They say to write what you know. So for his first full-length film, Martin Scorsese, an Italian-American youth in the 1960s, wrote a movie about Italian American youths in the 1960s. And I’m surprised how self-aware and critical it is of its subject.  Like you can’t really blame Harvey Keitel for not understanding when his girlfriend tells him she was sexually assaulted before. You see, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And if you’re taught that all victims were actually asking for it, how are you supposed to think any differently? Even when his heart wins out, his upbringing won’t let him actually love her, and his apology for how he reacted is “well, I’ll marry you even though you’re a whore.” Nice. And then we get the moment that made the movie and showed just quite how self-aware the whole film is.  A montage of Catholic imagery with doo-wop playing over it and intercutting the scene of the girl’s assault and then cutting to Keitel wishing his friend good night. And the movie ends. It is incredible. Absolutely making the film.