“Bringing Out the Dead” does not present itself as an explicitly religious film. And yet, it arises from the ideological conflict of anger versus compassion that separates the Old and New Testaments. Here, in the early ’90s, New York is an urban cesspool of sin, poverty and suffering – ready for biblical purification. The film’s protagonist, the saintly, even Jesus-y paramedic, Frank Pierce (Nicolas Cage), who works tirelessly to save unfortunate souls, is viewed through a religiously symbolic filter that blends reality and imagination. Mixes.
“I had 10 years of ambulances,” director Martin Scorsese told Roger Ebert in a 2012 interview. “My parents, in and out of hospitals. The calls in the middle of the night. I was getting rid of them all. They’re the city’s paramedics – heroes – and saints, they’re saints. I’d see people next to the Bowery. I grew up who worked there, the Salvation Army, Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker movement, all helping lost souls, they’re the same kind of people.”
Schrader’s adaptation of Joe Connelly’s 1998 novel follows the story of a burned-out and guilt-stricken Pierce over the course of 72 hours. It’s Thursday night, and Pierce’s description tells us that the shift started with a bang: “The situation was worsened by a shot in the chest on a drug deal. All the elements for a long weekend were present: heat, humidity, moonlight. ”
Pierce’s poetic narration takes us inside his weary and hopeless perspective. He is partnered with over-the-top Larry (John Goodman), religious Marcus (Ving Rhames) and his former partner, the violent Tom Walls (Tom Sizemore). Several months have passed since Pierce saved anyone, and he is haunted by the ghost of Rose, a teenager whom he failed to revive. Meanwhile, he is befriended by Mary Burke (Patricia Arquette), the daughter of a cardiac arrest patient who died and miraculously came back to life.
The religious filter of the film and its director is not surprising, given that Scorsese originally wanted to be a priest and Schrader sought profaneness in art to escape his repressive Calvinist upbringing. Sin and salvation are the core of religion and spirituality, and it has become a recurring thematic methodology for both men.
Scorsese’s gangster films are about flawed characters and themes of redemption. Let’s also not forget that in the opening voiceover of 1974’s “Mean Streets,” Scorsese says, “You don’t make up for your sins in church. You do it on the streets. You do it at home. Fuck the rest.” And you know it.” Religion has an indelible presence in Scorsese’s films, even those that are not explicitly religious. “After Hours” ends up being a film about salvation, and “The King of Comedy” revolves around the worship of false idols. And Scorsese’s gangster films are based on seduction, for example, in “Goodfellas” young Henry Hill is seduced by the mob which leads him into a life of crime.
Temptation is a major narrative in the Bible, from Adam and Eve’s eating of the apple in Genesis to Christ’s temptation by Satan in the desert, God-fearing people are taught that they must resist fleshly and worldly desires. Religion is perpetuated through Scorsese’s endless cast of flawed characters, as well as his explicitly religious films, “The Last Temptation of Christ,” “Kundun” and “The Silence.”
Schrader, meanwhile, debuted as a solo director with 1978’s “Blue Collar” and 1979’s “Hardcore,” about a trio of thieves and a father who tries to rescue his missing daughter from the porn underworld. Until his recent “Redemption Trilogy” (“First Reformed,” “The Card Counter,” and “The Master Gardener”) he obsessively explored these themes. Schrader and Scorsese’s shared interests are based on their four collaborations: “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull,” “The Last Temptation of Christ,” and “Bringing Out the Dead.”
Describing “Bringing Out the Dead” as a film about compassion, Scorsese’s longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker echoes a tenet of Catholic and Christian faith: “By the grace of God.” Catholics and Christians will also call God merciful; Quick to show mercy and slow to anger. So, Schoonmaker’s description links the film and its director to religion and spirituality, although Scorsese’s involvement in “Bringing Out the Dead” attests to the way he nurtures a strong, if not oppressive, sensory experience. . You could feel Frank’s exhaustion, frustration, and most importantly, guilt, as if it were your own face shining with sweat, and it was your own hazy and red-eyed tired stare.
In religion, guilt and shame are important levers of control, which have not escaped the attention of Scorsese or Schrader. Among Scorsese’s flawed characters, Frank is one of the most prominent symbols of guilt. However, there are two other notable examples that stand out from Scorsese and Schrader’s collaborations. First, Charlie’s (Harvey Keitel) determination and loyalty to his best friend in “Mean Streets” will manifest as guilt sets in when he fails to save the rampaging Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro).
Then there’s “Cape Fear’s” Sam Bowden (Nick Nolte), a lawyer who finds his moral failings exposed when he breaks his sacred oath. Tempted by his inner devil and succumbing to it, Boden enters into a kind of Faustian pact when he plays a vigilante lawyer who finds himself helping his guilty client Max Cady (Robert De Niro). Is unable to do so and walks freely. Charlie and Pierce are New Testament Jesus-men with a savior spirit, while Sam symbolizes the Old Testament’s ruthless effort at moral purification. Or perhaps less of a Faustian pact and, instead, an imitation of the angelic God destroying the sinful Egyptians.
