Martin Scorsese Jingles When He Walks, I’m Sure Of It
Martin Scorsese is famous to me for three reasons: being Francesca Scorsese’s dad, voicing the pufferfish in Shark Tale (2004) and looking exactly like every single nonno from Milano to Leichhardt.
The 2024 Oscars were weird. They were awkward, unsettling and kind of… incredibly disappointing. Last year’s Oscars brought the world together to celebrate the incredible performances in Everything Everywhere All At Once, specifically from Michelle Yeoh and Ke Huy Quan. (On a personal note, I’d like to acknowledge the pure power and emotional resonance of Lia Kim’s Junkee headlines at the time — “Look At Us Now” and “He Did It” — where she perfectly articulated the impact of meaningful representation Hollywood).
This year wasn’t like that. And not because the movies were bad. This was a season of big, big movies: Poor Things, Past Lives, Barbie, Saltburn, Anatomy of a Fall, Oppenheimer, May December, The Zone of Interest, Chicken Run: Dawn of the Chicken Nugget and Killers of the Flower Moon.
While not all of these films actually copped an Oscars nom, I can imagine that it was infinitely more gut-wrenching to be invited into the belly of the beast (Dolby Theatre, Los Angeles) and snubbed in person — especially after it felt like Hollywood may have been making progress. (The next one is Lily’s, pass it on.)
So a lot of people were pissed off. But there was one thing that gave me the serotonin I needed after Jimmy Kimmel’s opening monologue (he did his best) — Francesca Scorsese’s dad getting gassed for ‘I’m Just Ken’.
@laurenrewatches Hes so cute #imjustken #martinscorsese #ryangosling #oscars ♬ original sound – Lauren rewatches always sunny
In that moment, Ryan Gosling may have been “Just Ken” but Martin Scorsese was serving “Just Nonno”.
When Scorsese isn’t busy making Oscar-nominated movies — or making Steven Spielberg eat dust — there’s no convincing me that he’s not playing a heated game of Scopa with the uncles and cousins in the garage downstairs, with curing salami hanging from the roof.
There’s no convincing me that Scorsese isn’t getting absolutely fucking psyched when someone brings out the accordion and plays the ‘Tarantella’. The man’s 81 years old, but no matter age or ailment, when the spirit of Italian folk dance summons you, you’re compelled to answer.
There’s no convincing me that we live in a world where Martin Scorsese isn’t peeling his weight in potatoes over a giant bucket, wielding a pocket knife with an accuracy that shouldn’t be questioned. As if that pocket knife may have been used for something other than peeling potatoes. That pocket knife has stories. Secrets. So just shut up and eat your potatoes.
Standing just over 5’2”, there’s no convincing me that Scorsese’s job on Passata Day isn’t scurrying the jars of fresh sauce to the cellar and storing them under the house. It’s a big job, but needs a man of small but powerful stature to do the job just right.
There’s no convincing me that those pockets are empty. If Martin Scorsese is anything like my nonno, he jingles when he walks. The pockets of his slacks are filled with coins, keys, crap he found in the garden and at least four half-opened sleeves of Mentos (the mint kind, obv).
So on behalf of nonnos everywhere, thank you Martin for flying the flag for tiny Italian grandparents. I’ll put on the espresso and we can chat shit about how Oppenheimer is overrated.
Written by Talecia Vescio, your local Aquarius. Find her on Instagram as @taleciavescio if you wanna be friends.