There’s range, and then there’s trying too hard. I have to assume that for Scorsese, this picture may fall into the latter category. As evidence, I present some of his best-loved films and their synopsized plots:
- Gangs of New York: People club each other's heads in with table legs.
- Casino: People soot each other.
- Goodfellas: People shoot each other to Ray Liotta's narration.
- Raging Bull: Two guys try and club each other's heads in with their fists.
- Taxi Driver: A crazy guy kills some folks.
Yes, he did that flick about Bob Dylan, but at least Dylan had a wild, revolutionary image and firebrand lyrical content. Harrison, on the other hand, is best known for writing about 3 percent of the Beatles’ discography and being more talented than Ringo. And as far as incendiary language goes, the best Harrison can muster is describing his time in the Beatles as “like having diarrhea and not being allowed to go to the toilet.” I’m betting that little gem doesn’t make the cut.
Don’t get me wrong: I am in love with George Harrison, as I am with anyone who ever worked with, talked with, or took out the trash of the Beatles, but unless Scorsese adds in some of his signature gunfights or casts Nicholson in the role of the Dalai Lama (and the involvement of Harrison’s widow makes this possibility seem unlikely), I’ll probably be skipping this one in favor of watching the Departed again on DVD and drinking every time Mark Wahlberg lunges forward in an attempt to fight somebody.