Lend Me Your Ears

This might be a good opportunity to say a few words about Scorsese's overall mutilative technique. The first time I saw The Last Temptation of Christ I was very impressed by the low-key way in which Scorsese handled this incident, which, in the hands of a lesser director--say Oliver Stone--could have been pretty nauseating, and which, in the hands of a lesser director, Quentin Tarantino, was pretty nauseating. Then I had second thoughts. There's something very unsettling about a movie where somebody gets his ear cut off and nobody thinks that it's that big a deal. Say what you want about Reservoir Dogs, but when Michael Madsen lops off the cop's ear, the victim at least reacts like something pretty horrible has just happened to him.

Contrast this with the relatively muted reaction to the auricular atrocity in Last Temptation. The disciple whips out his knife, lops off the ear, and the victim sort of groans, but he doesn't descend into the kind of full-fledged hysteria we see in Reservoir Dogs and he doesn't even get as upset as Joe Mantegna seems to be in Godfather III, when he merely gets his ear bitten. All in all, I think Scorsese should be censured for pussyfooting around in this scene, and if he ever gets to do one of those restored director's cuts like Francis Ford Coppola or Sam Peckinpah or Kevin Costner, I hope he'll add in some footage he must have lying around somewhere of the victim going completely fucking ballistic. Let's face it: if you got your ear sliced off on the Mount of Olives while you were arresting a man who claimed to be the King of the Jews, I know you'd make a pretty big stink about it. God knows, I would.

I don't want to make too much of this whole ear-lopping business but I must admit that it's always been the thing that prevents me from accepting St. Luke's account of the events that transpired on Holy Thursday as gospel truth. What really rings false is the reaction of the Roman soldiers after Christ has reattached the ear. Put your self in their situation: if you were sent out in the middle of the night to arrest a man who claimed to be the son of God, and one of his confederates chopped off one of your confederate's ears, and then the man claiming to be visiting divinity miraculously reattached it, don't you think you'd find yourself saying something like: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't this guy just surgically reattach Maximus Minimus's ear without the benefit of any known medical technology? And if so, don't you think it's a little bit risky to try bringing this guy in, armed only with short daggers, tiny spears and these fey little tunics?"

Similarly, right after Christ is taken into custody, he is interrogated by a rather ponce-y Pontius Pilate, played by David Bowie, who gets a bit flip with Him. Bowie, sporting what appears to be a First Century A.D. Beatles mop top, treats Christ rather dismissively, remarking, "It's also said that you do miracles. Is this good magic or bad magic? Could we have some kind of... eh... demonstration? I mean, could you do a trick for me now?"

By this point, if I'm Jesus Christ, I'm probably going to find myself saying, "Look, asshole, I'm the guy who just reattached a human ear that had been lopped off somebody's head, and you're a two-bit Roman bureaucrat who's been banished to a deadend job in Judea. Do you really think I'm the sort of person you should be fucking with?"

But, of course, I am not Jesus Christ, so I'll have to let the issue drop and start talking about Andy Garcia.

Garcia is our next subject of interest because of the unsettling scene in The Godfather, Part III where he takes a huge bite out of Joe Mantegna's ear. Mantegna, it will be recalled by the three of us who saw the picture, plays a mobster who has inherited most of Michael Corleone's empire after Al Pacino decides to go legit. Unwisely, he turns up at Pacino's house the day the Don is being awarded a very prestigious medal by the Catholic Church in recognition of the $100 million he has donated to a fund that will succor the poor, aid starving artists and contribute to the economic revival of Sicily. Mantegna tries to get on Pacino's good side by presenting him with a plaque from the Meucci Foundation, named after an Italian who purportedly invented the telephone before Alexander Graham Bell claimed to have done so. Pacino says he never heard of the guy. The telephone, bear in mind, is a device that involves the use of the human ear. Symbolism and foreshadowing. Symbolism and foreshadowing.

The formalities concluded, Mantegna now explains to Pacino that he has been having trouble with a cheap punk who claims to be related to Pacino. The punk in question is one Vincent Mancini (Andy Garcia), the illegitimate son of Sonny Corleone (James Caan), who was killed off in The Godfather. Pacino tells Garcia to join him and Mantegna in his study for a confab. Garcia arrives, improperly attired in a leather jacket, glances at Mantegna, and grabs his nuts.

Trouble is a-brewing.

Garcia now tells Pacino that Mantegna has been running around behind his back saying things like "Fuck Michael Corleone." Pacino asks Mantegna if this is true, noting that anyone who would say such a thing is "a dog." Mantegna concurs with the Don's forceful logic, remarking, "Yes, it's true. If anyone who would say such a thing, they would not be a friend. They would be a dog." Pacino ignores Mantegna's deplorable grammar and accepts this explanation, telling his illegitimate nephew to make his peace with his superior. Mantegna and Garcia embrace, but then Mantegna goes one step too far and whispers something in Italian while giving the chastened Garcia an affectionate but condescending chuck on the ear. The next thing you know, Garcia has his teeth firmly planted in Mantegna's external acoustic equipment, seemingly making a ferocious attempt to bite it off.

This scene is important for two reasons. One, it establishes in the minds of the audience that Garcia is a sadistic brute unfit for human company, and thus will almost certainly end up in bed with Bridget Fonda later that same day. More important, the bite on the ear seems to affect Mantegna's ability to act for the rest of the movie. Let us recall that the ear is the center of equilibrium in the human body, and once it has been damaged, however lightly, even a talented actor like Joe Mantegna will find himself muffing his lines. By the time Mantegna, now decked out with an ear patch, makes his farewell speech at the Convention of Tutti Capo in Atlantic City, where he vainly attempts to assassinate Pacino, his acting is so much out of the Rod Steiger On A Bad Day School of Dramatic Art that he can no longer deliver his lines with any trace of credibility, and really must be killed.

At this point, I'd like to clear up a confusing issue about the 1978 film Midnight Express. When I first conceived the idea for this story, I told all my friends that I would welcome any tips about movies in which aurally related mishaps occur. No less than three friends advised me to rent Alan Parker's sordid tale of savagery in a Turkish prison, assuring me that there was a memorable scene where the house ratfink has his ear ripped off by Brad Davis. In fact, I had already seen this all-purpose slimefest at least three times, and seemed to recall that scene myself.

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