Should There Be Blood?
Violence isn’t always evil. What’s evil is the infatuation with violence. — Jim Morrison
Freddie DeBoer, writing about Watchmen:
I can’t imagine what movie makers and critics would do these days if you couldn’t make a movie with (artistic! balletic! profound!) violence. Every movie that is critically lauded, it seems, needs to be about a remorseless oilman or a remorseless assasin or a remorseless serial killer or some other unstoppable misanthrope who demonstrates, in piling violence on top of violence, that this is a Serious Film. And you can shoot in a minimalist style, or a maximalist style, you can have a single handicam take a five-minute shot, or you can do an effects-drench whip cam deal, and you can punch it up with incredible sound effects and a racing score, or you can really get arty and have no score at all. One way or another, though, you’ve made art.
This seems a little overblown to me. Look back at this year’s Best Picture nominees: You’ve got Frost/Nixon, which only features verbal confrontation, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, which is intended as an epic love story — the only kind of violence it features of the “set against the backdrop of…” kind. Last year, we had Juno; the year before that we had Little Miss Sunshine and The Queen (a brilliant movie, which, sadly, has been largely forgotten). Prior to that, I see Good Night, and Good Luck, Shakespeare in Love, Erin Brockovich, As Good as it Gets, and Lost in Translation, among others. As you go through the list, ever year seems to elevate several films that don’t rely much on violence of any kind, much less on grim, remorseless violence.You’d see a slightly different bunch if you looked only at critics’ lists, but even then you’d end up with plenty of indie relationship dramas.
Still, he’s got something of a point: Popular storytellers do tend to rely on violence, and popular storytellers who want to be taken seriously tend to adopt a serious tone — or at least what popular culture widely agrees counts as one — when dealing with violence. Usually, that means a somber tone, graphic and semi-realistic gore, and characters meditating on the nature of death and existence — films like No Country for Old Men, L.A. Confidential, Gangs of New York, Mystic River, and Munich, all of which were nominated for Best Picture.
But why shouldn’t this be the case? Death is a pivotal human experience; so is the experience of evil. One of the primary functions of stories is break individuals out of their own skulls — to help humans understand why other humans do what they do. Stories are a solution to the problem that humans can only truly ever access their own minds and experiences. So doesn’t it seem rather natural for many popular stories to deal with the problem that many humans do things that are inexplicable, that seem terrifying and evil? And given that, doesn’t it further make sense that many of those stories, if they strive to be honest, would confront inexplicable evil and not have an answer except that there isn’t one, that often enough evil is mysterious and unknowable — dare I say “remorseless” — and that coming to such an understanding might make the world seem rather bleak at times?
Another option, of course, would be to treat violence carelessly, to celebrate its expressive, aesthetic properties. In that mode, you get movies like Sin City and Kill Bill, and, diving further into the lowbrow, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal quickies. But I can’t imagine Freddie would prefer that sort of treatment of violence.
You could also make movies that don’t feature much violence at all. These generally tend to focus on sex and the emotional and social rituals that surround it: Most romantic comedies and their Apatowian male-targeted counterparts count here. Others tell stories about family life, coming of age, and cultural anxieties. Hollywood has made some great movies in this mode, but I don’t see why a medium that excels at displaying motion should shy away from a subject — an important and universal subject at that — as naturally kinetic as violence.
That doesn’t mean that the story of evil’s terrifying mystery is the only story Hollywood should tell, and perhaps our popular storytellers focus on it too much. It’s also true that many films seem to obsess over their violence in ways that are morally questionable, which helps explain why I’m quite fond of Watchmen the book but didn’t care for the movie. Jeffrey Overstreet put it rather succinctly when he wrote that while Watchmen‘s “antiheroes lament human depravity, the film celebrates it with lascivious glee.” I’m sure Freddie would disagree with me, but I think the book actually worried over its violence. In adapting the book to the big screen, Snyder, like many of the book’s fans, worried about the violence too — but only about how cool it looked.
