Alicia ya no vive aquí

This has to be one of Martin Scorses's most enjoyable films. The film follows Alice (Ellen Burstyn) on a journey back to happier times after a tragedy forces her to make important decisions about her life. Needing a job to raise cash for this journey takes her and her son (the remarkably cheeky Alfred Lutter) on a journey of self discovery. Having a small talent for singing she eventually secures a job as a singer in a bar but flees town after meeting psychopathic Harvey Keitel. Eventually working as a waitress in Mel's Diner she becomes involved with the strangely uncharismatic Kris Kristofferson and realises she has finally met someone who really cares for her. The performances make this a remarkable film, Burstyn & Lutter are a great double act as mother and son, Harvey Keitel frighteningly plausible as a mentally unbalanced suitor and Jodie Foster sexually ambiguous as Lutters playmate. Diane Ladd excels as hard-bitten fellow waitress Flo and Jane Curtin and Billy Green Bush make an impact with barely half a dozen lines between them. Add to this a terrific musical score and inspiring cinematography and you have a timeless classic that is just crying out for a DVD release.

Ellen Burstyn could play a tree stump and make it interesting. She's one of the unsung heroes of post-studio cinema. At a time when meaty women's roles were becoming more and more scarce, Burstyn was fighting for and winning one great part after another. She's probably never been better than she is here, though she showed tremendous range in "Same Time, Next Year" and gave one of the most heartbreakingly harrowing performances I've ever seen as recently as 2000, in "Requiem for a Dream." Women's picture and Martin Scorsese are not two phrases that would seem to be tailor made for each other, but a terrific women's picture is exactly what Scorsese gives us with "Alice..." Though I hate using the term women's picture, as if men can't enjoy stories about women, or as if women's pictures are isolated from the rest of "real" movies. Actually and ironically, maybe it was Scorsese's penchant for the tough-guy milieu that made him so right for this film, because "Alice" doesn't suffer from the burn-your-bra self-righteousness of other women's lib movies of its era, like "Un Unmarried Woman." These other films ultimately feel phony, because they were created for the most part by men, who, however noble their intentions, simply didn't have an understanding for the material. But Scorsese gets the character of Alice, and Burstyn knows exactly what she's doing. So the conflict isn't between Alice and the male world, but between the Alice who doesn't have the confidence to be anything other than a doormat and the Alice who wants to make a life for herself on her own terms.

There are some hilarious scenes between Alice and her son in this film, most particularly the scenes of them driving to California (like when Alice calls him Hellen Keller because he keeps asking "what?" to everything she says). Also, a subplot about the evolving friendship between Alice and Flo (played by Diane Ladd) becomes one of the film's highlights, not in the least because both actresses handle it expertly.

This is a winner, and must be seen by anyone who thinks Scorses is out of his element anywhere but the mean streets of NYC.

Grade: A

People forget that "ALICE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE" is a Scorsese film. Look at it again and you'll see it is one hundred percent Scorsese. Totally focused on a female character. I read somewhere that Ellen Burstyn asked Scorsese "How well do you know women" and Scorsese replayed "Not well at all, but I'm willing to learn" The portrait of Alice adds something to film female characters that had never been present on the screen before. All those Joan Crawford fighting working class women seem like a joke compared to Ellen Burstyn's Alice. Jodie Foster steps into the screen with a funny, touching BANG. If you've never seen this film, hurry up! If you've seen it, see it again.

Martin Scorsese's reputation as the director of some of the best gangster movies of all time often obscures his enormous sensitivity to the nuances of every-day modern life. Despite being his first commercial success, 'Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore' is probably Scorsese's most overlooked film, which is shameful, because it is arguably his best, and in any analysis, deserves acknowledgment as one of the most honest and, ultimately, uplifting portraits of working-class womanhood written and directed by men.

The scenario is familiar to anyone with a vague awareness of late 1970s American pop culture, as it was adapted into a successful TV sit-com, 'Alice,' starring Linda Lavin in the title role originated by the great Ellen Burstyn: a former lounge singer who traded a dicey future for the stability of blue-collar married life in suburban New Mexico, Alice Hyatt finds herself suddenly widowed, with little to no money, no career possibilities or job experience, and a precocious (and frequently obnoxious) twelve year-old son (Alfred Lutter, who went on to make 'The Bad News Bears' before growing up and disappearing) to provide for. With few other options on hand, Alice determines to restart her singing career back in Monterrey, California, the last place she remembered feeling truly happy and optimistic about the future. She packs her life and her son into the family station wagon and makes her way west, stopping off first in Phoenix (where the sit-com is set) and then in Tucson, trying to save enough cash to get to Monterrey. En route, she suffers defeat, humiliation, and a continuation of her serial attraction to abusive men, until finally she finds herself reduced to a job as a waitress in a roadside café, the now-ubiquitous 'Mel's Diner,' a dive dominated by the profane banter between saucy head waitress Flo (Diane Ladd) and cook/owner Mel (Vic Tayback). Alice finds herself living in an extended-stay fleabag motel, pinching pennies and praying for a bit of luck, which dubiously arrives in the form of David (Kris Kristofferson), a local rancher whom Alice feels herself falling for but is unable to trust, thanks to her history of abuse at the hands of formerly charming men.

