Summary
Miami 1956. An older and grotesquely overweight Jake tells a journalist that he has retired from boxing: “I’m through. I'm tired of worrying about weight all the time. That's all I used to think about was weight, weight, weight. After a while, you know, you realize other things in life. I mean, I'm very grateful. Boxing's been good to me: I've got a nice house, I've got three great kids, I've got a wonderful, beautiful wife—what more could I ask for?” The reporter asks Vickie how she feels about Jake’s retirement, and she replies, “I think it’s great. He picked the right time to stop fighting…” Jake soon interrupts Vickie to notify the press about his recently opened club, “Jake LaMotta’s.”
We then cut to Jake’s self-titled club, where he flubs his way through an unfunny, sexist, and self-deprecating stand-up comedy routine. He greets the audience with, “I haven’t seen so many losers since my last fight at Madison Square Garden,” and when a waitress brings him a drink, he dubs her “the kind of girl that you want to bring home to your father—especially if he’s a degenerate.” Jake then announces his forthcoming 11th wedding anniversary with Vickie and shares an anecdote about two men sharing one woman. He then repeats his verse that we saw him rehearsing in Part 1.
Still in the club, Jake is introduced to State Attorney Bronson and his beautiful wife. Jake forces himself onto her to give her a kiss and spills a whole drink down her lap. Someone at the table inquires about Vickie, and Jake once again reveals his abiding paranoia about men and his wife: “What do ya think, I'm gonna bring her around here and let you bums get involved with her?”
Jake goads two under-aged women to give him sophisticated kisses to “prove” that they are twenty-one and can order alcohol: “Any girl that kisses like that can drink at my joint anytime.” He then excessively pours champagne into five stacked glasses, despite hearing that Vickie is waiting for him outside. At the crack of dawn, Jake finally emerges from the club and spots Vickie sitting inside the Cadillac. With the window only slightly open, she tells Jake that she is leaving him and will take custody of the kids: “I didn’t wanna tell you until I had everything worked out. Look, Jake, I got a lawyer; we’re getting a divorce. I’m getting custody of the kids...I already made up my mind. I’m leaving; that’s it; the kids are gonna be with me. And if you show your face around, I’m gonna call the cops on you.” She drives off.
Deputies from the DA’s office awaken Jake in the middle of the night. They show Jake pictures of one of the under-aged girls he kissed in the previous scene. The DA claims that the girl said Jake “introduced her to some men”—implying that Jake solicited clients for prostitutes in his club. Jake proclaims his innocence: “I introduce I introduce a lot of people to a lot of people. Why'd you tell me I introduced her to men?" The deputy asserts that the girl is only fourteen, to which Jake responds, “You gonna tell me that girl looks 14?” They then arrest Jake and take him "downtown."
While out on bail, Jake approaches Vickie’s home and requests her permission to “pick up one thing.” Vickie lets Jake inside, and he grabs his middleweight champion belt. According to Jake, if he raises $10,000, the case against him will be dropped. He hammers the belt’s jewels out and takes them to a jeweler. The jeweler asserts that the belt’s jewels are virtually worthless without the belt (a rare item). Jake refuses an offer of $1,500. Jake calls his lawyer and tells him he can’t raise the money.
Dade County Stockade Florida 1957. Jake is detained in a Florida stockade and wrestled into a dark jail cell. He slams his head, fists, and arms into his cinder-block cell, wailing “Why! Why! Why! Why!...You’re so stupid...They call me an animal. I’m not an animal. I’m not an animal. Why do you treat me like this? I’m not that bad. I’m not that bad.”
New York City 1958. As a stand-up comic in a seedy nightclub in New York City, Jake fails to make the audience laugh and threatens a heckler. He introduces strippers like “Emma 48s.” As Emma and Jake leave the club and get a taxi, Jake spots Joey entering a liquor store across the street. Jake calls out for Joey, who hesitates to turn around and talk to his brother; they eventually catch up in a parking garage. Without explicitly apologizing for his wrongdoings, Jake pleads for a reconciliation with his brother: “C'mon, be friends. C'mon. You're my brother. Be friends...Kiss me. Give me a kiss...You gonna forgive and forget? It was a long time ago, forget about it. Just give me a kiss...Give me a kiss.” Jake hugs and kisses his brother, who does not return the affection. Joey appears wholly uninterested in reforming a relationship with Jake; he haphazardly says he will call him.
