From the window of Martin Scorsese's apartment on the 75th floor of a slim midtown skyscraper, Manhattan seems a pretty little thing. Central Park is a toy football field, and the swaying trees a sea of pompoms at half time. In the apartment's foyer, a poster for the furtive Italian classic Ossessione -- good title for nearly any Scorsese project -- auditions you. An old horror film flickers on a projector screen the size of Charles Foster Kane's fireplace. This is where and how God would live if he loved movies.
But is it the right place for Scorsese? His best...
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