This returns us to the Old vs. New Testament and Scorsese’s collaboration with Schrader. It is important to remember, in Christianity, there is no single identity for the destroying angel. The first incarnation of this destructive angel in Scorsese’s cinema was conceived with the Shredder. “Taxi Driver” vigilante Travis Bickle is shown driving around New York in his cab, looking like an angel coming down from heaven, and carrying out a violent wipeout like the Old Testament.
“Bringing Out the Dead” finds Scorsese and Schrader switching from the Old to the New Testament. Bickle is the incarnation of an angry god, while Pierce is the incarnation of a merciful god. One could read Pierce’s peaceful rescue of Mary from the drug den as redemption for Bickle’s violent rescue of teen prostitute Iris (Jodie Foster), which itself echoes the raunchy premise of “Blue Collar.”
Scorsese and Schrader, however, remain generous in their appropriation of the old and the new, using the theme of seduction, which emerged prominently in the second half of their joint filmography. “Bringing Out the Dead” can be interpreted in part as a reimagining of the temptation of Christ in the desert. Frank is involved in Marcus’s fraudulent stunt, pretending to heal the sick through God’s will. He goes along with Woll’s plan to beat up Noel (Marc Anthony), a regular patient at Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy Hospital who causes mayhem on the streets by breaking car windows and threatening bystanders with a broken glass bottle.
Voll is simultaneously the wrath of the Old Testament and Satan tempting Pierce. In “Bringing Out the Dead”, the desert setting of Christ’s confrontation with Satan is replicated as New York City, where Pierce drives around in his ambulance. He is a saintly man who opposes the hot-headed, lustful, violent deceitful devils with whom he has partnered. Or, “Bringing Out the Dead” goes to the big city as “The Last Temptation of Christ.”
It is difficult for any Scorsese film to free itself from the conflict between the Old and New Testaments, as from an early age Scorsese was torn between violence in the church and on the streets. He was exposed to spiritual ideas of compassion, liberation and moksha, but he walked to school through broken glass and blood-soaked sidewalks. Schrader was an appreciative creative voice who could appreciate Scorsese’s sentiment through his oppressive relationship with religion, “You don’t make up for your sins in church. You do it on the streets. You do it at home. Yes. Remaining.” Nonsense…”
Scorsese and Schrader’s collaboration and their solo work are filled with deep-rooted skepticism when it comes to redemption. They emphasize our relationship with religion and its ideas outside the church. This reaction may be due to the sacrament of penance and learned patterns of behavior common to Catholics who are not taught to forgive themselves. Whether Pierce is Catholic or not, his guilt over Rose’s death is not resolvable, and by the end of “Bringing Out the Dead”, he commits a mortal sin when he euthanizes Mary’s father. Pierce still needs to be understood as a redemptive character in Schrader and Scorsese’s collaboration – Mary’s peaceful rescue and compassion-driven mortal sin cannot be meaninglessly set aside.
Pierce is a unique character who may not realize that he embodies the values we hold for God. It is important to remember that morality, compassion, and empathy come from within us, and we have given ownership of our precious, even sacred, humanity to the collective idea of God. Frank’s mortal sin and Travis’s principled salvation and resistance to temptation in his holy actions are a thoughtful and honest challenge to humanity’s hierarchical relationship with religion and God, which is more likely in our image. If Frank is not aware that he forgives himself, which is likely, and he fails to understand the significance of his actions, he ensures that “Bringing Out the Dead” is a passive embodiment of religion. Not the appropriation we’ve traditionally seen from Scorsese and Schrader. , Instead, it represents an active criticism that engages more critically with the subject.
The film’s dark and grimy world, while difficult to digest, strangely offers an eternal glimpse of humanity and hope. Scorsese and Schrader cleverly use this aesthetic approach as a Trojan horse to further the deeper thematic critique of “Bringing Out the Dead.”
The final scene of “Bringing Out the Dead” is a beautifully orchestrated meditation on human crime and suffering. Pierce goes to Mary’s apartment, and when she opens the door, he begins to hallucinate. Seeing Rose standing in front of him, he apologizes to her. She says, “It’s not your fault. No one asked you to suffer.” Shaking off his hallucination, he follows Mary into the apartment. They lie in bed together and surrounded by a bright light that signals that the characters we know have undergone a metamorphosis – they have overcome their suffering. Pierce has come to terms with his guilt and Mary has accepted her father’s death.
However, Rose’s words recall this beautiful and sensitive moment. They echo like a warning – with compassion comes pain. His words also remind us that while we habitually look outward to spiritual beliefs, fate, and other omnipresent forces, these hierarchical constructs are inexact, and we are always running away from things that are part of but not bigger than us. Are. Instead of liberating us through the development of self-awareness and emotional intelligence and thoughts related to sin, temptation, and guilt, we choose to deprive ourselves of self-compassion which increases our suffering.