"The Big Shave" is disturbingly bold, brave and of course, bloody... but no one would certainly have remembered it had it not been the first film of director Martin Scorsese.
The various parts of an ordinary bathrooms are shown through a stylish editing and under a smooth and relaxed 30's jazz music that will be the film's only sound. Then a young man enters, nothing special about him, he's young, not bad-looking and still dazed of sleepiness, he puts some shaving foam, takes his razor and so begins the shave. Not so big at first, it goes well and then he puts more foam and repeats the same modus operandi then it goes on... and on, the first drops of blood soils the immaculate white porcelain. The man is tracing horizontal lines of blood all over his cheeks, drops of blood have been replaced by red flooding on the sink and the film climaxes with the man cutting (not slitting) his throat, from ear to ear, making vertical lines of blood on his chest and as he (finally) puts his razor, the images fades to a red screen. And whoever provided that (fake?) blood deserved to be mentioned in the credits.
By the way, the alternate title is given at the end credits and it's Viet '67.
Obviously, it's a metaphor of the Vietnam War but instead of sticking to the obvious (since the director mentions it), I appreciate how the use of jazz music, shockingly casual and relaxed, fits the relative indifference of the exterior eye toward the conflict, especially if jazz reflects the "older" generation. But more disturbing is the man's own indifference. This is a fine man, at the peak of his youth and watching him mutilating himself isn't just horrific because of the graphicness but because it feels like a terrible waste, extremely pointless. In fact, he didn't even look like he needed a shave... and that's the point for the movie whose name's Viet 67. Marty was of the same generation of the youth sacrificed in Nam and this his angst cry.
It's by the way interesting that Marty would also be present in Woodstock as an editor and it's only fitting that he could witness the most iconic artistic expression of that anger because was also destined to become one of the greatest artists of his generation and his legacy immortalized the film. And what a legacy! I won't drop titles right now because I'll use them to make my points.
Now, a few days ago, I was watching "The Irishman" and I observed how desensitized I was to the effect of gunshots, but still, the big picture affected me, it's not the use of violence that shocks but its pointlessness. Indeed, just because there's a cause to violence doesn't make it reasonable for all that... Travis Bickle did use violence to save a young prostitute but let's not forget it was Plan B after failing to assassinate a politician, just because he gave violence a meaning (and even justification) didn't make his motives any nobler. There's always an element of ego and hubris in these characters, something that confines to self-destruction... Hoffa not getting the threats, Tommy De Vito or Nicky Santoro escalating in violence, La Motta getting increasingly jealous and taking all the hits against Sugar Ray Robinson, it all started with that man that keeps shaving as if blood had no effect whatsoever.
And why do we shave? To look clean or good. It's America's obsession, how do we look in front of the world, it's not an obsession for violence, but a self-obsession that Marty exorcizes because, maybe, he feels concerned by the own thing he denounces. Indeed, the film might betray a sort of hypnotic gaze toward blood, the young sickly director who couldn't become a priest and became famous by portraying sinners, insisting that it's only in the streets that you could find redemption, not in church. It goes back to his deep belief in Jesus Christ and I couldn't help but think of Willem Defoe's relieved smile in "Last Temptation of Christ", when he realizes he's being crucified (renouncing the other path), he doesn't even feel the suffering, he almost savors it.
The Christ's blood has been part of the Catholic symbolism, and behind the condemnation of violence, there's a weird and hypnotic fascination of Marty's eye for blood, not violence but blood... as if Scorsese was intoxicated by the Christ's own blood. This artistic inebriation foreshadows the unique style of a director who didn't make violence cool, but he didn't make it ugly either. Violence by essence can't be boring, Tarantino knows it too, but Scorsese gives violence a meaning that cuts straight to your soul.
And "The Big Shave" is fascinating in the way it contains the core of Scorsese's movies, that mix of fascination and revulsion for violence, echoed in each of his films and rooted in his Catholic upbringing, his New Yorker heart... and his conscience as an American who can't stand watching his country sacrificing its youth. Marty's not a pacifist or a conscience objector but a man who knows too much the cathartic value of violence to see it used in vain... and understanding "The Big Shave" is understanding the roots of his torment and ultimately his genius.
