The Big Shave

A short film of six minutes. There is a bathroom. White, clean, gleaming; the camera shows the basin, the bath, the tap and the tiles one by one. A man comes in. Young, bare from the waist up, and about to shave. He applies the foam. He takes the razor and begins. The shave finishes. He stops, looks in the mirror, and applies foam again. On the second shave the cuts begin. Blood runs down his neck, his chest and into the basin, and he does not stop. From there the film becomes the repetition of a single action. The razor keeps passing over the same places and the image grows unbearable. The man never winces. There is no sign of pain; the movement is calm, regular, almost ceremonial. What the narrative is interested in is not shaving but self-harm: the film offers no reason and gives no explanation. The sound is the opposite. A cheerful jazz number plays in the background and the mismatch with the image is its real effect. There is a dedication at the close, with Vietnam written beside the year; the film was read at the time as a statement about the war. This is one of Martin Scorsese's student shorts, made before his first feature. The colour and the setting are deliberate. The entirely white bathroom makes the blood as visible as possible. Peter Bernuth performs. Martin Scorsese directed. Who it is for: anyone curious about experimental shorts and about Scorsese's beginnings. Who it is not for: anyone disturbed by the sight of blood; the film does one thing in six minutes and takes it all the way.