On the heels of his latest film, Hugo, BAZAAR collaborates with the FAMED DIRECTOR on a portfolio recasting some of his most memorable scenes
Celebrated a c t ors a nd Scorsese collaborators tell their own tales about one of the world’s greatest storytellers.
When we were shooting Taxi Driver, I think Marty was really uncomfortable with the fact that I was so young. The memory I have is of him and Robert De Niro trying to tell me how to unzip [De Niro’s] pants. And Marty keeps bursting out laughing. He can’t get a word out, and he tries to act serious, you know? He keeps smoothing down his face on both sides, but he just keeps laughing. And then De Niro decides he’s going to take over because he can do it.
The Marty that you usually see on the set is a guy who’s talking a million miles an hour and giggling like Muttley, that cartoon dog. He has all these references, and he’s continually tucking in his shirt. When we worked together, he had this crazy moustache too. But on that film, I also saw him as an actor—a different side of him. He was very frenetic and fast-talking, the way he is now, and just incredibly excited about life. He’s just adorable from the beginning to the end. And when I see him now, he’s adorable. Even though his black eyebrows are grey now and he wears a suit, he still is.
You expect a matador, but you meet the poet who wrote about the bullfighter. Marty cares deeply about fellow humans. If there’s a crisis in your life, he’ll talk in a responsible, compassionate way. He directs like a lover… a tough lover. A lover is supposed to know you, understand you, anticipate you, watch you closely. It’s like being held in a really taxing, demanding, but then loving embrace. I love to hear Marty’s laugh. Often on set, he’s in a black tent; he gives notes, and he goes back. To hear his laughter coming out of the black tent is something.
I was overwhelmed by Goodfellas. It’s very cathartic for us to tap into that male violence that we all possess. It doesn’t mean we’re violent, but it’s in our DNA. And I think Robert De Niro is spectacular. It was lovely to get in his leather skin for a few seconds.
When I got the role of May in The Age of Innocence, Marty left a message on my answering machine. He said, “I’m so excited that you said yes to the movie.” I ripped that tape out and put it in a beautiful glass case. He would show us films in the screening room in his brownstone, and I don’t know if he realised it, but he was basically narrating the entire film. We’d be like, “I wonder why he’s showing us this film?” but it would be for one shot or one scene—and it was like a four-hour epic! When we were shooting and he couldn’t get to me, he would send notes like “Remember to give Daniel [DayLewis] a kiss on the cheek at the end of the scene.” They would be in envelopes with my name on them. I have a whole album of little letters.
And I remember Marty’s parents; they were in so many movies, and The Age of Innocence was the last film they were both in. A lot of people thought my character was the bad guy, but I remember Marty’s mom came up to me and said, “You handled it like a real lady! I would have clocked him— but good!”
I met Marty a few years before I worked with him, in ’82 in L.A. Then I was shooting Top Gun and he offered me The Color of Money to do with [Paul] Newman.
When we started working together, Marty would just giggle. And it was wonderful because sometimes in the more violent scenes, like when I got pissed and was going down the stairs and throwing down the briefcase, you could just hear him giggle. When Paul and I would go at it, he’d giggle. He’d come up to me and be like, “Hey, kid…” Newman and Scorsese were like, “Kid, kid, get over here! Kid, listen, in this scene with Mary Elizabeth [Mastrantonio], you gotta smack her around a little more, okay?” Newman and her had, you know, they were flirting, and my character, Vincent, gets very jealous, and Marty’s like, “Kid, kid, you gotta rough her up a little bit.” We looked at each other and started laughing. And you know, Marty didn’t play pool at all. He would watch it and he’d figure out how he wanted to shoot it, but it was always me and Newman.
At night, I’d go down to Marty’s parents’ room and have a family dinner. His mom Catherine’s lemon chicken, the pasta—incredible. Even after we stopped filming, I’d go over to his parents’ house and have Italian food any time I’d want. I’d call ahead, and they’d make my favourite dishes, and I’d stay with them for a night.
I always see his movies opening weekend; always. You have to see a Scorsese movie opening weekend. I write him a letter afterward and tell him what
I thought of the film, congratulate him, and thank him. When you know him, you’re grateful to him, and you’re grateful that he’s there making movies.
I first met him when I went in for Casino. I was a baby. I met Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese and I was like, “What is happening?” There wasn’t a shot I was going to get the part, but they were so lovely to me. When we did Gangs of New York, he knew everything about that time in history: where did these people come from, why did they come, who they are.
His women are very strong. Look at his late mother. It’s a perfect depiction of how he looks at women. His mother was everything to him. He put her in the movies—and she totally ran the show. I think for Marty, things are so consuming. He does things on such a big scale; he’s a big thinker. His movies are so captivating because you walk into a world that’s fully thought out. He’s also really into the preservation of many things: of culture, of ideas and eras. [ Laughs.] I think strawberry preserves are his favourite. No, really, there are posters everywhere, stacks of everything. He just knows more about anything than anybody else.
For Casino, Marty and Bob De Niro had met a lot of people by the time they met me— everyone from Vegas showgirls to longstanding actresses. They were looking to find the right person because they were going to portray a real person. With them, there’s none of that foolish “She’s j ust a girl”. When they throw you the ball, they want you to throw it back as hard as you can. That’s what Bob said to me in my audition: “My performance depends on your performance. If you don’t do it, you will destroy my performance. I need you to promise me that you are going to do this.” So I was never for one second going to lose focus.
Marty will tell you stories from his life with such camaraderie and tenderness that you can reveal everything about yourself and the character that you’re playing. You can just let it rip. He’d look at me and say, “Lock and load, baby.” He wouldn’t even say “Action,” he’d just go, “Lock and load.”
When I was cast in Shutter Island, I did a little Scorsese dance around my apartment— and it was just one scene in a cave! I think every actor has a Scorsese dance. The majority of his films are male-driven, but it doesn’t mean that the women are not great. His touch is not masculine or feminine; it’s passionate. And this incredibly famous, glamorous man is, in the best way, very ordinary. When I come visit him, we just sit in his office and drink Poland Spring water.
There’s an aura about him. He knows how to get that thing that makes it a Scorsese film; it’s completely unspoken. But I haven’t seen Taxi Driver yet. My mom won’t let me watch it.
On the first day of shooting Boardwalk Empire [Scorsese directed the first episode], I was so nervous. My first day was my big, long speech that I make to the Women’s Temperance League. I had a pair of shoes that were custommade, and my feet were killing me! We did the scene once, then Marty wanted me to change the story up a bit so I could surprise them. Kelly Macdonald thought, “Oh, my God, poor Steve. He can’t remember his lines.” If I see Marty at an event, I’ll get a chance to talk to him, but we don’t socialise—partly because I’m too shy. He just seems so busy. [ Laughs.] He’s probably sitting alone by the phone thinking, Hey, why doesn’t anybody call?
I first met Martin when he produced The Young Victoria. It was kind of shameful that he knew more about Queen Victoria than I did after a year of studying [for the role]. Which is what I found out when we sat down to have dinner. Martin doesn’t have an encyclopaedic knowledge of just film, it’s all things that could come up in conversation. You won’t know anything anymore. We met in his house and ended up talking about the process of making films. What was meant to be a halfhour chat turned into a three-hour master class. I was most struck with his total lack of ego. I was constantly amazed at how ready he was to try out any idea I had [on the Hugo set], no matter how risky. One time, I noted that it would be a fun idea if my character accidentally got his foot caught on a moving train. Marty’s response was, “Let’s try it.”