Just to prove
that I can be as small-minded as the next person, my first comment upon
emerging from A History of Violence was, “Well, that was… gratuitous.”
From the lingering shots of bullet-riddled heads to sex scenes that went places
few mainstream films have gone before, I shook my head as I walked through the
lobby and thought, “That’s Cronenberg for you.” What else could I expect from
the man who brought us films like Videodrome, The Fly, Naked Lunch, and Crash
(1996)—the latter being about a subculture of people who get
sexually aroused by car accidents?
And yet, as much
as Cronenberg’s films have pushed the limits of good taste, they have always
been about much more than grossing out an audience. Sexuality, identity,
alienation, technology, spirituality, violence, and the very nature of
existence itself are merely some of the areas Cronenberg has explored through
film. You may not always agree with his conclusions; but you have to admit that
he have a knack for getting the discussion started—or at least creating awkward
silences at *censored*tail parties. So you can imagine that as I walked into A
History of Violence—a movie I had been eagerly anticipating for months—I
was ready for him to lob yet another grenade into our ever more conservative
midst and ignite a firestorm of controversy, argument, and disgust.
Instead of an
explosion, however, what I heard instead was a mind-numbing thud. When the
movie was over, the grenade just lay there on the ground. I thought that perhaps
Cronenberg had forgotten to pull the pin. So I bent down to pick it up, turning
it over in my hands. Nope, no pin. But no explosion either. Weird. Could it
have been a dud? The disgust portion of the film had definitely registered. But
where was the scintillating intellectual and artistic statement? In contrast to
Cronenberg’s previous work, this film seemed to be about nothing more than it
was on the surface—a man with a violent past that finally catches up to him.
What a bummer. Had Cronenberg finally sold out?
I carried the
grenade around for about three days before it finally went off. That’s when I
realized pulling a pin wouldn’t detonate it; it used a timer. The explosion
occurred while I was voicing my disappointment about the film to a friend.
“Wait a second,”
he said. “I think you’re missing something.”
“Oh yeah, what’s
that?”
“Just imagine if
Tom Stall is America.”
I thought about
it for a moment. Tom Stall as America… Of course!
KABOOM!
When the smoke
cleared, suddenly an entirely new vista opened up to me. Tom Stall was America!
The parallels were too obvious to ignore. Like Tom, America likes to think it
is all about small towns and apple pie, but it has a history of violence as
well! All it takes to reveal that history is a “clear and present danger.” For
Tom, it was two hit men with guns in his diner. For America, it could be
anything—9/11 perhaps? It doesn’t matter, because at that point, instinct kicks
in, and the enemy is dispatched in an efficient albeit ghastly manner. (That’s
the reason for the lingering shots of gore, says Cronenberg. Too often we cheer
for the good guys without facing up to the true cost of victory.)
Bad guys dead,
problem solved, right? Not by a long shot. The immediate threat is removed, but
it turns out these guys had friends—powerful friends—and Tom may have a history
of violence with them as well. Sound familiar in terms of America? If not, just
think about it for a while… Suddenly, more bad guys show up. Now Tom and his
apple pie-loving small town have a huge problem on their hands. Where life used
to be about faith, family, and football, now all anyone is concerned about is
security. Getting the picture now?
And look what’s
happening to the next generation! Preferring to live a peaceful existence,
Tom’s son used to let the local bully push him around. But when his father’s
actions at the diner make him a hero, Tom’s son decides to follow in his
father’s footsteps and fight back, putting the bully in the hospital. Later on,
he even takes out one of the bad guys with a shotgun. Now he’s a cold-blooded
killer, too, just like daddy. But instead of making him happy, suddenly, he
couldn’t be more miserable! Worst of all, he realizes his father has been lying
to him. He isn’t about apple pie at all. He’s as bad as the guys he’s been
killing, if not worse.
And the sex!
Could it be that a history of violence has intruded upon this sacred act as
well? Nonsense, you say. Oh really? Cronenberg begs to differ, via his infamous
“scene upon the stairs.” I’m still trying to decide which term best describes
what goes on there—sex or violence—but I do know this much: the scene is
profoundly disturbing.
By the end of the
film, Tom Stall manages to gun down or otherwise slaughter every last one of
his enemies—including his brother, who was behind the whole thing. (Hmm… Now
what could that mean in terms of our Tom Stall/America connection?) At
this point, we should be happy for him. The enemy is gone, his family is safe,
and their small town should be free to go back to their apple pie loving
ways.
But can we really
get off the hook that easily? Can Tom? He may have eliminated his enemies, but
he has paid a terrible price. When he returns from the carnage, in place of the
friendly, family man we used to know is a steely-eyed killer, a man who reaches
out with hands of love but only causes others to shrink back in fear now that
they know full well what other things those hands are capable of doing.
Is there a lesson
here for America as well? Perhaps, but who am I to say? I’m merely a Canadian,
as is Cronenberg, and we can be very bit as small-minded as our neighbors to
the south—gratuitous, too, in our praise as well as our critiques. But this
isn’t about standing along the border and pointing fingers. Canadians have a
history of violence as well. Just ask our First Nations people. Therefore,
rather than seek to lay blame, if anything, this film should prompt us toward
self-examination. Are we actively seeking to prevent a history of violence from
continuing, or are we tacitly allowing it to persist, both at home and abroad?
Are we, like Tom, living in denial about our true nature? Not a comfortable
thought, but thank God for people like Cronenberg who are willing to toss the
occasional grenade into the midst of a crowded *censored*tail party. Rather than
destroy us, such intrusions may be exactly what is required for our salvation.