Let's get one thing straight. When a filmmaker starts talking about how "heartbreaking" it is to release a movie, my bullshit detector starts screaming. I heard Ari Aster, the guy behind those feel-bad-for-three-hours horror flicks, was on a panel at the New York Film Festival, and the quotes are just... perfect.

He was there to talk about a new Martin Scorsese documentary, sitting next to people who actually work with the legend, and he says it's "heartbreaking" when the response to your film "is not quite what you were hoping for."

Give me a break.

This isn't some indie kid who scraped together 50 grand to make a passion project that nobody saw. This is Ari Aster. A24's golden boy. The director who got to make a three-hour anxiety attack of a movie, Beau is Afraid, with a blank check and Joaquin Phoenix. Crying about the response is like a Michelin-star chef complaining that some diners thought his deconstructed foam was a little pretentious. You made your weird, expensive meal, dude. Some people are going to hate it. That's the deal.

The Scorsese Invisibility Cloak

The most telling part of this whole song and dance is Aster’s constant invocation of Scorsese. He calls Marty a "liberating influence" because his work isn't "prescriptive" or "calculated." It’s a classic move. When your own work gets called out for being indulgent or alienating, you just wrap yourself in the legacy of a certified genius who also faced criticism.

It's the Scorsese Invisibility Cloak. By constantly reminding everyone that Scorsese is his mentor and that some of Scorsese's own films—like The King of Comedy—bombed on release, Aster is basically building a preemptive defense. The subtext is clear: "You don't get my movie? Well, people didn't get The King of Comedy either, and now it's a masterpiece. So maybe the problem isn't my film. Maybe the problem is you."

It's a clever, if transparent, strategy. But is it an honest comparison? Scorsese's early "failures" were challenging the very language of cinema and American myth-making. Aster's Beau is Afraid felt more like a filmmaker challenging his audience's patience. It's like a kid in a garage band playing a sloppy, 12-minute guitar solo and claiming he's the next Jimi Hendrix because Hendrix also played long, weird solos. The comparison only works if you ignore the most important part: the genius.

I can just picture him on that stage, under the soft theater lights, the hushed reverence of the film festival crowd hanging on his every word. He probably looked earnest, maybe a little pained, as he talked about the "devastating" feeling of a mixed reception. But is he really channeling the spirit of a misunderstood artist, or is he just frustrated that he can't be a populist and an esoteric auteur at the same time? You don't get to have it both ways.

The Internet Ain't Buying It

Offcourse, the public square of the internet had its own take. You can always count on the comment section to cut through the PR spin. One user, "Anon," nailed it, calling Aster's films "indulgent and annoying" while Scorsese's are about "challenging audiences." That's the whole ballgame right there. Scorsese challenges you to think; Aster often just challenges you to keep watching.

Then there's "Judy," who flat-out says Aster has "never made a good movie" and was just lucky with his actors and cinematographers. That's harsh. Too harsh, probably. Hereditary was a legitimately terrifying and well-crafted film. Midsommar was a visual feast, even if it was emotionally hollow. But the sentiment behind Judy’s comment is real. There's a growing feeling that Aster's technical skill is writing checks his storytelling can't cash.

My favorite, though, is "Zalpha," who claims Beau is Afraid is Aster's best film and that Scorsese agrees. This is the ultimate fan defense, a shield made of pure hearsay. Does Scorsese really think that, or is he just being a supportive mentor to one of the few young directors not making superhero garbage? What does a private conversation between them even sound like? Is Scorsese giving him genuine notes, or just a pat on the head and a "keep it up, kid"? We'll never know, and that ambiguity is exactly what keeps the Aster mystique alive for his defenders.

This whole thing feels... exhausting. He's a talented guy. Hereditary worked. But his public persona is becoming this performance of the tortured artist. It’s a bad look. No, 'bad' doesn't cover it—it's a fundamentally boring look. We've seen it a million times before. The misunderstood genius, the prophet without honor in his own land. But what if you’re not a prophet? What if you’re just a guy who made a really, really weird movie that most people didn’t like? Then again, maybe I'm just a cynic who doesn't appreciate a true artist's pain.

So, He's Just Another Sad Film Bro?

At the end of the day, Ari Aster Calls Watching ‘Mr. Scorsese’ Soothing To “Somebody Who Has Made A Couple Of Films That Were Divisive” – New York Film Festival - Deadline tells you everything you need to know. He's not looking for liberation; he's looking for comfort. He's seeking validation from the past because he's insecure about his reception in the present. He wants the Scorsese seal of approval to make the bad reviews and the confused audiences go away. But that ain't how art works. True liberation isn't getting permission from your heroes to be weird. It's being weird and not giving a damn what anyone, including your heroes, thinks about it.