A Movie Review
If you haven't seen A History of Violence, you shouldn't read this.
I heard David Cronenberg being interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air the other day, so I knew going into the movie that I would see two sex scenes-- one in which Maria Bello wears a cheerleading outfit, and one in which she and Viggo Mortensen do it violently on a wooden staircase-- before I set foot in the theater. What I didn't know, however, was that the first sex scene, the playful encounter, would exhibit the two players ensconced in a fantastic, though fleeting, fete of 69-- a rarity on the screen, even in porn. (As my longtime readers probably know, this is one of my favorite acts of sexual contortion.) The scene takes place in the first act of the film, setting up the house of cards, both in terms of mood and substance, that we would see getting obliterated through the remainder of the picture and complements nicely the darker, more desperate scene on the stairs that occurs at the beginning (by my reckoning) of the third and final act at a moment when the truth has been laid bare and sides have been chosen. These scenes-- the before and after-- are fundamental to the movie's thematic exploration of our primal impulses, most poignantly demonstrated through the nexus of sex and violence.
These are Americans-- a married couple, happy parents of a teenage son and young daughter, owners of a local diner-- who live in a nice house in a small town in one of the Red states (Indiana, I think). But these two were no high school sweethearts. No, it is for this reason-- that they didn't grow up together-- that Maria Bello's character dons the cheerleading outfit in an effort to act out a fantasy that they never had the opportunity to realize. It's a very passionate and believable scene between these longtime lovers-- the ease and comfort with which Maria Bello swoops around to gorge on Viggo's member attest to this-- and it succeeds marvelously in illuminating the facade of the American dream, with all of its dangling prudishnesses and civilities and niceties, when juxtaposed against the bottomless depths of the human heart: The prom queen in her iconic regalia giving the QB a BJ in the back of the Beemer. But our QB isn't who she thinks he is.
No, our QB will kill eight men (by my count) before we leave the theater. He will kill them because he has to. But he will do it efficiently, brutally, professionally. He will do it because he can do it. And he will enjoy it. He will break limbs, crush noses, and shoot brains. He will become a hero and then become hunted. He will kill his own brother. He will slap his son. He will become a man that he thought he had rid himself of in another life. He will be stabbed and shot. He will be saved by his son, who will now know himself what it is to kill a man. He will kill and he will be caught-- not by the bad guys, though, but by his family, their American dream now shattered. And ultimately they will forgive him. They will forgive him for he is too who she thinks he is.
I've been irritated by Viggo Mortensen in the past, notably by his performance in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. He was often flat, too understated, I thought, and I was irritated by his constant expression of quiet awe. The fact that he was once married to Exene Cervenkova did little to turn me around on the guy. This film allows him to show off a fuller range of his acting skills, though, and he excels in the part. He pulls off a nice shift as his Tom character morphs into undead Joey-- little things in the way he says words, a glint in the eye, a confidence in manner-- and he seems more than willing to let the big boys, Ed Harris and William Hurt, chew up the scenery around him. It is the very thing that previously irritated me-- his inscrutability-- that serves him well playing a man who is caught in an existential crisis relating to who he really is. Though in the end he is redeemed and forgiven, what devils, now lurking in some Freudian nether region, will yet come to visit?
I heard David Cronenberg being interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air the other day, so I knew going into the movie that I would see two sex scenes-- one in which Maria Bello wears a cheerleading outfit, and one in which she and Viggo Mortensen do it violently on a wooden staircase-- before I set foot in the theater. What I didn't know, however, was that the first sex scene, the playful encounter, would exhibit the two players ensconced in a fantastic, though fleeting, fete of 69-- a rarity on the screen, even in porn. (As my longtime readers probably know, this is one of my favorite acts of sexual contortion.) The scene takes place in the first act of the film, setting up the house of cards, both in terms of mood and substance, that we would see getting obliterated through the remainder of the picture and complements nicely the darker, more desperate scene on the stairs that occurs at the beginning (by my reckoning) of the third and final act at a moment when the truth has been laid bare and sides have been chosen. These scenes-- the before and after-- are fundamental to the movie's thematic exploration of our primal impulses, most poignantly demonstrated through the nexus of sex and violence.
These are Americans-- a married couple, happy parents of a teenage son and young daughter, owners of a local diner-- who live in a nice house in a small town in one of the Red states (Indiana, I think). But these two were no high school sweethearts. No, it is for this reason-- that they didn't grow up together-- that Maria Bello's character dons the cheerleading outfit in an effort to act out a fantasy that they never had the opportunity to realize. It's a very passionate and believable scene between these longtime lovers-- the ease and comfort with which Maria Bello swoops around to gorge on Viggo's member attest to this-- and it succeeds marvelously in illuminating the facade of the American dream, with all of its dangling prudishnesses and civilities and niceties, when juxtaposed against the bottomless depths of the human heart: The prom queen in her iconic regalia giving the QB a BJ in the back of the Beemer. But our QB isn't who she thinks he is.
No, our QB will kill eight men (by my count) before we leave the theater. He will kill them because he has to. But he will do it efficiently, brutally, professionally. He will do it because he can do it. And he will enjoy it. He will break limbs, crush noses, and shoot brains. He will become a hero and then become hunted. He will kill his own brother. He will slap his son. He will become a man that he thought he had rid himself of in another life. He will be stabbed and shot. He will be saved by his son, who will now know himself what it is to kill a man. He will kill and he will be caught-- not by the bad guys, though, but by his family, their American dream now shattered. And ultimately they will forgive him. They will forgive him for he is too who she thinks he is.
I've been irritated by Viggo Mortensen in the past, notably by his performance in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. He was often flat, too understated, I thought, and I was irritated by his constant expression of quiet awe. The fact that he was once married to Exene Cervenkova did little to turn me around on the guy. This film allows him to show off a fuller range of his acting skills, though, and he excels in the part. He pulls off a nice shift as his Tom character morphs into undead Joey-- little things in the way he says words, a glint in the eye, a confidence in manner-- and he seems more than willing to let the big boys, Ed Harris and William Hurt, chew up the scenery around him. It is the very thing that previously irritated me-- his inscrutability-- that serves him well playing a man who is caught in an existential crisis relating to who he really is. Though in the end he is redeemed and forgiven, what devils, now lurking in some Freudian nether region, will yet come to visit?
posted by captionjockey at 4:11 PM
