New York, New York

In one of those stunning displays of illogic that can only exist in truly bad films, Martin Scorsese has slavishly recreated the look and feel of old-time movie musicals only so that he can tell a dark and abusive story designed to show just how artificial those old-time musicals were. The result is less a celebration than a eulogy. Indeed, even his template for this film is not anything by Astaire and Rogers or Gene Kelly or even MGM, but the torch song tear-jerking melodramas like A STAR IS BORN or LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME. Musical salutes to domestic violence, as it were. Leave it to Scorsese to resurrect a comatose genre, only so that he could recreate its most depressing subcategory.

To his credit, Scorsese certainly did nail the look of those old Hollywood films. Actually, he surpassed them. The art direction is a clever blend of the somewhat realistic and the obviously artificial and the cinematography catches the richness and the textures of the pseudo-Technicolor. Some scenes in the film are sights to behold. Nobody should doubt Scorsese's eye for visuals. It is his empathy for humanity that so often falls short.

Even so, NYNY as a musical isn't much to talk about; as a love story it is a disaster. The two stars, Liza Minnelli and Robert DeNiro, have no chemistry personally, plus they come from two different acting backgrounds that don't mesh at all. Liza is theatrical pizzazz, while Robert is grunt and groan method. This is made worse by a screenplay in which they are given little to do beyond argue. The incongruity of the two styles, the two characters and the two actors remains at the forefront since so many of their scenes are confrontational. In concept, I suppose, the oil-and-water idea of a show biz sassy Sally Boles sharing the stage with an inarticulate schmo like Jack LaMotta seems amusing; in action, its just embarrassing.

Minnelli, no doubt, was hired because she was the biggest musical movie star at the time (and being Judy Garland's daughter didn't hurt either). DeNiro is here because, well, because it is a Martin Scorsese movie. Whatever the case, the two actors do not register as a couple. Minnelli comes off best and, at least, gets the opportunity to belt out a couple of songs. It is not surprising that her best moments come when she is center stage alone. Her rendition of the title song is the film's show-stopping highlight; indeed, it is the only reason to endure the rest of the movie. Unfortunately, DeNiro, once again giving a one-note performance of a one-note character, is insufferable. He rants and raves and generally overacts, never once revealing a positive or even engaging aspect to the character, a paranoid, possessive and self-obsessed creep. Sort of a Jake LaMotta with a saxophone. Had the film allowed us to see a side of him that would make him appealing to Minnelli, if not the audience, or even showed him to be a clear-cut villain, exploiting Minnelli's talent to enhance his own career, then at least there would be a reason for the romance/marriage to exist. As is, the two are a couple as a plot device only.

Indeed, as the lumbering story builds to a finale in which the big question is whether the two will reunite, the only genuine response is "Who cares?" The maddening thing about NEW YORK NEW YORK is not just the utter emptiness of the drama, but the waste of effort that went behind it. Scorsese obviously went to great lengths to recreate the look, sound and tone of 1940/50's movies, then squanders it all on a story that had little hope whatsoever of being anything but dull and dreary. Once again, as a stylist, Scorsese is a master; as a person with a sense of empathy and a soul he doesn't even bother. Great movies are made with the heart as well as the eye. As the old saying goes, he can play the notes, but he can't play the music.

What is fantastic and wonderful about this film is the music, the sets and when Liza Minnelli sings. Liza is superb in her performance and Robert DeNiro plays a character that is arrogant, brutal and slightly erratic in a way that only DeNiro can perform. His character is quite disturbing to watch as the film takes a serious turn. There are several twists and turns in this film. Try to see the 2 hours + 44 min. version that includes more of the "Happy Ending" musical number that features Larry Kent. Beware of prints that have been cut down to 153 min. and 137 min. This film is at its best in the 164 min. form. I enjoy the performance of the woman who sings "Honeysuckle Rose". Whether this movie has a happy ending is something to behold. It can be best interpreted by the viewer. Some woman (and men) may say "hurray" for Liza while Alpha-males may be on the DeNiro's character's side. Watch Liza for her excellent, dramatic performance. This is one film I wish they could have made a sequel to.

The first thing that needs to be said about Scorsese's highly underrated "New York, New York" is that it can't possibly be fully appreciated by anyone who hasn't seen films like "An American in Paris" and "Singin' in the Rain". Scorsese's film is very much a pastiche (or parody, depending on your perspective) of these earlier musicals by MGM. The entire formula for the film is based around them. Stylistically attractive visuals, light and witty dialogue, a romance at the center of the story, and a foray into narratively digressive musical territory toward the end of the film. It's all there.

This hypotextual reflection of Hollywood's golden age, however, is only half the picture. The other half is that this is very much a Scorsese film, despite many claims to the contrary. Scorsese's hallmarks are all over it. We have Robert De Niro in the lead role, playing an oppressive, dominant alpha male personality type, amplified by a bit of that good old-fashioned Italian-American upbringing that Scorsese knew so well. Harvey Keitel played this character in "Who's That Knocking at My Door" and "Mean Streets" (and even "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore", in a lesser role), and now, for "Taxi Driver", "New York, New York", "Raging Bull", and even "Casino", it's De Niro.

I've seen nineteen Scorsese films, and this is by far the most cinematographically impressive of them all. The lighting is flawless; the direction exemplary. Scorsese has always been a top talent in terms of his technical skills as a director, but visually, this film is stunning on an entirely different level. The film's aesthetic seeks to mimic the visual attractiveness of those classic Hollywood musicals (Scorsese even gives us a few false backgrounds, just for good measure), and in that way it was very successful. This film is eye candy on a par with Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love", Korine's "Spring Breakers", Refn's "Only God Forgives", or Fassbinder's "Lola".

