The result is operatic and mad and compelling. It's all captured in dreamlike, pin-sharp monochrome cinematography, stark images reproduced like a Weegee crime scene. The effect is to combine stunning scenes of brutality and self-destruction with a lethal, even outrageous sentimentalism and self-pity. The film actually suppresses many of the nastier aspects of La Motta's life and essentially takes him at his own lenient estimation of himself, emphasising what was allegedly his initial, pig-headed resistance to gangsters' parasitic involvement in his career. In the ring, he was a graceless brawler, outside it a repugnant bully and wife-beater who was in thrall to the mob.

It starred Robert De Niro, electrifyingly and horribly charismatic in the role of 1940s middleweight boxing champ Jake La Motta. The film was Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull – or, to give it the title that appeared on screen, RagingBull it was run together, like GoodFellas. When it was all over, I felt exhausted, but also possessed of a strange need to scream, or laugh, or run all the way home, or pick up parked cars and flip them over. When I first saw it, I was 19 years old it was at the Screen on the Hill cinema in North London, now renamed the Everyman Belsize Park.

Raging bull movie