In Martin Scorsese’s iconic film, ‘The Last Temptation of Christ,’ Jesus imagines a life where he foregoes his divine destiny to marry Mary Magdalene and live as an ordinary man. As he descends from the cross in this vision, he appears both relieved and utterly bewildered, asking, “I’m not the Messiah? I don’t have to be sacrificed?”
If you’re familiar with the film – and spoiler alert, Jesus ultimately embraces his crucifixion with rapture – then you’ll appreciate the significance of director Rebecca Miller’s choice to feature this scene in ‘Mr. Scorsese,’ her meticulous and humanizing documentary about the filmmaker. Miller masterfully draws a parallel between Jesus’s dilemma in ‘Temptation’ and Scorsese’s own life. Repeatedly over his eight decades, Scorsese made a profound choice: he sacrificed many of the comforts of domesticity, dedicating his life wholly to the altar of cinema.
While this commitment cemented his status as an artistic martyr, it also inevitably left behind a trail of personal sacrifices. A significant part of Miller’s mission in ‘Mr. Scorsese’ is to provide a balanced view, honoring the man’s genius while openly examining those who were impacted by his unwavering dedication. Scorsese was married five times and is a father to three daughters, two of whom experienced long periods without his presence. Miller skillfully traces the evolution of his relationships with women throughout his life in this captivating and deeply personal profile. The series weaves together intimate family insights, candid contributions from collaborators, and a rich tapestry of memorable movie moments to tell Scorsese’s story.
The project, available for streaming on Apple TV+, is anchored by Miller’s relaxed and engaging interviews with the filmmaker, conducted over several sessions (Miller began filming during the pandemic, with Scorsese seated comfortably on her deck). Unlike many biographical documentaries that minimize the interviewer’s role, Miller embraces her offscreen presence, making the interviews feel like a genuine exchange. Scorsese, often in button-down shirts, flashes a charming, bright smile, responding to Miller with warmth, humor, and a remarkable openness to recounting his full story, even the less flattering aspects.
The narrative begins with Scorsese’s childhood as a sickly, indoor kid. He fondly recalls his idyllic early years in an Italian American community in Corona, Queens, contrasting them with a more challenging adolescence in Lower Manhattan. Violence, he recounts, was a constant backdrop, from the city’s mob bosses to a landlord dispute that escalated into physical blows involving his father. Miller subtly highlights Scorsese’s struggle with asthma as a formative experience for his filmmaking; confined to his apartment, observing the bustling streets below, Scorsese learned to perceive the world frame by frame.
As a teenager, Scorsese found solace in Catholicism and even considered joining the priesthood. He later attended New York University, where his short films — audacious, grainy, and echoing the playful spirit of the French New Wave — quickly garnered acclaim. Yet, his grappling with Christian faith remained a lifelong journey. As his career advanced, Scorsese infused his work with theological concepts, most overtly in ‘The Last Temptation’ and ‘Silence,’ both potent narratives of internal conflict. Even his secular films are deeply engaged with spiritual themes, exploring virtue and sin, destruction and redemption, and the intricate dance between guilt and grace.
Scorsese also famously wrestled with his personal demons, particularly during the period following ‘The Last Waltz,’ his concert documentary about The Band. Recently divorced and heavily reliant on uppers, Scorsese moved in with The Band’s chief songwriter and lead guitarist, Robbie Robertson, in Los Angeles. There, they forged an intense creative partnership fueled by cocaine and endless revelry. This turbulent chapter concluded disastrously with a drug-induced collapse and hospitalization. Miller frames this rock-bottom moment as a dramatic cliffhanger, a technique that might feel overly polished if not for the powerful redemption arc that follows: Robert De Niro, extending a lifeline to his old friend, convinced Scorsese to direct ‘Raging Bull,’ which became a monumental success.
This dramatic cycle of undoing and triumphant return would become a recurring pattern for Scorsese. It surfaced again in the early 1980s when the commercial struggles of ‘The King of Comedy’ pushed him away from mainstream Hollywood. He re-emerged with the vibrant independent film ‘After Hours,’ another significant comeback. Years later, the uproar and disappointment surrounding ‘Temptation’ unexpectedly paved the way for his smash hit: ‘Goodfellas.’
‘Mr. Scorsese’ gains momentum in the 1990s and especially after 2000, moving swiftly through a prolific period to highlight Scorsese’s powerful bond with Leonardo DiCaprio. DiCaprio speaks of his collaborator with genuine admiration. Together, they navigated yet another iteration of Scorsese’s crash-and-comeback saga: ‘Shutter Island’ (2010), a film steeped in confusion and anxiety that left Scorsese feeling panicked on set, followed by ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ (2013), an exuberant and wild ride. (Sadly, ‘Hugo,’ released in 2011, is entirely unmentioned.)
Through clever use of montage and split screens, Miller brilliantly illustrates how Scorsese’s life profoundly shaped his cinema, and vice versa. She uses his extensive filmography as a canvas to plot his evolving ideas and experiences. Marriages, as seen in ‘New York, New York,’ are prone to collapse. Brutality is omnipresent, a theme vividly depicted in ‘Taxi Driver.’ And, crucially, virile rage must be reined in, lest it transform into its far uglier counterpart, violence, a central theme in ‘Raging Bull,’ ‘Mean Streets,’ and indeed, almost all his other films.
Miller consistently alludes to Scorsese’s known propensity for outbursts throughout the documentary — she even audibly chuckles when he recalls nearly threatening meddling ‘Taxi Driver’ executives with a gun. However, she reserves a deeper exploration of Scorsese’s more abrasive side for the film’s conclusion. While the damage from his aggression was mostly limited to smashed landlines, it’s still striking to hear his former assistant recount the intense stress of his difficult days.
Scorsese’s struggles with rage directly connect to a fundamental question woven throughout his work: What defines a good man, and what constitutes a life worth living? The answers he has explored may be most powerfully articulated in his films, which resonate with profound theories of humility and salvation. He may not have all the answers neatly tied up, but a significant clue lies in the fact that so many of his collaborators choose to work with him repeatedly. Perhaps the most illuminating insight into Scorsese’s later years comes from one such associate, screenwriter Jay Cocks, who observes, “He learned that an artist can be selfish about his art, but doesn’t have to be selfish necessarily in his life.” In essence, even cinematic messiahs can learn to embrace their human spirit.
Mr. Scorsese
Not rated. Running time: 4 hours 45 minutes. Watch on Apple TV+.