Ultraviolent Movies: From Sam Peckinpah to Quentin Tarantino

Laurent Bouzereau

New York: Citadel Press, 2000. 2nd Revised Edition, pp. 249.

Violence has been an integral part of art in all its forms ever since man invented art. It has been, and probably always will be, a part of life, no matter how civilized we become. Civilization itself is not only created and molded by violence, but sustained, perpetuated, and developed by its application or the threat of it. Perhaps one becomes more civilized the less violence has to be used, but its threat is always in the background, disciplining us and ensuring that we follow the conventions, the acceptable code of behavior.

Violence is disturbing but it can also be cathartic, and art presents both of these in an unsettling synthesis that is bound to get as many people upset as it will get to delight in it. Going back to Sumerian myths, Greek tragedies, Chinese folk tales, Elizabethan drama, and more recent literary examples reveals a long and cherished tradition of reveling in violent excess to the great entertainment of audiences as varied as one can imagine. Pictorial art tries to outdo the written word with cruel displays of bloodletting, and even when ostensibly depicting religious events the artists tend to go for the shocking, sensational, and sublimely disturbing.

It is little wonder then that films, just another art form, would seize on this long tradition, integrate it into its own canons, and fully participate in it, expanding it and adapting it according to the requirements and possibilities of the medium.

It is also inevitable that this would create controversy for there are always two types of people in this world, and one of them thinks it knows what's good for everyone. Censorship has been the shadow of art from the latter's inception. As soon as people realized that art could be used to influence minds and hearts, it was quickly utilized in the services of the ruler. It could range from overt and fairly brute-force propaganda to very clever brain-washing that could go undetected by the victims.

With this newly found weapon to enforce the rule came the danger that it could be used against the ruler. Indeed, art has been a prominent arrow in the quiver of many oppressed people, whether as folk songs, slogans, posters, literature, or images. Art's universal tongue can be appreciated equally well by the erudite and the illiterate, and thus it can become a potent symbol that crosses the usually unbridgeable chasms separating classes, orders, and other social divisions.

This universal appeal makes it dangerous. It is not surprising then that many would try to keep close tabs on what the public is allowed to see. Invariably, this censorship will come under the guise of protecting the innocent, and so moral claims will not be far behind. Anything that could potentially upset the "moral" order of society can be banned, or if that cannot be done, at least mutilated and rendered as harmless as possible.

Films that depict violence have always been subject to the ferocious attacks from various corners, depending on what the movie portrays. If it is the Mafia, then the Italians are upset; if it is women getting killed, then feminists picket theaters; if it is black gangs, then black intellectuals rail against it; if it is Cuban immigrants turned mafiosi, then the Cuban exiles threaten action; if it is possession by the devil, the Catholic Church makes solemn protestations; and the list goes on.

What do the film-makers do or say in their defense? This is the subject matter of Bouzereau's book. It is not as much about what violence is, what role it plays in society, and how it is reflected in the arts, as it is about the various responses to its presence in films. The author traces how critics, the public, the law, the industry, and finally, the directors themselves view the presence of violence in these films.

The book is divided into eight chapters that cover everything from the films of Sam Peckinpah to those of Clive Barker. While the book does not dwell on horror films apart from some brief look at slasher, fantasy, and zombie movies, it does present a rather extensive catalogue of the most famous violent movies made in the U.S. This should be made quite clear: the book is only about American films despite featuring a Belgian B&W feature and making references to reactions in Britain and France to some of the films in the study.

This is a shortcoming, and a very serious one, because it deprives us of the comparative look at violent films that might shed some light on the role of violence in life and art, and thereby provide a much better justification for its use in films. Some cultures are even more tolerant to violence than America (e.g. Japan) and their arts inevitably reflect that as well. Omitting serious cinema from around the world handicaps the argument by forcing a distinctly American frame of reference on a globally shared phenomenon.

Ultimately, the book does not offer much insight. It is really a collection of film synopses, woven around anecdotes, interviews with directors, and cursory look at the controversies surrounding some of the films. Even this becomes fragmented in the second part of the book, with the chapters getting shorter, as if the author was in a hurry writing them, and the discussion being less and less attentive to the social implications of the subject matter. By the end of the book, the author simply recites brief summaries of the films and sometimes does not even include much of the reaction to them at all.

