In an essay in Esquire in 2010, Martin Scorsese laid his chips on the table. “Leonardo and I have made four pictures together,” he wrote. “He is absolutely essential to me, to all of us, and essential to the history of movies.”
That last claim is particularly striking. Few directors in the history of movies are as conversant in the history of movies as Scorsese, whose endearing evolution from jittery ’70s movie brat to the reigning patron saint of American cinephilia (and gently begrudging TikTok icon) has always been rooted in a sense of some larger artistic narrative. Part historian, part cheerleader, and always operating with an encyclopedic frame of reference, Scorsese is more apt to celebrate than to condemn. His public pronouncements—whether they’re about the mediocrity of Marvel, the brilliance of Ari Aster, or the importance of Turner Classic Movies—bypass arrogance and register instead as benedictions. Scorsese’s lifelong affair with cinema was forged by youthful encounters with Italian neorealism and film noir—for him to even place DiCaprio, who collaborated with Scorsese for a sixth time with Killers of the Flower Moon, in the conversation is highly noteworthy. You don’t need to be Martin Scorsese to know that Leo is a major movie star, but the question of whether he ranks among the greatest ever—or whether or not he’s essential—pivots, one way or another, on the work they’ve done together.
Read Full Article »