As for the film's content, about which too little has been written, the entire thematic core of the film is reflected in the casting of its two principal parts: First, we have Robert De Niro, the classic Scorsese casting choice, playing very much the same character we've seen him play in other Scorsese films. On the other end, we have Liza Minnelli, the daughter of none other than Judy Garland, the ultra-famous musical actress of Hollywood's glory days. And Liza's father? Vincente Minelli, director of famous Hollywood musicals like "The Band Wagon", "Gigi", and "An American in Paris". Scorsese throws these two characters together in a violent tempest of passion and suffocating possessiveness. But we, the audience, are also witnessing two worlds being thrown together: De Niro represents Scorsese's world — his vision of a reality steeped in alpha male aggression and hyper-possessiveness over females — and Liza Minnelli, daughter of the golden age of Hollywood, represents that other, make-believe world of American culture — that unique brand of lighthearted escapism and pure cinematic fantasy that Hollywood produced so enticingly in the '30s, '40s, and '50s. Cinematically, we are watching traditional Hollywood fantasy pitted against a vaguely Cassavetes-esque realism.

What will happen when these two disparate realities attempt to coexist? Well, Scorsese doesn't offer an outright answer, except to say it will be difficult — extremely difficult. Hollywood fantasy has created in the American mentality a world of misplaced priorities and unrealistic expectations regarding life. When the film begins, Minnelli's character seems to have her life together in a way that few Scorsese characters do (naturally, since she's not from Scorsese's world — she is born of that distant land called Hollywood). And then De Niro enters her life, from the other end of the spectrum, and emotionally shatters her to pieces. And so it's very much a film about the conflict between reality and fantasy. Ultimately, reality obliterates fantasy.

The musical detour (the film-within-the-film at the end of the movie) has been the source of a lot of criticism, but once again, no one who's seen "An American in Paris" or "Singin' in the Rain" would be surprised by it. It was a structural necessity if the film was going to accurately echo the formula of those older films, as it clearly intended to do. That being said, I will admit that, at 160+ minutes in length, to abandon over two hours of plot and move into a musical digression so late in the film certainly tests the viewer's patience. There is a moment in this segment, however, that makes it all worthwhile. In this moment, we see movie theater viewers sitting in their seats watching a film, looking straight at us (the camera is placed behind what would be the screen of their theater), and behind them is the projector, casting its image directly at us. And so just as we are sitting in our theater watching them stare at the screen (at us), they are, perhaps, sitting in their theater watching us stare at our screen. And so Scorsese subtly implicates us into the film's themes of fantasy versus reality. Their reality has become our fantasy, and, possibly, our reality has become their fantasy.

The final shot of the film is a reference to Gene Kelly's most memorable moment from "Singin' in the Rain". De Niro is in the street. He stands still, propping himself up with an umbrella. The camera pans down to his feet, pausing on them for a moment. The credits roll. We are left to savor the bitter and disenchanting taste of a reality so contrary to the one that Hollywood has offered us. De Niro was standing on a road that could have very well been the same one on which Gene Kelly sung in the rain with his umbrella. But there is no singing here, the umbrella is closed, and those feet aren't dancing. Reality has decimated the Hollywood fantasy.

RATING: 8.00 out of 10 stars

New York, New York is a marvel. The beautiful production design of this dark chamber musical helps us see a side of post-War America many of us are unfamiliar with. The destructive relationship of lead characters Francine Evans and Jimmy Doyle (Liza Minelli and Robert DeNiro) does not obscure their obvious love for each other and their music. The film is a burgundy-tinged valentine to the musicals of the 40's, and there is frequent wonderful humor and a delightful supporting turn by Lionel Stander. Do not listen to the nay-sayers; this is Martin Scorsese's finest film.

There *are* things to love in NYNY. But over and over again I kept coming back to this thought: does director Martin Scorsese (a genius storyteller) really love musicals, or is he, in fact, satirizing them here? I can't find any other explanation for the creation of a leading character (DeNiro) so self-absorbed, rude, brutish, and jealous of his future wife's (Minnelli) growing fame, while at the same time trying so hard to establish his own fortune with a tenor sax. It's like there's a highly pitched voice of reason trying to remind the audience that in real life, people aren't so happy as they always seem to be in musicals. I know everyone doesn't love (some of you proudly hate) musicals, but usually one can find something redeeming in the characters who populate the stories. For 2 1/2 hours of film, we are presented with a love story which borders on spousal abuse, and somehow be expected to care about the husband. It doesn't work. And yet, Scorsese bends over backward to recreate the 1940's musical/big band atmosphere, from Hawaiian shirts and two-tone spectator shoes to sumptuous big band pieces, not to mention a charming pair of dancers (channeling Gene Kelly and Vera-Ellen?) spotted on a subway ledge or a sultry torch singer in a Harlem nightclub (a cameoed Diahnne Abbott, whose 11th-hour performance of 'Honeysuckle Rose' tips a well-fitted hat to Billie Holiday). One critic seemed to personally resent the channeling of mother Garland through daughter Minnelli (particularly in the supper club where the title song is stunningly performed with all guns blazing), but I think that was very much on purpose. Even though she got much bigger acclaim for "Cabaret," I think Minnelli reached the peak of her musical talents in this film. I loved her. I just didn't love them, and unfortunately, that kept me from loving the whole project. Watch it on DVD, and skip to your favorite parts.