We then cut to a moment we recognize from one of the film’s opening scenes: Jake’s act—his reciting of various dramatic readings—in a nightclub in 1964. In the backstage dressing room, Scorsese shows us drab images of the room: a bare lightbulb, a wall, dangling hangers on a coat rack. Dressed in a cheap, tight tuxedo, Jake stares into a mirror and prepares his act. He introduces a famous scene from On the Waterfront, one that has parallels to Jake’s perceptions of his own career and relationship with his brother. He poorly recites the film’s “I could have been a contender” monologue while embellishing some of the lines: “It wasn't him, Charley. It was you. You remember that night at the Garden you came down in my dressing room and you said, 'Kid, this ain't your night; we're going for the price on Wilson?' 'remember that? 'This ain't your night?' My night. I could've taken Wilson apart that night. So what happens? He gets a title shot outdoors in the ballpark, and what do I get? A one-way ticket to Palookaville. I was never no good after that night, Charley. It was like a peak you reach, and then it's downhill. It was you, Charley. You was my brother. You should've looked out for me a little bit. You should've looked out for me just a little bit. You should've taken care of me just a little bit instead o' making me take them dives for the short-end money. You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody instead of a bum, which is what I am. Let's face it. It was you, Charley. It was you, Charley.”
A stagehand notifies Jake that he goes on stage in five minutes. Jake buttons his shirt and stands up. He looks at the mirror and says “Go get ‘em, champ” before shadowboxing his reflection. When he walks out of the room and into the entertainment arena, the shot lingers on the empty mirror as he grumbles, “I'm the boss, I'm the boss, I'm the boss, I'm the boss, I'm the boss...(I'm the) boss, boss, boss, boss, boss, boss.”
The film’s final title is taken from a verse in the New English Bible:
So, for the second time, [the Pharisees]
summoned the man who had been blind and said:
"Speak the truth before God.
We know this fellow is a sinner."
"Whether or not he is a sinner, I do not know,"
the man replied.
"All I know is this:
once I was blind and now I can see."
Scorsese also attaches a dedication to his NYU film professor:
“Remembering Haig P. Manoogian, teacher.
May 23, 1916 - May 26, 1980.
With Love and resolution, Marty.”
Analysis
By the final sections of the film, Jake has already alienated those closest to him, so Scorsese accordingly readjusts his focus to Jake's inner turmoil and possible redemption.
Up until the brutal and powerful jail scene, our moments of compassion for Jake are rare. Between his perpetual aggression and sickening treatment of his family and opponents, it is tough to empathize with him. The jail scene, though, partially redeems Jake’s character. His confining cell is utterly devoid of light; sometimes we see fleeting glimpses of Jake, but the lighting forefronts a relenting, oppressive darkness. Thus, the lighting represents psychological confinement as Jake is forced to confront his real enemy for the first time: himself.
As we have seen before, Jake fails to live an introspective life. Unable to articulate his inner thoughts, desires, and conflicts, he relies on violence as an automatic response to his inward rage. Before the jail cell scene, Jack either inflicts violence onto those around him—Vickie, Joey, his opponents—or masochistically allows others to hurt him. Here, Jake can’t subject anyone to his aggression; because of his utter loneliness in the cell, he has no choice but to slam his head and fists on the cinder block wall until he can no longer endure the pain.
As Jake sits on the bed of his cell, he berates himself as stupid and notably proclaims, “I’m not an animal! I’m not animal! I’m not that bad; I’m not that bad.” Animals are an omnipresent motif in Raging Bull: Jake wears a leopard robe, he’s known as “the raging bull,” his neighbor calls him an animal, Jake accuses Joey of being an animal, Jake threatens to eat his neighbor’s dog, and Jake wants his steak raw like a carnivorous animal. The motif of animals symbolizes Jake’s barbarism—Jake has basic, rudimentary emotions yet he is unable to express them, and he uses violence to exhibit his dominance over those around him, in and out of the ring. The animal symbolism culminates in the jail scene. Jake looks like a caged animal cell, and the repetition of “I’m not an animal!” suggests that Jake is trying painfully to convince himself of his own humanity. This difficult-to-watch scene restores our capacity to feel a degree of empathy for Jake. Jake doesn’t understand who he is; he lacks self-awareness; he doesn’t understand the consequences of his actions; but he hates himself much more ardently than we ever could hate him. A man who slams his head against a cinder block wall and shouts that he’s not an animal is worthier of our pity than our abject despise.
