Tuesday, March 18, 2008
SPLATTER IN THE ART-HOUSE
Every so often a new director known for cerebral films comes along with a picture that is or at least features an extended torture scene; then the director claims that, unlike typical torture porn, his film is actually a critique of violence, brutality, etc. He is not entertaining the masses, he is implicating them--his movie doesn't thrill, it educates. The latest polyp in this intestinal condition is Funny Games, by Michael Haneke. As I understand it, the plot is this: two young men torture a family. Thus controversy is born.
This category of cinema probably originated around the time of Straw Dogs, which at least had a story to string together its scenes of carnage and degradation. And it all reached its zenith, still unsurpassed, in Passolini's Salo. Of late, we've seen a bumper crop: Audition, Baise Moi, Irreversible, Captivity, and others. Of course these films make you uncomfortable, the directors say. They're giving you wisdom.
But I ain't buyin'. The defenders can say there's a thin line separating the art-house splatter flick from Hostel and Saw, but I say there's no line at all. At least Eli Roth and Rob Zombie are honest enough to admit that the gore they orchestrate is strictly for thrills. Because, really, there's not a whole lot to be learned from watching someone get their skin peeled off or their fingers pureed into jelly, or their lips sliced apart or their knees pierced with railroad spikes. In the case of the Pettit family, the women of whom actually were tortured to death, what's the lesson to the observer who peers deeply into the killings? What does Seung-Hui Choi's rampage illuminate, aside from the sad (and small) nature of desperate social misfits?
If Haneke and his ilk really wanted to educate their audiences, they would take their camera crews to Darfur, or make a documentary interviewing the survivors of Srebenica. They won't, of course--that would bring them way too close to the reality of inhumanity: a colossal, historical force tearing apart all the art that fails to comprehend it. Even worse, such films would never make money. No one who picks up a camera escapes being a con man and a huckster.
One example of the way such movies are presented and the way they are accurately perceived; I know A Clockwork Orange has been touted as a thesis on violence and audience voyeurism, but do you know anyone who really felt educated by the film? I don't but I know plenty of people who thought it was cool as hell. That scene with the cat lady, that was awesome! You see what I'm getting at.
Big, big disclaimer: I haven't seen a single one of the movies mentioned above.
Every so often a new director known for cerebral films comes along with a picture that is or at least features an extended torture scene; then the director claims that, unlike typical torture porn, his film is actually a critique of violence, brutality, etc. He is not entertaining the masses, he is implicating them--his movie doesn't thrill, it educates. The latest polyp in this intestinal condition is Funny Games, by Michael Haneke. As I understand it, the plot is this: two young men torture a family. Thus controversy is born.
This category of cinema probably originated around the time of Straw Dogs, which at least had a story to string together its scenes of carnage and degradation. And it all reached its zenith, still unsurpassed, in Passolini's Salo. Of late, we've seen a bumper crop: Audition, Baise Moi, Irreversible, Captivity, and others. Of course these films make you uncomfortable, the directors say. They're giving you wisdom.
But I ain't buyin'. The defenders can say there's a thin line separating the art-house splatter flick from Hostel and Saw, but I say there's no line at all. At least Eli Roth and Rob Zombie are honest enough to admit that the gore they orchestrate is strictly for thrills. Because, really, there's not a whole lot to be learned from watching someone get their skin peeled off or their fingers pureed into jelly, or their lips sliced apart or their knees pierced with railroad spikes. In the case of the Pettit family, the women of whom actually were tortured to death, what's the lesson to the observer who peers deeply into the killings? What does Seung-Hui Choi's rampage illuminate, aside from the sad (and small) nature of desperate social misfits?
If Haneke and his ilk really wanted to educate their audiences, they would take their camera crews to Darfur, or make a documentary interviewing the survivors of Srebenica. They won't, of course--that would bring them way too close to the reality of inhumanity: a colossal, historical force tearing apart all the art that fails to comprehend it. Even worse, such films would never make money. No one who picks up a camera escapes being a con man and a huckster.
One example of the way such movies are presented and the way they are accurately perceived; I know A Clockwork Orange has been touted as a thesis on violence and audience voyeurism, but do you know anyone who really felt educated by the film? I don't but I know plenty of people who thought it was cool as hell. That scene with the cat lady, that was awesome! You see what I'm getting at.
Big, big disclaimer: I haven't seen a single one of the movies mentioned above.
# posted by toner_low @ 9:41 PM 