Part of it is just weariness at the sheer amount of movies that are dominated by violence. I liked There Will Be Blood— which, I should point out, has little actual violence in it, all things considered. And I liked No Country for Old Men. I just am worn down by their context in a slate of art films that just can’t seem to get away from an obsession with violence. You’re absolutely right, violence and cruelty are a part of human life. But the average person lives their average day without experiencing or witnessing violence. The amount of times that murder features in a normal person’s life is tiny. But in the movies, we can’t seem to get away from it. That’s certainly a bit of an unfair criticism of any given movie, criticizing based on context. But I am worn down, and I worry that we are incapable of telling stories without the crutch of violence.
— Freddie · Mar 11, 07:29 PM · #
“One way or another, though, you’ve made art.”
Don’t get me started.
— Tony Comstock · Mar 11, 07:52 PM · #
Big gaping question for me, though, as to what exactly a comic book movie would look like if it wasn’t violent.
— Freddie · Mar 11, 08:37 PM · #
It’d look like “Ghost World” or “American Splendor.”
— Sonny Bunch · Mar 11, 09:02 PM · #
I must say that I’ve enjoyed reading these posts. Freddie made some points that tie in to how I feel about Battlestar Galactica these days—it’s often violent and self-consciously dark and negative, and after the admittedly brilliant first two seasons they moved <i>even further</i> in that direction, and in a very self-conscious way. That “best show on television” article that they tout non-stop really went to their heads, and made the show less than watchable. Even the few glimmers of hope and humor from the early seasons gave way to nihilism. So I think that’s another point to Freddie’s thesis.
I do think it’s a shame that the critical powers that be only recognize artistic achievement in “serious” films, as I happen to think that Jeff Bridges’s performance as “The Dude” is the best performance I’ve ever seen. What is interesting to me is that there’s such a market for “serious drama” but not much of one for tragedy. I can’t think of too many mainstream films that actually achieved real tragedy—“Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead” comes to mind, although even that probably doesn’t qualify. That movie <i>did</i> have some suffering in it, though, which is something.
— Lev · Mar 11, 09:40 PM · #
When I was a young art student I was fascinated by artist who could attract attention with familiar and even banal material; like Irving Penn’s monumental images of cigarette butts. But it wasn’t too long before I realized that if I was going to making a living, I was going to need all the help from my subject matter I could get; the more inflammatory the better. I don’t know that I’d go as far as calling it a “crutch”, but there’s no denying that novel subject matter is an asset to a film. I did the starring unflinchingly at death and misery thing for a while and it worked well enough. The jury is still out on whether I’ve out-foxed myself moving from death and misery to sex and love.
I still admire artists that can make compelling work with familiar, subtle, or otherwise non-inflammatory subject matter. But I think it’s a mistake to think there’s a greater sort of mastery at play in that sort of work. It takes at least as much talent to keep inflammatory subject matter from overwhelming a film as it does to make a film about more subtle subject matter that isn’t unwatchably underwhelming.
— Tony Comstock · Mar 11, 09:46 PM · #
Tony Comstock wrote – “The jury is still out on whether I’ve out-foxed myself moving from death and misery to sex and love.”
Frying pan, meet fat.
— ell · Mar 11, 10:03 PM · #
Critics, who are overwhelmingly male, like movie violence more than do Oscar voters (who include a whole lot of actresses and a lot of elderly people) — thus Quentin Tarantino has a grand total of two Oscar nominations and one win in his career. Oscar voters, in contrast, like Woody Allen more than anybody else.
— Steve Sailer · Mar 11, 11:46 PM · #
I blame Dante and Shakespeare. And Eve. And that violent watering hole in Africa where we learned to appreciate these things.
Worn down? Freddie, sweetheart, grab some perspective.
(Note: I rewrote that sentence like fifteen times, and that was the nicest version I came up with. I’m trying. And, Freddie, in case you complain again that I’m picking on little ole’ you, rest assured that I say this to all Dudes of the Wilting Flower.)
— JA · Mar 12, 01:56 AM · #
But, of course, that’s not what my complaint is about, if you’d actually read the post.