Scorsese's innovative, trademark camera work is on ample display here, along with his art-house director's penchant for the unusual (the film opens with an homage to 'The Wizard of Oz,' in which Dorothy is replaced by the young but already brassy and foul-mouthed Alice). But this is a story about humanity, and Scorsese knows enough to step back and let his brilliant lead actress fill up the screen with her honesty and emotional range.

Ellen Burstyn won the 1976 Best Actress Oscar for this film, and it's easy to see why. Scorsese clearly knew what he had on his hands: Burstyn's Alice is both tough and vulnerable, desperate and determined. Burstyn lets the camera linger on her aging face (she was 42 when the film was released), which, strangely enough, is more beautiful and alluring than the polished appearances of most of today's actresses. Alice faces countless hardships, and Burstyn makes them feel as true as any we face in our own lives. She tries to keep up a bright face for Tommy, her quirky, quizzical son, but has moments of naked, gut-wrenching despair as she tries to fathom how she'll ever be able to support herself. Burstyn was herself a singer and a waitress before finding success as a film actress, and her vocal performances are powerfully affecting--pitch-perfect, but shaky enough to reveal her inner vulnerability. She is a brilliant vehicle for this portrait of the life of a hard-luck woman with no one to trust. The film is full of fine, heartbreakingly memorable moments--Alice weeps in bed next to her husband Donald (Billy Green Bush) after another silent, loveless dinner, and the two clutch each other, unable to speak, Alice's disappointment outweighed only by her desperate need; after a long day of rejections, Alice breaks down into tears before a gentle bar manager, who ultimately caves in allows her to audition for him, whereupon she performs a heartbreaking medley of standards for a stunned crowd of average joes in a dingy piano bar; Alice gets a rare moment of joy, drunkenly sitting up from the kitchen table to show David her first dance routine after making love for the first time. These moments feel so real and honest that you almost forget you're watching a movie.

The supporting performances are all easily above par, especially Diane Ladd as Flo, a role made famous for the sanitized 'Kiss my grits' line immortalized by Ladd's TV counterpart, Polly Holliday (interestingly, Ladd briefly succeeded Holliday on the TV 'Alice' in the role of 'Belle' after Flo got her own short-lived spin-off). Alice and Flo initially clash, but eventually form a sisterly bond, revealing that in many ways they are opposite sides of the same coin (curiously, Diane Ladd and Ellen Burstyn were born within a month of each other, Burstyn in Detroit and Ladd in Mississippi). Alfred Lutter's Tommy is perfectly exasperating but also lovable. Kris Kristofferson's David manages to be 'too good to be true' without being unbelievable as the first good man in Alice's life. Harvey Keitel (as a rakish suitor), Jodie Foster (as a spunky ne'er-do-well who befriends Tommy), and, of course, Vic Tayback, are all perfect in their smaller, supporting roles.

'Alice . . .' deserves to be revisited again and again. It's so close to the experience of single mothers in the 1970s that it could be considered a documentary. It's also frequently very funny, capturing the small bits of laughter and silliness in normal life with pitch-perfect accuracy. I doubt that there has ever been another film that has made fictional characters feel so real and true. Alice is a true heroine--a survivor--and sharing her travails and triumphs, you feel the empathy and involvement that only appear in transcendent art.

Starring the incomparable Ellen Burstyn, giving an Oscar-winning performance (one of the finest of the 1970s), this comedy-drama is gritty and tough, but never off-putting. After her husband dies, 35-year-old Alice Hyatt from New Mexico and her smart-mouthed 11-year-old son (Alfred Lutter) take to the road, chasing her girlhood dream of finding songbird success in Monterey, CA. They get stuck in Phoenix, where she meets up with a frightening working-stiff in a cowboy hat (Harvey Keitel). Later, waitressing at Mel & Ruby's Cafe in Tucson, she meets a gentle farmer (Kris Kristofferson) who's had his share of heartbreak. Perceptive, amusing, knockabout film regarding ordinary people trying to make it, episodes in their lives that enrich or derail them. Alice and her son have a wonderfully natural give-and-take, and the oddballs they meet on their odyssey (like Jodie Foster's shoplifting tomboy or the sweet, overweight cowboy who gives Alice a singing job) are deliciously silly, yet incredibly real. Burstyn is a joy cutting up with her neighbor in the backyard, having a Coke fight with her kid in a seedy motel, trading quips with Diane Ladd's salty Flo in the diner. Some critics complained that the happy ending felt tacked on, but you come to respect Alice and her choices, and most of the film's little faults are camouflaged by director Martin Scorsese's bittersweet framing and Robert Getchell's vivid screenplay. Far superior to the TV sitcom, "Alice", which quickly followed.