Raging Bull ★★★★☆
In the grand tradition of making a movie about a guy who punches other guys for a living, Raging Bull stands out as a film that isn’t actually about boxing—at least, not in the traditional sense. It’s a deep dive into the mind of Jake LaMotta, a middleweight champ with fists of steel and a psyche that’s as fragile as a teacup on a high wire. Director Martin Scorsese, ever the maestro of human misery, gives us an unflinching look at a man whose biggest opponent is his own reflection.
We follow Jake LaMotta (Robert De Niro, in full force method madness), a boxer whose rise and fall in the 1940s and 50s mirrors the emotional pummeling he dishes out to those unfortunate enough to love him. There's Vickie (Cathy Moriarty), his long-suffering wife, who endures his jealousy-fueled rages, and his brother Joey (Joe Pesci), whose loyalty is tested by Jake’s paranoia and fists. Jake fights as brutally in the ring as he does at home, but while he wins some belts, he loses nearly everything else.
At its heart, Raging Bull is a tragic tale of self-destruction. LaMotta’s rage is relentless, yet it’s driven by a crippling insecurity—a perfect cocktail for a man trapped in the “Madonna-whore complex” like some sort of psychological hamster wheel. Scorsese uses boxing not as the central theme, but as the arena where Jake enacts his emotional torment. It’s all about control—control in the ring, control over his wife, and ultimately, a desperate attempt to control the chaos inside him. LaMotta’s body may be fighting opponents, but his mind is a battlefield of jealousy and guilt.
Scorsese shoots this film in stark black-and-white, probably because even the red blood pouring out of LaMotta’s face wouldn’t be dark enough to match the tone here. The fight scenes are stunning, chaotic, and somehow operatic—boxing becomes a grotesque ballet of thudding blows and splattering sweat, captured with slow-motion precision. The camera isn’t just in the ring; it’s practically dodging the punches itself. And then there’s the sound—Scorsese layers it with eerie screeches and roars, turning LaMotta’s fights into surreal symphonies of pain.
De Niro’s portrayal of LaMotta is nothing short of transformative. It’s not just the physicality (though gaining 60 pounds to play an out-of-shape Jake deserves a round of applause), but the way he inhabits this raw, animalistic character. De Niro's Jake is a man perpetually on the verge of combustion—he’s hard to watch but impossible to look away from. Pesci is equally compelling, delivering rapid-fire dialogue that crackles with tension, especially in his scenes with De Niro. Moriarty, in her breakout role, embodies Vickie with a mix of vulnerability and defiance, standing strong even as LaMotta’s jealousy engulfs her.
The film's pacing mirrors Jake’s own emotional rhythms—fast and violent in the ring, slow and simmering at home. The tension builds gradually, like watching a pressure cooker you know will explode, and when it does, it’s as ugly and inevitable as a train wreck. The later part of the film drags a bit as we watch Jake’s bloated, washed-up version of himself spiral into irrelevance, but that’s the point—it’s uncomfortable because it should be.
Watching Raging Bull is like getting a front-row seat to a spectacular car crash—you can’t look away, but you’re not exactly having a good time. It’s not the kind of film that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, but rather like you’ve just gone twelve rounds yourself. There’s something haunting about seeing someone so determined to ruin everything good in their life. It’s a reflection of the darkest parts of human nature—how we push away the things we love out of fear, and how we mistake violence for strength.
This isn’t for the faint of heart or the casual Friday night movie crowd. If you’re looking for a feel-good sports film, Rocky is two doors down. Raging Bull is for those who want to wrestle with the ugly side of human nature, and maybe, just maybe, come out the other side a little more grateful that you aren’t Jake LaMotta.
Final thoughts? It’s a bruising masterpiece. Just be sure to pack some emotional ice packs.