— Freddie · Mar 12, 02:28 AM · #
I didn’t. I just read Peter and the thread. But you have a point, so I’ll go pour a vodka tonic and read it. Cheers.
— JA · Mar 12, 02:42 AM · #
Freddie, finished it. Your complaint about Watchmen:
I agree with your narrow point that Moore is overrated. However, this gets very much watered down when you transition into a general complaint about violence in movies tout court.
Violence is dramatic. When it happens, it leaves indelible fingerprints on each human life it touches. It shouts immediacy and whispers irreversibility; like intercourse, it is a Rubicon of human relations.
Also, you’d like to see more of:
Why isn’t that an example of crass manipulation? Love might be a purer instinct, but it’s still an instinct which cinema can and does stroke for money.
— JA · Mar 12, 03:09 AM · #
Can I leave three comments in a row? Blame the vodka.
Umheimlich is very much vulnerable to crass manipulation, as is the storm and stress of affairs with older chicks. All this mess about quarter-life crises, overeducated ennui, whatever, these tropes are merely modern ways of stroking the ego of the mind, of validating its preoccupations in front of a wise old mirror — kind of like that scary broad in Snow White asking her looking glass “Who’s the hottest bird in all the land?”
One final thing. Beware your complaints about abject symbol-mongering and over-artistry. Those accusations were leveled at Melville.
Sometimes a work drowns under the weight, but sometimes it soars.
— JA · Mar 12, 03:36 AM · #
Loved this line. “Stories are a solution to the problem that humans can only truly ever access their own minds and experiences.” You put into words very well something that has been inchoate in my mind for a while.
— Stephen · Mar 12, 04:57 AM · #
“Violence is dramatic. When it happens, it leaves indelible fingerprints on each human life it touches. It shouts immediacy and whispers irreversibility; like intercourse, it is a Rubicon of human relations.”
It does not follow that cinematic depictions of violence — no matter how richly, starkly, or stylishly realized — are dramatic; anymore than the inherent drama of intercourse will, if committed to celluloid, yield dramatic cinema. In fact, in both cases mostly it’s quite dull, and disappointing too. It seems it ought to be affecting to see filmic renderings of violence, or intercourse for that matter, but mostly it’s not. Mostly it’s boring – especially when over developed renderings are a substitute for underdeveloped relationships.
— Tony Comstock · Mar 12, 12:23 PM · #
Tony, of course. That goes without saying.
— JA · Mar 12, 02:05 PM · #
Tony, of course. That goes without saying.
Um, no, actually it mostly goes unsaid and unthought. Violence and brutality have become the cinematic equivalent of the sort of home furnishing sold to the aspirationally wealthy; mawkish affectations intended to convey sophistication, but having precisely the opposite effect.
— Tony Comstock · Mar 12, 02:22 PM · #
Tony, right on. Film rarely explores people’s ambivalence about violence, or their fear of it, or why it occurs beyond surface motives, or how it affects its practitioners and targets beyond vague impressions of feelings of power and hurt; movies depict violence without curiosity or insight into its contexts far more than they actually contemplate it.
— jason · Mar 12, 03:38 PM · #
Um, no, actually it mostly goes unsaid and unthought.
Um, no, it actually goes oversaid and overthought. Cultural hand-wringing isn’t exactly outlier behavior.
And what’s the big deal? What does beautified violence do to our brains that is so damn frightful? What does raw porn do to us? How many bad acts were precipitated by Sin City or 300? The data argues not enough to care.
Sometimes Cassandra is just a nosy bitch.
— JA · Mar 12, 05:59 PM · #
Cultural hand-wringing isn’t exactly outlier behavior.
No hand-wringing. The republic will not fall; not from the puerile output of the 818 area code, and certainly not from the likes of 300 or Sin City. Just say that it’s boring
— Tony Comstock · Mar 12, 06:08 PM · #
Just say that it’s boring.
Sometimes. I thought the latest Rambo was badass.
— JA · Mar 12, 07:41 PM · #