ALTHOUGH it’s the debut feature of the much-revered Martin Scorsese, Who’s That Knocking At My Door (1968) is sometimes dismissed as little more than a student project for the director.
That’s because, essentially, it is. Shot on economical but ever-stylish black and white, it was made whenever the opportunity arose between 1965 and 1968. Much like most student productions of the time, really – when a camera, an edit suite or a helping pair of hands became available you jumped to make what you could.
Submitted as part of the young movie-obsessed future director’s graduate film project for New York University, it understandably has a fragmented art house feel that suggests the fledgling Oscar winner was still trying to find his voice. A tad too in love with the French New Wave of Goddard and Truffaut for its own good and more than a little over keen to experiment with just about every cinematic style under the sun, it is a piece that looks good in small doses but never really convinces as a finished film.
At least that’s what I felt about it until the new BFI released edition of the movie arrived.
Watching it today, it remains disjointed but revealing. Watch it as a teaser for where Scorsese would take his art rather than the first proper filmic example of that art and suddenly the artsy vibe makes more sense and it is possible to see the film for what it really is, a stylish and intriguing show reel for a hugely talented film-maker that is loaded with clues and echoes of what Marty would shortly make his name for.
It’s an early sighting of the Italian American life experience that would inform much of his finest work, from Mean Streets to Goodfellas. The fascination with small time hustlers and the streets of New York is deeply rooted here and the heavy leaning on old school rock and roll and doo wop shows you just where he was coming from.
It’s also a first sighting for the alarmingly baby-faced Harvey Keitel, soon to show up in Mean Streets, who here plays the streetwise JR, a classic Scorsese creation who flits between his wise-guy friends, his love of the ladies and his overbearing sense of Catholic guilt. Prime future Scorsese material, in other words.
A look at the talent alongside the director reveals much too. There is an early credit for Marty’s future editor of choice, Thelma Schoonmaker, and other figures who turn up in his subsequent filmography – such as assistant director Mardik Martin and cinematographer Michael Wadleigh – help out.
Story wise it’s really little more than a loose collection of moments in one New York would-be wise guys life and there are some sex scenes that feel crow-barred in to play to some imagined dirty mac brigade but taken as an insight into the formative mind of one of the greatest cinema masters ever, Who’s That Knocking At My Door remains a priceless treasure trove of clues and pointers to the magic that was on its way.