The various parts of an ordinary bathrooms are shown through a stylish editing and under a smooth and relaxed 30's jazz music that will be the film's only sound. Then a young man enters, nothing special about him, he's young, not bad-looking and still dazed of sleepiness, he puts some shaving foam, takes his razor and so begins the shave. Not so big at first, it goes well and then he puts more foam and repeats the same modus operandi then it goes on... and on, the first drops of blood soils the immaculate white porcelain. The man is tracing horizontal lines of blood all over his cheeks, drops of blood have been replaced by red flooding on the sink and the film climaxes with the man cutting (not slitting) his throat, from ear to ear, making vertical lines of blood on his chest and as he (finally) puts his razor, the images fades to a red screen. And whoever provided that (fake?) blood deserved to be mentioned in the credits.
By the way, the alternate title is given at the end credits and it's Viet '67.
Obviously, it's a metaphor of the Vietnam War but instead of sticking to the obvious (since the director mentions it), I appreciate how the use of jazz music, shockingly casual and relaxed, fits the relative indifference of the exterior eye toward the conflict, especially if jazz reflects the "older" generation. But more disturbing is the man's own indifference. This is a fine man, at the peak of his youth and watching him mutilating himself isn't just horrific because of the graphicness but because it feels like a terrible waste, extremely pointless. In fact, he didn't even look like he needed a shave... and that's the point for the movie whose name's Viet 67. Marty was of the same generation of the youth sacrificed in Nam and this his angst cry.
It's by the way interesting that Marty would also be present in Woodstock as an editor and it's only fitting that he could witness the most iconic artistic expression of that anger because was also destined to become one of the greatest artists of his generation and his legacy immortalized the film. And what a legacy! I won't drop titles right now because I'll use them to make my points.
Now, a few days ago, I was watching "The Irishman" and I observed how desensitized I was to the effect of gunshots, but still, the big picture affected me, it's not the use of violence that shocks but its pointlessness. Indeed, just because there's a cause to violence doesn't make it reasonable for all that... Travis Bickle did use violence to save a young prostitute but let's not forget it was Plan B after failing to assassinate a politician, just because he gave violence a meaning (and even justification) didn't make his motives any nobler. There's always an element of ego and hubris in these characters, something that confines to self-destruction... Hoffa not getting the threats, Tommy De Vito or Nicky Santoro escalating in violence, La Motta getting increasingly jealous and taking all the hits against Sugar Ray Robinson, it all started with that man that keeps shaving as if blood had no effect whatsoever.
And why do we shave? To look clean or good. It's America's obsession, how do we look in front of the world, it's not an obsession for violence, but a self-obsession that Marty exorcizes because, maybe, he feels concerned by the own thing he denounces. Indeed, the film might betray a sort of hypnotic gaze toward blood, the young sickly director who couldn't become a priest and became famous by portraying sinners, insisting that it's only in the streets that you could find redemption, not in church. It goes back to his deep belief in Jesus Christ and I couldn't help but think of Willem Defoe's relieved smile in "Last Temptation of Christ", when he realizes he's being crucified (renouncing the other path), he doesn't even feel the suffering, he almost savors it.
The Christ's blood has been part of the Catholic symbolism, and behind the condemnation of violence, there's a weird and hypnotic fascination of Marty's eye for blood, not violence but blood... as if Scorsese was intoxicated by the Christ's own blood. This artistic inebriation foreshadows the unique style of a director who didn't make violence cool, but he didn't make it ugly either. Violence by essence can't be boring, Tarantino knows it too, but Scorsese gives violence a meaning that cuts straight to your soul.
And "The Big Shave" is fascinating in the way it contains the core of Scorsese's movies, that mix of fascination and revulsion for violence, echoed in each of his films and rooted in his Catholic upbringing, his New Yorker heart... and his conscience as an American who can't stand watching his country sacrificing its youth. Marty's not a pacifist or a conscience objector but a man who knows too much the cathartic value of violence to see it used in vain... and understanding "The Big Shave" is understanding the roots of his torment and ultimately his genius.