It is as if The Wild Bunch, Clockwork Orange, and Natural Born Killers are somehow worthier than Night of the Living Dead, Scream, or Man Bites Dog. Again, the ugly and entirely artificial distinction between art haute and the low-brow, low-budget horror flick rears its ugly head. Even in this marginalized genre hierarchy is imposed by critics who seek to redeem the images of death by uncovering some social commentary in the films.

The premise, however, appears flawed to me. It assumes that these films are in need of defending. Indeed, the book (and the directors) spend a lot of time trying to justify the violence in these films. Most of them center around the "life is full of violence, we're just showing it they way it is" variety. But this defense misses an essential point. If movies were simply photographs of reality, they would make great 8 o'clock news, but art they will not make.

It is naive to claim that art is just a mirror of reality. The film-makers do that for obvious reasons: they want to protect their creations from the depredations of the multidinous censors. Yet art's purpose is to evoke emotions. Showing violence does that. But so do romance, horror, bravery, depression, you name it. If it's well done, the audience would respond. And that is the purpose of art, to get a response. A lot of times we might be surprised at our own reactions, we might even be disgusted by them. Maybe the veneer of civilization is not as thin as many would have us believe and maybe, just maybe, our rational selves would be able to recognize and suppress these traits that we deem unworthy of perpetuating.

Whatever the end result, art's purpose is accomplished when we react. If we do, it's art. If we do not, then it's meaningless drivel. I often get tears in my eyes and I choke when watching certain films (I don't cry, it would be unmanly). It usually happens when I watch a terrifyingly moving scene, like the citizens of Moscow digging trenches to stop the German tanks in The World at War, or a woman tormented by her conscience committing suicide in Red Beard, or the elves coming to the help the humans battle the armies of Saruman in The Two Towers. I even got goose-bumps when Riker ordered the battered Enterprise to ram the enemy ship in Nemesis.

All of these are violent, or at least suggest violence. But they are moving because of the way people react to danger, they way they deal with violence. Civilization has routinely glorified violence and for good reason. We always have to fight for our gains, we always have to protect our freedoms. Liberty dies as soon as we are unable to kill to keep it.

Violence is destructive, it is ugly, and it is life. There is no existence apart from violence. We may not like it, we may deplore it, but it will never be further than inches away from even the most docile among us. Violence can also be a way of expressing ourselves and thus moving others. There can be no heroes without violence. Being a hero means overcoming fear and the only fear worth overcoming is that of untimely violent death. Getting rid of violence in the arts would simultaneously rid us of our heroes.

I think we should let the audience vote with its feet. If there are people that want to see certain films, then they should be able to do so. I firmly believe that romantic comedies are the most harmful piece of entertainment because they give an utterly unrealistic, image-obsessive, lurid (in the angelic sense), and degrading view of relationships. Yet you do not see my trying to ban the latest Meg Ryan schlock or J. Lo drivel.

Yet I can plausibly make the claim that these flicks provide models of behavior that virtually ensure dysfunctional relationships when men and women try to fit the severely unromantic (but quite attractive in the roller-coaster sort of way) everyday romance to the images on screen. At least Shakespeare had the good sense to plunge Romeo and Juliet in the midst of an inter-family feud and then had them both die, absolving them from trying forever to keep up with the impossible standard they had set themselves. Not so with the happy-end romantic comedies. Do we ever get to see the relationships after a few weeks? I think not. It would be "ugly".

Anyway, the point is that I would not dream of banning such movies in spite of my firm belief that they are harmful. People need to vent their anxieties. Some go to an action flick for catharsis, others go to romantic comedies to get their daily fix of make-believe. It is not up to me or anyone else to decide what's good for whom. After all, maybe I am quite wrong about romantic comedies?

February 17, 2003

@book{bouzereau-00,
    title     = {Ultraviolent Movies: From Sam Peckinpah to Quentin Tarantino},
    author    = {Laurent Bouzereau},
    year      = {2000},
    publisher = {Citadel Press},
    address   = {New York},
    isbn      = {0-8065-2045-0},
    note      = {2nd revised edition; index, bibliography; Pp. xi, 249.}
}