When people bring up some of Scorsese's best films, usually people are quick to point to "Goodfellas," "Raging Bull," "Taxi Driver," "The Departed," or "The Wolf of Wall Street." Most people, however, are not as quick to bring up "The King of Comedy," probably because your average moviegoer probably hasn't even seen this film. As a result, this film consistently is brought up whenever people talk about Scorsese's overlooked films.

One of the reasons for this film getting the shaft from the general audience is probably because of how insanely dark and unpleasant it is, and as a result is one of Scorsese's least accessible films. And I know Scorsese is no stranger to dark material in his films, but the darkness that pervades this film is very different; there's this underlying bitterness that makes this one of the most unpleasant and unsettling films I've ever sat through. And yet, despite that, I still kept watching. I found myself heavily engaged in this film.

This is a very grim deconstruction of celebrity worship and show business, that was decades ahead of its time, even more so than "Misery," just 10 years later. It really dives into the absolute worst parts of being famous without holding back, especially when it comes to its portrayal of celebrity stalkers. Honestly, this might be one of the rare films that's actually only gotten better as time has gone on, albeit one that's probably become a lot more unsettling than it originally was intended.

If I could use one word to describe this film, it would be uncomfortable. This is a film where every single frame oozes with a genuine feeling of painful, awkward dread. And a lot of that comes about through Robert De Niro's incredible performance as Rupert Pupkin; an aspiring comic who is clearly a crazy person with delusions of grandeur, who believes himself to be a far greater comic than he really is. We really get well acquainted with his character, how he may seem like a nice and pleasant guy on the surface, but as the film progresses, we slowly begin to see just how vile of a person he actually is underneath his persona.

Jerry Lewis completely vanishes as Jerry Langford. And while you can certainly recognize him as Jerry Lewis, he does not act at all like his typical film persona. In fact, he's essentially playing the closest thing this movie has to a straight man, which is rather ironic considering he's supposed to be the "comedian" of the film. This acts as a nice contrast between him and Pupkin, wherein Langford is essentially being himself, refusing to play the part of the "comedian" everyone else wants him to, but Pupkin's comic persona never comes off once, even when he's kidnapped Langford. You have to wonder how much of his performance was Jerry Lewis letting off some steam, especially since one such encounter with a fan portrayed in the film is based on an incident that actually happened to him in real life. And you can just sense the frustration he feels whenever strangers come up to him and practically demand things from him just because he's famous.

The biggest issue I have with the film, is that the first half is perhaps a bit too stretched out. I understand that the film really wants us to understand just how crazy Rupert is, but I think maybe 10 minutes of this could've been cut and not much would've been lost. There's also the fact that this film does end kind of abruptly, which I get was the point, because the film wants the ending to be ambiguous, but still I wanted more.

Other than that, there really isn't anything else here to complain about. This is a gripping film, that balances the fine line between being a funny comedy, and an uncomfortable experience like a pro. The acting is all incredible, the writing is spot on, and Scorsese's direction is, of course, assured and steady. In my opinion, while this isn't quite one of Scorsese's best films, I can easily put it on the list of his most overlooked like so many others already have.

But if this film taught me anything, it's this. I don't want to be famous. At least, not too famous.