"Violent Movie II"

I keep swearing I’m going to stop watching violent movies, that I don’t want to support what I’m convinced are the tactics (blood and guts) that those who aren’t creative and imaginative enough resort to in order to prove a point. My high horse is convinced I’m glued to his saddle, a place where I will babble on (with no encouragement whatsoever from any audience stupid enough to stop by a high horse) about how fifty years ago, people made movies and wrote books that were provocative, terrifying, brilliant (even), and they didn’t have to show you a bloody head rolling around God knows how many feet from its detached body. They didn’t waste time composing sentences that describe exactly what the bits of brain on an axe look like. I’m not someone who holds any warm feelings for censorship committees, but I do sometimes wish we lived in an age in which something called “taste” sort of had the upper hand over something called “shock value.”

Now, I have to admit here that I’m probably someone who leans more on the side of “squeamish” than “sadistic.” After all, I was the child who was thrilled not to be allowed to see Jaws when it was released. I had absolutely no desire to see it, and I couldn’t believe how many of my eleven-year-old classmates had been taken to see it by their parents. Even more shocking was a friend of mine who had been to see The Exorcist a few years earlier (she had to have been lying, right? Didn’t it have a controversial X rating or something? Danny, help me out here). However, I grew up (if you can call subjecting yourself to horror movies “growing up”), and in high school, I was a huge fan of slasher movies, never thinking they’d been scary enough until I was coming home after the midnight showing and had to get from my car into our house, which sat next door to a very scary wooded lot (oh yes, and don’t forget that baby buried in the basement once I’d made it inside). Nobody who has spent time watching such things as Platoon; The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover; Shallow Grave; and Munich can believably state that she doesn’t like violent movies, most especially when she will also tell you that A Clockwork Orange is one of her all-time favorites.

But I’m getting old. And I’ve learned from those who are older than I, like my father, that when you get old, you no longer want to see these upsetting things. Life is upsetting enough without having to be shown things you never would have thought of on your own to add to the misery.

Thus, no more violent movies. Oh, but did I happen to mention the fact I have a husband? A husband who religiously reads the "Arts and Leisure" section of The New York Times? A husband whose memory could put to shame all the elephants in Africa, and who carries around in his head long lists of movies he wants to see, because they received high praise in that section five years ago? A husband who has decided we’re going to stop waiting for every movie to come out on DVD and adding many years to its release date before viewing it (especially since we have a wonderful little movie theater in our town hall that shows, for only two bucks, many movies just one week before they’re released on DVD, and barring that, matinees are a wonderful way to spend a Sunday afternoon)? Oh, yes, and the most important thing: a husband who wants his wife to watch every single movie with him?

That’s how I’ve managed to find myself twice in the past few weeks sitting in a theater, covering my eyes through what seems like half the movie, and yet, emerging from the theater saying “That was great. What a terrific movie!” The first was when we went to see Flags of Our Fathers (this was a bribe. He promised me if I’d go see this one with him, we’d go see Dreamgirls while it’s still in the theater. No, we haven’t seen Dreamgirls yet. “It’s up for a million Academy Awards. It’ll be in theaters forever”). I’ve seen Flags of Our Fathers, and now (violence? Who said anything about violence?) I’ve got to see Letters from Iwo Jima. I’d had no idea there’d been so much controversy surrounding that photograph from Iwo Jima. And talk about a movie that just really brings home the horror of war, outlines what a political game it really is, one that doesn't ever have any real "winners" when it comes to the damage done to those who actually do the fighting, and showcases how young and innocent those soldiers really are. I haven’t read the book, but I’d like to now, and for those of you who just can’t stand really, really horrific movie war scenes (think worse even than Saving Private Ryan), the book is probably the way to go. For the rest of you: don’t miss this one. It’s now out on DVD.

I have only myself to blame for sitting through some hideously sadistic scenes, hands over face, the second time around. I was the one who saw previews for and decided we had to go see Pan’s Labyrinth, a movie that looked as though it was a must-see-on-the-big-screen sort of film. I was right. A small screen wouldn’t do this movie justice. What I didn’t know when I chose it, though, was what a brutal movie it was going to be. I don’t want to say I naïvely thought it was going to be some sort of new Bedknobs and Broomsticks for grownups (then again, maybe I do want to say that), but I will say maybe I ought to be reading the "Arts and Leisure" section a little more religiously -- or at least glancing at it -- before I make my movie choices. Nonetheless, this was probably my favorite movie of the past year. Within the first five minutes, I’d leaned over to Bob and said, “I already love it.”

Not only was it visually stunning (when I had my eyes open), but the use of myth and the questions raised concerning mythology and religion, as well as how children’s views of the world differ from adults’ views – are often much more “raw-ly” realistic, despite what we might think, and despite how we might mock their interest in the fantasies they use to deal with life, while ignoring our own use of fantasies to do the same -- were explored in ways that are just plain rare in popular culture. I’m someone who absolutely loves to watch a movie that raises more questions than it answers. Give me an ending that has me going, “Well, it could be this, or it could be that. Do you think we were meant to interpret it this way? Was that such-and-such at the end?” over one in which everything is wrapped up in that neat little package with the pretty ribbon any day. If you like all these sorts of things yourself and think you can stomach a few torture scenes (or at least can go with some sweet person who will let you know when they’re over), “run, don’t walk to the theater nearest you.”

Meanwhile, I think it’s time for something like Happy Feet or Charlotte’s Web.