Jake’s recitation of the On the Waterfront monologue is one of the film’s most famous and noteworthy scenes. As he poorly delivers the monologue, we can’t help but notice the glaring irony of the scene. Presumably, Jake recites the monologue because he see an analogy between himself and his brother on the one hand, and the troubled relationship between Terry Maloy (Marlon Brando) and his brother Charley, on the other. However, in On the Waterfront, Terry never receives a legitimate chance at success because Charley carelessly sold him out. By contrast, it was Joey who enabled many of Jake’s successes, and Jake losses everything—the title, his relationships with Joey and Vickie, his literal championship belt—because of himself. Jake and Terry, therefore, are two diametrically opposed characters. Jake views himself as beaten, bruised victim, and his attachment to the Terry analogy only illuminates his inability to examine and scrutinize his reprehensible, self-destructive character. Perhaps deep down, Jake realizes that he’s not in a position to relate the tormented but heroic Terry, as suggested his emotionless, stiff delivery of the monologue. As Jake flubs through the monologue, he sounds as detached from his struggles, defeats, self-loathing, and damaged relationships as possible.
As Jake stands up and shadowboxes his own reflection—an action emblematic of Jake’s everlasting inner conflicts—and mutters, “I’m the boss, boss, boss, boss,” his humiliation is on full display. Jake may still view himself as a champion, but from an objective audience viewpoint, we know this is not true. Now grotesquely overweight, Jake’s shadowboxing and repetition of the word “boss” harkens back to the earlier images in the film, particularly the ones in the opening credit sequence. However, this time, there are no flashbulbs, no romantic slow motion, no ring. Instead, Jake prepares for another performance in a stark, drab, and dilapidated backstage room; the once energetically mobile camera won’t even re-frame itself to a full shot of Jake shadowboxing. The illusion of glamour in Jake’s life has utterly vanished: he’s old, overweight, alone, and preparing for a hack entertainment special. It’s a sad, downbeat, but fitting ending for Jake, a character who undergoes little moral change in the film.
On that note, many film critics and fans debate whether Jake finds any resolution or salvation in Raging Bull. Some moments in the film suggest the possibility of Jake’s salvation: while a miserable Jake sits in his cell, a single sliver of light symbolizes hope for his redemption. Meanwhile, the film’s final title card—“Once I was blind and now I can see”—implies that Jake can acknowledge his sins with a forgiving clarity. These images force us to ask, “Has Jake achieved some sort of enlightenment through his experiences?”
By contrast, images of Jake’s redemption contrast with his final interaction with Joey. Jake doesn’t even explicitly apologize for his wrongdoings against Joey, who clearly has no interest in reconciling his relationship with Jake. When Jake first approaches him, Joey merely ignores him. Later, when Jake embraces Joey, Joey does not return the affection. Joey then claims he will call Jake, but his lack of enthusiasm suggests otherwise. If Joey—a victim of Jake’s obtuse aggression and jealously—cannot forgive Jake, does Jake even deserve a shot at redemption? Moreover, some commentators argue that the film’s Bible quote hardly applies to Jake’s spiritual journey, including the film’s screenwriter Paul Schrader: “I had no idea it was going to be there, and when I saw it I was absolutely baffled. I don’t think it’s true of LaMotta either in real life or in the movie; I think he’s the same dumb lug at the end as at the beginning, and I think Marty is just imposing salvation on his subject by fiat. I’ve never really got from him a terribly credible reason for why he did it; he just seemed to feel that it was right.” As noted in the Director’s Influence section of this guide, perhaps the quote refers to Scorsese’s salvation, rather than Jake’s.
Ultimately, Raging Bull’s ending is purposefully ambiguous; it invites a variety of interpretations. Regardless of where a viewer stands on Jake’s salvation (or lack thereof), Raging Bull successfully renders a gripping, grueling character study unlike anything cinema has ever seen.
