Spontaneous Musings

(after reading londonkds valid point and talking to Wales tonight, I decided to split this review into a new post separate from the Serenity review, ie. no Serenity spoilers here.)

Of the movies I've seen this year, which have been quite a few, this may be by far the best and one I think everyone should see, because unlike many movies it may change how you look at things later.

A History of Violence is directed by David Cronenberg and is based on a graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke. The screenplay is by Josh Olson. It stars Viggo Mortensen, Maria Bello, Ed Harris, William Hurt and Ashton Holmes.

This movie is basically what the series Angel was or perhaps a better way of putting it is what the series wanted to be about - a man who has a history of violence attempts to get away from it, to start anew, even becomes a local hero of sorts - saving some people, but the violence of his past eventually catchs up with him and the question is posed, can we ever escape our past and can someone who was violent/a murderer, ever stop being that person? Or do they merely bury the tendency? (That's not a spoiler by the way, since it's more or less in all the ads and trailers.) Except for one thing, Croenberg being Croenburg forces you to see the violence for what it is, to flinch and laugh at it at the same time. This is where Croenberg differs from many action directors and how he elevates the genre and comments on it. In A History of Violence Cronenberg does something similar to what Neil Gaiman did in Black Orchid, he makes us feel the violence, see what it does to everyone it touches, while at the same time subletly examines the impulse. Unlike Angel the Series, Serenity, the Fantastic Four, Batman Begins, Sin City, Spiderman, X-Men, The Punisher, and a host of other action shows and revenge pictures - History asks what does violence do to us? Death is not pretty or quick or painless. The hero does not leave the field of battle untouched.

In the film, Cronenberg comments on the way violence has become cartoonish and almost glamorized in our society. Watching the movie reminded me of a debate I had recently with rahael who pointed out that not all violent movies condone violence, some in fact make us cringe away from it. But others, make us almost root for the gunfire. In the old B-Westerns, we often just saw the gunfight, but not the bodies. The heroes barely bleed, then Samuel Peckinpah came along and changed things with movies such as The Wild Bunch. Yet even then violence remained a dance, almost beautiful in its slow-motion shots complete with soundtrack. In many actions films today, including the recent release, Serenity, we see the gunfight, but not the bodies. Bang Bang your dead. In Croenburg's film, you hear the bang, but you get a close-up of the damage both to the perpetuator and to the bodies remaining. You see the consequences. The blown off nose. Or the damaged gut. The cartoon character doesn't get up again, he doesn't heal. And the wounds are gross. Seeing this movie crystalized for me what was wrong with Serenity and so many other movies of its ilk, the cartoonish depiction of violence and death.

Croenberg subetly asks several questions during the course of his film: Can you ever move past violent deeds? Can you become someone else? In our happy sheltered, safe lives, where there appears to be no violence except in movies and escapist fare and well the evening news, is it in fact a constant undercurrent just waiting to erupt? How do we handle violence? What is our reaction to it? Does violence just beget more violence - is it an horrendous cycle with no end? Do we find it exhilirating and justified when it is against someone we hate or find reprehrenisable? Is it almost cartoonish at that point - like watching Batman or Superman or Angel go crazy on the the bad guys? The good guy always wins right? But is he a good guy? He also satirizes the all American dream of family, the perfect family life, exploring how potential for violence may lurk beneath the surface of every man. Asking whether our perception of reality is in truth nothing but a Leave it To Beaver dreamscape? And finally, does a destructive animal instinct for combat lie lodged in the peaceful heart of everyman? ( A question that Wales and I debated at length after seeing the film.)

I found the movie deeply disturbing on many levels and it haunts me still with its images a mere 3 days later. It gave me the odd urge to avoid all violent movies, to veer away from anything with violence completely. Cringe. Look Away. Neither Wales nor I could watch it at times, sheltering our eyes with fingers. Yet the violence was no more graphic or gruesome than the violence in Serenity or countless other flicks, if anything it was less graphic and less prevalent. Certainly less than the trailers prior to the movie which we watched without flinching. And at the same time, I felt oddly guilty and ashamed for enjoying and laughing at the cartoonish gratuitious violence I've seen in so many action flicks and tv shows. My revenge fantasises made real so to speak. Croenburg - the director of such films as Dead Ringers, Videodrome, Crash, The Fly, Naked Lunch, and ExisTenze, is a visual genius, he excels at making his audience uneasy, squirmy, with images that appear to be relatively ordinary, almost simple at first glance, but leave a bitter-after taste. You leave a Croenburg movie forever changed, your mind reeling. The movie is also bitingly funny, Wales and I cackled with laughter during numerous scenes, scenes were I found the desire to laugh oddly disturbing, yet also oddly a release.

After the film Wales and I had a lengthy discussion about violence, while walking the promenade and finally sitting on a bench in a small sculpture park beneath the Manhattan Bridge. We discussed whether violence, brutal violence, where someone is killed, is ever justified. I argued it wasn't. She argued it was - stating, if someone was about to kill your father, shouldn't you have the right to kill them in self-defense. Wouldn't you feel exhilirated by that? No. I don't believe I'd feel exhilirated. Or I hope I wouldn't. We fought over it a bit, coming at last to a standstill - or the realization that we did not know what we would do or what we'd feel.