Once you’re a canonical stalwart of the film industry, one’s entire career is open for analysis, with the earliest works of some of the greatest directors in history being quite fascinating, if only for the sake of seeing where their style originates. When he was hired to direct an adaptation of Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, Martin Scorsese was in an odd position – he had already directed a few films and had just made what would go on to be his breakthrough into the mainstream, the rousing but deeply personal New York crime drama Mean Streets, which was about to introduce him to legions of new viewers who would immediately fall in love with his style. Considering this was the era in which Scorsese was making some of his boldest films, it’s interesting that Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore stands out as much as it does – it is certainly an outlier in terms of what we expected from Scorsese at this time (although I don’t tend to avoid perpetuating the myopic belief that the director only makes hypermasculine crime films when in actuality he is capable of great diversity), but not for the reasons we’d expect – and viewing this film from a contemporary perspective, where we’ve seen over fifty years of work from the director, we can easily see many of his most distinctive traits scattered throughout this wildly compelling comedy-drama. It’s a truly wonderful film, a deeply moving and honest portrayal of a woman making her way through the world by any means necessary, and as controversial a view as it may be, I’m inclined towards believing this to be one of Scorsese’s best films, if only for the fact that it is such an audacious project that doesn’t fall victim to its deviant ambitions, but rather adapts itself to meet the style of a filmmaker whose understanding of the human condition is often obscured by the more recognizable aspects of his style, and a chance for him to work in tandem with Ellen Burstyn, an actress whose perpetual willingness to push the boundaries of the cinematic form, both in the projects she chose and what she did within them, made her an incredible force of New Hollywood.

Looking beyond the surface, we can understand what drove Scorsese to agreeing to work on this project – its the story of a working-class individual hitting the road after a great tragedy and going in search of prosperity by chasing an impossible dream, and encountering various obstacles that stand in her way. This is essentially the skeletal plot to a number of Scorsese’s films, which normally tend to focus on complex individuals fighting against some bigger force, and seeking something they know is attainable, but only through overcoming certain challenges. Not necessarily an indication of any kind of unoriginality, but rather the director’s more working-class sensibilities, particularly at this point in his career, reducing the plot to such a simple logline allows us to see exactly why Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore fits so unexpectedly well into Scorsese’s long and illustrious career. It is a film about an outsider struggling to fit in, while still holding onto their own fierce individuality – we see ourselves reflected in Alice Hyatt in a way that perhaps we don’t want to see in a character like Travis Bickle, Rupert Pupkin or Jordan Belfort, who are normally chalked up as negative influences. Add in her metaphysical journey towards self-worth, and realizing how she is capable of far more than she anticipated based on the social milieu she was conditioned in, and you have a truly captivating portrait of a modern woman being put through the wringer and coming out the other side more resilient and determined than ever before. Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore is a considerably impressive work for all involved, with Scorsese shepherding Robert Getchell’s script to the screen (which Burstyn herself selected and played a considerable role in getting made) in a way that feels so authentically his own, with the grit and unheralded honesty of his early work being intrinsically woven into the fabric of this film, which thrives under the careful guidance of a director whose compassion for these stories is sometimes obscured by the more cynical nature of his more popular work.

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore really begins and ends with the titular character, whose journey is the aspect of the film that really needed to succeed in order to be convincing.  The story of Alice is one that excels tremendously with Burstyn at the forefront, with the film giving her one of the finest roles of her career, and a chance for audiences to see her magnificent talents in an entirely new light. Coming three years after The Last Picture Show and two after The King of Marvin Gardens, this character is a radical departure from what audiences were used to seeing from Burstyn, whose previous roles were mostly supporting parts in films that didn’t service her particularly well. The Exorcist was obviously the role that thrust her into the spotlight, but it was undeniably Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore that consolidated her as one of the screen’s most enigmatic stars, with the latter being produced as a response to the imminent success of the William Friedkin film that was set to make the actress a star. Burstyn had the grit and caustic honesty that could rival that of her character, and its truly difficult to envision anyone else giving the same kind of performance as Burstyn, whose work here is simply extraordinary, giving one of the defining performances of the 1970s, one that has essentially inspired decades of empowering female characters to command the screen with the feisty determination that propels this film forward and makes it so wholly unforgettable. This film is one of the archetypal pieces that depends so entirely on the performance of the lead, nearly everything else in her vicinity is rendered inconsequential – so the fact that just beyond Burstyn’s incredible portrayal of Alice is a fantastic supporting cast that does just that: they supplement her performance in a way that feels so authentic, never distracting from the work she’s doing, but having wonderful moments of their own. Alfred Lutter is a riot as Alice’s wise beyond his years son, and Diane Ladd is exceptionally funny as the scene-stealing Flo, whose wisecracking personality hides a heart of gold. However, everything they do ultimately leads back to Burstyn, who is astonishing – and even when cognizant of the incredible work she’d do in later years, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore will always be an unforgettable peak in her career.

Working behind the camera, Scorsese seems to be attuned to the needs of the character and the story they’re intending to tell, its difficult to not see him as a fiercely compassionate filmmaker not afraid to forego more traditional elements in order to tell this story in a way that is both compelling and fully engrossing for the viewer. The film seems somewhat displaced from others made at the time – the occasional use of a handheld camera to get close to the actors, capturing every nuance in their expressions and subtle movement that carries so much weight in the context of the story they’re situated in, creates the atmosphere of incredible intimacy. Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore is inherently built on our very human tendency to want to get to know these characters – the film doesn’t offer much in terms of progressing the story, and while Alice may be constantly on the move, both physically and metaphysically, the story lingers on the minutiae of her daily life in such a way that we can really get to know her, not merely as a fictional construction but as a fully-formed character in her own right. The film also finds such extraordinary elegance in its gritty, blue-collar sensibilities – it is never overwrought, and always assumes the most appropriate route is the one of least resistance. The film does explore some bleaker territory – domestic violence, infidelity, marital strife and childhood delinquency are amongst the discussions the film is willing to have. However, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore is far too positive of a film to be weighed down by overwrought conversations, which Scorsese weaves into the plot in a matter-of-fact manner that allows them to be present and make an impression, but not distract from the more poignant joy that underpins the majority of the film, making it a truly uplifting, but deeply meaningful, work of 1970s social realism.

Scorsese and Burstyn, in their creative partnership, execute this film with such incredible precision, finding the melancholy in the joy, and the exuberance in the more downbeat concepts that are brought up throughout the film. Ultimately, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore is a seriocomic drama about people living their lives and making their own way through a world that can be treacherous for those not conditioned to some of its harsh realities – but its all undeniably navigable, as long as we have the right mindset and the willingness to hold on for the next positive opportunity. Tenacity is perhaps the most notable theme that we gain from this film, with the story of Alice Hyatt being so joyfully uplifting, but not without its more disconcerting moments, where we see her often fall victim to the misdeeds of others, but demonstrate her resilience to rise from these situations – who would’ve thought one of the most positive and inspiring films of the 1970s could come from Martin Scorsese, especially when occurring between his towering but cynical classics Mean Streets and Taxi Driver? This is the joy of experiencing Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore – it’s just such a rich, insightful glimpse into the trials and tribulations of working-class folk which never positions them as the unheralded conveyors of the American dream, but instead shows them as ordinary individuals traversing many of life’s challenges and encountering the necessary obstacles we all face in our journey towards our individual ambitions. Some of us fail, some of us succeed – it’s not about where we’re heading, its how we’re getting there in the first place. Alice was presented with two diverging roads, and she took the one less travelled – and that did indeed make all the difference.