In the depths of the main library at the University of Colorado Boulder, a venerable 85-year-old stone fortress designed in the rustic style of rural Italy, you’ll find the archives of the university’s Rare and Distinctive Collections stretching endlessly on rows of shelves. Nestled among aged books, ancient maps, and medieval manuscripts lies a fascinating revelation. Within more than 50 storage containers lie thousands of VHS tapes preserving films and television programs that Martin Scorsese clandestinely recorded straight from live television broadcasts. The acclaimed filmmaker and dedicated preservationist, as it happens, also assumed the role of a prolific underground archivist for many years.
Long before the era of YouTube and Netflix revolutionized global media access, Scorsese embarked on a personal mission to curate his own on-demand video library. Each week, he meticulously noted down the movies and shows that captured his attention from the TV Guide. A dedicated video archivist at Scorsese’s New York office would then diligently capture these broadcasts using a sophisticated setup of multiple VCRs and monitors that operated round-the-clock. The tapes were meticulously labeled, organized initially through a card catalog system akin to a library, and later transitioned to a computerized catalog for Scorsese’s private viewing and research purposes.
Spanning from the 1980s to the 2000s, the collection comprises over 4,400 unique titles encompassing feature films, documentaries, shorts, historical programs, and award ceremonies. A perusal of the online inventory reveals a diverse range, from European art-house gems to an episode of Live with Regis and Kathie Lee showcasing Scorsese’s mother, Catherine, who frequently made cameo appearances in her son’s cinematic works. As the archive expanded, Scorsese integrated these recordings as an integral component of his filmmaking process. Prior to production, he would request his archivist to retrieve tapes of various films, many of which were not commercially available on home video, to distribute among the cast and crew as reference materials.
“I do that on most of my pictures,” Scorsese remarked in a statement. “For the actors, it’s usually about tone, mood, a certain emotional state, a suggestion of the world we’re working to create. With crew members, it’s often a cut, a camera movement at a specific point in the story, a certain way of framing. Not copying anything, but suggesting a way of approaching the question of how we’re going to tell the story.”
The collection serves as a tangible representation of his insatiable appetite for visual media. Recalling his asthmatic childhood in a New York City home devoid of books but early to adopt a television set in 1948, Scorsese emphasized how the 16-inch screen of the family’s black-and-white RCA Victor became his portal to the world and his initial exposure to the realm of cinema.
On Friday nights, a local New York station aired Italian neorealist films, which he watched alongside family members from Sicily; the works of Roberto Rossellini left a lasting impression, later explored in his 1999 documentary “My Voyage to Italy.” During the mid to late ‘50s, Scorsese avidly followed “Million Dollar Movie,” a program that screened the same film multiple times daily, allowing him to dissect the nuances of filmmaking techniques employed in classics like “Citizen Kane.” From his formative years through his time at NYU, Scorsese multitasked by studying with the muted TV as his backdrop, a habit he carried into the editing room while collaborating with his longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker. He confessed to feeling a sense of solitude in the absence of a television screen.
“He was always voraciously watching, absorbing, learning,” reminisced Paul Mougey, who served as Scorsese’s video archivist during the mid to late ‘80s. Following the establishment of the non-profit Film Foundation in 1990, which has since restored over 1,000 films, Scorsese’s commitment to preserving cinematic heritage became even more pronounced. “Marty wanted to get every movie there ever was, and we recorded everything,” Mougey recalled. “He felt part of his mission as a preservationist was to create this amazing library – and share it with his friends.”
In recent years, Scorsese initiated the gradual donation of his VHS collection. The ubiquity of high-definition DVDs, Blu-Rays, and streaming platforms rendered much of the bulky tape archive less relevant. Collaborating with Erin Espelie, an associate professor of film at the University of Colorado Boulder, Scorsese’s long-time film archivist Mark McElhatten and final video archivist Gina Telaroli facilitated the transfer of the collection to the university. In 2021, the last boxes of tapes arrived in Boulder from Scorsese’s Sikelia Productions office in Manhattan.
While the University of Colorado Boulder may seem an unconventional repository for Scorsese’s collection, given his iconic association with New York City, the Rare and Distinctive Collections in Boulder has emerged as a hub for film and video history scholarship. The department’s focus on intertwining archival work with educational initiatives aligns with Scorsese’s ethos, fostering a conducive environment for learning and exploration.
The archival recordings not only encompass the main feature presentations but also include commercials, bumpers, and other ephemera that Espelie described as equally captivating, shedding light on the television landscape of the past. As magnetic media deteriorates over time, the urgent task for the archivists at the Rare and Distinctive Collections is to digitize the entire VHS archive to prevent loss of image quality. Given the laborious nature of converting analog recordings, the university currently requires individuals requesting materials to cover the costs of digitizing any unreleased tapes.
Once the digitization process is complete, Tiel Lundy, an associate film professor at the University of Colorado Boulder, anticipates a surge in research activity. Scholars are poised to conduct in-depth analyses, tracing Scorsese’s viewing habits and exploring how his media consumption influenced his creative endeavors. The prospect of delving into this treasure trove has piqued the interest of archivists like John Klacsmann from the Anthology Film Archives in New York, who anticipates uncovering rare and obscure gems that may have eluded commercial release.
The legacy of Martin Scorsese’s clandestine VHS collection endures as a testament to his unwavering passion for cinema, preservation, and the enduring power of visual storytelling.