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Jake's latest opportunity comes when he spots Vickie (Cathy Moriarty), a well-developed 15 year-old, sunning herself at the community baths. A good-looking girl who attracts attention, even from Joey, her head is turned by Jake's flash car (a product of his prize-winnings). Following a brief courtship, akin to extended foreplay, Jake seduces Vickie in his parent's house and winds up dumping his first wife.
Throughout this period fights come and go; Jake wins most in a whirl of blood and destruction. Only one boxer, Sugar Ray Robinson (Johnny Barnes), stands out as a worthy challenger during Jake's dizzy ascent. As their careers run in parallel, Robinson goes on to become virtually Jake's nemesis. Unfortunately, despite Jake's success, he is never given a World Title shot; the barrier is that he's too block-headed to deal with promoter Tommy Como (Nicholas Colasanto) and his goon Salvy (Frank Vincent).
In Raging Bull, Scorsese takes the boxing film genre to task, stripping it of false heroics, majesty and charm to reveal the snorting beast below. Centred upon the dislikable character of LaMotta, reduced to his base elements in much the same way, the film transports us directly into the ring. Captured in nauseating close-up, each sledgehammer blow is examined in horrifying detail, each cut, bruise and breakage testament to the "sport" that is boxing. Curiously though, while the impact of this ringside action resonates throughout the film, it is almost incidental in terms of screen time. Instead Scorsese focuses on LaMotta's private life, his relationships and his manifold frustrations. This is fertile territory for LaMotta, as portrayed in this semi-faithful biography, for he is as violent outside of the ring as he is within it.
The corner stone of Raging Bull is De Niro, with the dedicated method actor giving one of his most committed performances. Here every iota of his being seems to be submerged by one of the most thuggish and uncompromising characters ever placed upon the screen. What emerges is an aura of danger, an atmosphere of violence that surrounds LaMotta like a mist. A thoroughly dangerous and undisciplined man, LaMotta is not someone you'd generally wish to approach yet De Niro draws you in by the sheer power of his acting. In fact, there are distinct echoes of Mike Tyson here; an elemental force in the ring, a troubled life outside it and a roller-coaster career. Obviously De Niro is doing something right to evoke such a comparison. Against such an incandescent creation the remaining characters are merely foils, lacking a distinct shape of their own. At best they reflect LaMotta's emotions (limited though they are) right back in his face. In this Pesci stands out, pragmatic but nearly as prone to blindly striking out as his big brother.
Technically Raging Bull is nonpareil. Directed with unerring vision by Martin Scorsese, the disparate elements of cinematography, editing, sound and setting are united into a seamless, intense whole. Each fight scene stands out as a mini-masterpiece of cutting and photography, realistic and party to a range of techniques (slow motion, freeze frame, blurred shots etc.) Fortunately these qualities extend throughout the movie. Beneath an umbrella of black & white stock, the period is sketched accurately while, by the same token, the sporting butchery is both diminished and made stingingly raw. The absence of colour, which might have lent a horror movie (perhaps humorous) sheen to the freely flowing blood, forces the audience to internally visualise every devastating blow. In concert, too-real sound effects, background noise and a fine score are combined with periods of silence to match the on-screen action. The outcome is a masterful contrast of personal/emotional battles and boxing/physical matches, the real dynamic of Raging Bull.
While Raging Bull is an exhilarating ride, a sensory barrage that leaves you bleeding and sore, at its heart there is deep ambiguity. De Niro draws out the full measure of LaMotta's paranoia, making him little more than a beast of the ring who fails utterly to control himself beyond its confines. What seems incredible is that someone so unfocused could have become a world champion. The sticking point is that his background is missing; we never experience the childhood, family and defining influences that shaped his personality. Something made him different from (but similar to) his brother, yet all we have is the now. LaMotta remains a void, an enigma fuelled by a passionate rage. Gripping, yes, but also unsatisfying. Ultimately, Raging Bull is a genius piece of filmmaking rather than film watching, as finely tuned and cruel as a Swiss watch.
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