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The first couple of minutes in David Cronenberg's new film, A History of
Violence, are deceptively slow. The camera shows two men leaving a hotel room in
the middle of nowhere. The scene is so lethargic that neither the camera nor the
men seem to be moving at all. Despite the stillness, a sinking feeling sets in:
These men are violent. When the camera crawls forward to confirm the audience's
worst suspicions a gun is sickeningly and slowly drawn. Still and quiet as the
scene may be, it feels like an explosion. The movie has only just begun. The
filmmaker hasn't even broken a sweat yet.
From the unsettling credit sequence we head into more serene pastures. The film
introduces us to the leisurely small-town lives of the family Stall. The husband
(Viggo Mortenson) runs a local coffee shop. The wife (Maria Bello) is a lawyer.
They have two children and an apparently healthy marriage -- we're soon privy to
one of cinema's most casually adult sex scenes. It's intimate, filled with
teen-age enthusiasm, and quite passionate. That it will be inverted later to
cast new revealing light on the Stall marriage is perfectly representative of
the film as a whole. However simple A History of Violence may at first appear,
it is constantly revealing itself, rewarding close viewing.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. You see, it's best to go into the film knowing
very little beyond this very basic setup. The only narrative certainty,
telegraphed by the very first moments, is that we are not in safe territory, no
matter how idyllic the following Americana may appear. Slowly and methodically
Cronenberg will tighten the screws on the Stall family. Violence will erupt. And
as with the aforementioned sex scene, doubled or mirrored sequences and
characters will arrive. It's a terrifically plotted thriller, keeping us off
balance and challenging our previously held notions about the characters and
story.
Cronenberg's amazingly assured direction, never forced or unclear despite
constantly shifting ground and complicated agendas is aided immeasurably by a
cast operating at the top of their game. Maria Bello is electric (not to mention
gorgeous) as the strong wife whose life is turned inside out. Ed Harris and
William Hurt both stun and surprise in attention-getting supporting roles.
Ashton Holmes, who plays the teenage son, is believably cast and moving. And
finally, there is Viggo Mortenson. He is perfectly cast here as Tom Stall. His
performance is the tricky switch on which the entire History flips. His star
turn is a master class in minimalism and exactly what the movie needs at every
juncture.
Cronenberg's usual stable of collaborators are also on hand doing fine work.
Unfortunately, like Cronenberg himself, they are so confident in their craft
that they often escape critical or award notice. There is no heavy lifting, for
instance, in the cinematography of Peter Suschitzky (six films with Cronenberg),
just terrifically composed and mood-enhancing work. Editor Ronald Sanders
(thirteen films with the director) also does exemplary work here; the pacing and
coherency of the complicated story structure are top-notch. And speaking of...
though David Cronenberg often writes his own features, this time he is working
with a new collaborator. It was a wise move: Josh Olson's screenplay is a
sensational adaptation of a graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke.
Though American movies are rife with violence, few filmmakers actually pause to
consider what the violence they display actually means or where it leads, if it
means anything at all to them -- that is, beyond its ability to enthrall
audiences -- and if it leads anywhere at all -- that is, beyond the next plot
point. A decade ago Oliver Stone explored our capacity to celebrate bloodlust
and idolize criminals in Natural Born Killers but the movie stumbled with the
hypocrisies bound in its form and content. More recently Michael Moore had a
large documentary success with Bowling for Columbine, which built a case about
the climate of fear adding to American violence statistics, another media
indictment. Rare is the filmmaker who eschews the media connection (an easy
target?) altogether to go this deep or this intimately into the heart of the
violence inside of us. (Though the abstract concept of "the media" does make an
appearance in A History of Violence, it is mere narrative blip and of no larger
concern to the film at hand.) Here every punch, gunshot, slap, indeed any act of
aggression carries with it repercussions, madness, psychic damage and, of
course, more violence. Every hit stings.
Even if one ignores the gripping undercurrents, A History of Violence functions
expertly well as a movie-movie. Many moviegoers will love it without examining
its thematic beauty. That it thrills as a pure thriller while also building a
subversively flexible allegory is a testament to the true artistry of the thing.
Whether History is read as a statement on mankind's penchant for violence,
American territorialism and aggression, or the American family, it simply works.
If there was any doubt as to Cronenberg's mastery of the craft, working as he
often does in less respected genres, they should be all but annihilated by this
great film. A History of Violence is a major work -- accomplished, deceptively
simple, and entirely unnerving.
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