In Royal 1999: 19-20)

As a result, Beatrice left the poet sorrowful when she married another man and died at the age of twenty-four in 1290. In capturing Beatrice in verse, Dante transformed his lost love into a representation of ‘ideal virtue, incomparable beauty, a paradisiacal being’ and, therefore, ‘a new form of allegory: it is not personification or symbolism, but the realisation that actual persons can be images of qualities beyond themselves, ... leading to the creation of the convincing, unforgettable characters who people the Commedia, and at the same time represent sins or virtues’ (Reynolds 2006: 24).

Throughout Scorsese's feature films there are a number of beautiful women (usually in the form of illusive blondes) who entrance the male protagonists as well as leading them to despair. Although Scorsese's celluloid heroines do not share the exceptional sanctity of Dante's Beatrice, they manifest a magnetism that generates male heartache when they leave the scene, including the Girl (Who's That Knocking at My Door); Betsy (Taxi Driver); Vickie (Raging Bull); Paulette (New York Stories: Life Lessons); Countess Ellen (The Age of Innocence); Ginger (Casino) and Naomi (The Wolf of Wall Street). Explaining that he understood the tone of The Age of Innocence (1993), Scorsese mentioned ‘the spirit of the exquisite romantic pain. The idea that the mere touching of a woman's hand would suffice. The idea that seeing her across the room would keep him alive for another year. That’s something I guess that is part of me’ (in Ebert 2008: 117).

In Casino, Ginger (Sharon Stone) is first spotted on a TV security monitor and Sam Rothstein (Robert De Niro) is shown ‘falling so instantly in love that the image becomes a freeze-frame’ (Ebert 2008: 144). However, as Barbara Reynolds points out, ‘For all his idealization of women in his love poems, there was an element in Dante of what is now called chauvinism’ (2006: 336). Some feminist critics of Scorsese would have no difficulty in applying such an appellation to the director.

While Dante engaged with the society around him in his magnificent poem, he was also concerned ‘with the state of his own psyche’ (Turner 1993: 133) and offers a confessional approach to which Scorsese could relate. Discussing the ‘religious stuff’ in his first films, Scorsese admitted that he found it embarrassing to watch because ‘it’s just so personal’; but he clarified that he would continue in this vein because ‘it’s got to be done, and you just have to be honest with yourself’ (in Kelly 1980: 19-20). He once stated that he ‘became a director in order to express my whole self, and also my relationship with religion, which is crucial’ (in Monda 2007: 155). Having revealed that he had not been to the Catholic sacrament of Reconciliation since 1965, he added: Tve been confessing most of the time on film since then, so it doesn’t matter. My own friends who are priests, they look at my films and they know’ (in Rensin 2006: 354).

It has frequently been reported that Fr Principe, who encouraged Scorsese’s love of motion pictures, once remarked on the director’s first productions: Tve always told you, “Too much Good Friday, not enough Easter Sunday?” As Dante's Pilgrim enters Hell on the evening of Good Friday, such a viewpoint would suggest that Dante’s Inferno (rather than his Paradiso) would be the chief reference point for a Scorsese audience. However, in 2012 Scorsese himself contacted the Jesuit publication America (which had incorrectly attributed the ‘Good Friday’ comment to his university teacher Haig Manoogian) to identify the precise source of the citation and to add a further clarification:

This remark has often been repeated, but seeing it once again in print in America, I remembered Father Principe’s exact words to me, and I would like to take this opportunity to correct the record. It was after a small screening of my movie Taxi Driver in 1976. My then publicist had invited a small group of friends to the Plaza Hotel afterward, including Father Principe. His response to the movie after the screening was, Tm glad you ended it on Easter Sunday and not on Good Friday: This was a personal remark to me, as he knew me well. But over the years it has often been quoted in a shorter version, which has quite a different meaning. (In Reidy 2012)

Indeed, the revised quotation does markedly change the perspective. In the first season of The Sopranos, there is a humorous scene in the episode entitled ‘46 Long; in which ‘Martin Scorsese’ (played by Anthony Caso) arrives at a nightclub and hears Christopher Moltisanti (Michael Imperioli) shout out, “Marty! Kundun, I liked it!’ Although Scorsese has indicated that members of the Mafia have spoken positively about Mean Streets, it is less certain whether his 1997 film about the Dalai Lama is a firm favourite within the criminal fraternity, but the joke in The Sopranos serves as a playful reminder that Scorsese has not only set his sights on gangsters. The bloodletting and profane language, for which the director is particularly well known, are only part of the story.

* * *

This monograph is divided into three main spheres; but while key films and characters may predominate under a particular heading, there are certainly overlaps and intersections in relation to the analysis. Dante’s Pilgrim noted that members of one family might end up in different realms of the Afterlife, and the same holds true for various aspects of the movies that make up Scorsese's earthly Divine Comedy as the protagonists struggle with issues of morality and faith. Scorsese himself chooses not to distinguish between his works of fiction and documentaries: “You cant say one is better than the other. Its apples and oranges, I guess. But in a sense, in the documentaries, there is more of a truth that you get at. Something happens that you can't really do in dramatic films’ (in Kelly 1980: 31). However, this study focuses on his feature films (with some tangential references to religious themes in his documentaries) out of a (no doubt wise) sense of reluctance towards allocating real human beings to places within a Heaven and Hell structure. Many of Scorseses characters in feature films are based on recognizable people, but they are roles created for the screen. As Scorsese explained when discussing GoodFellas, he is creating the story of ‘Henry Hill’ as opposed to the real Henry Hill - on film it is ‘purely an imaginative version of this guy (Smith 1999a: 149). Dante himself had no qualms about putting living people into hot places, even leaving a couple of popes in his Inferno. I am not so bold.

* * *

Part One: Inferno: Visions of Hell presents the infernal environments in Scorsese’s filmography via the “Hell on earth’ approach recognizable in his mise en scène and the murderers and/or double-crossers who play a significant role in this landscape. Here are Scorsese’s most ruthless protagonists who commit violence and fraud (often with a sideline in avarice, lust and gluttony); and the overshadowing theme of treachery, which can be identified in films that range from Scorsese's student production Its Not Just You, Murray! to Silence. Dante places murderers, fraudsters and traitors in the lowest reaches of his Hell - the most famous region described in his poem. For some viewers, it is the villains in Scorsese’s films who also endure in the memory, such as Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver and Max Cady in Cape Fear (two memorable personalities interpreted by Robert De Niro); Tommy DeVito in GoodFellas and Nicky Santoro in Casino (both played by Joe Pesci); Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) in The Departed; and Andrew Laeddis in Shutter Island and Jordan Belfort in The Wolf of Wall Street (with Leonardo DiCaprio taking on two roles that cause suffering by death and deception, respectively).

Part Two: Purgatory: The Three Story Mountain reflects on the Deadly Sins; and on the protagonists whose everyday struggle to find happiness might be reflected in the lyrics of the song “You Cant Always Get What You Want’ by The Rolling Stones - a group of musicians who have also been the topic of a Scorsese documentary, Shine a Light (2008), and whose music often enhances his soundtracks.