Blood not the only factor in impact of simulated images on film audiences

I’ve long considered violence to be the key component of American cinema, especially for men. As boys growing up, the heroes we turn to invariably use violence as the tool by which they affect change, whether it’s Batman defending Gotham City from the chaos of the Joker or Michael Corleone protecting his own interests and world view.

Most people know that in Europe, films with violent content are considered just as bad if not worse than films with explicit sexual content. In a way, this makes sense to me. Sex is a natural part of the human experience. So is violence, unfortunately, but it’s certainly not a pleasurable or life-affirming part of it.

In my ideal world, neither sexual nor violent content — so long as it’s either simulated or consensual or both — would be considered taboo. We’d all be raised by parents without ridiculous hang-ups, who’d be willing and able to discuss the complexities of both sex and violence in a way that would help us to filter the entertainment we’re imbibing into manageable bits of data. You don’t have to condone the actions of the characters in “The Wild Bunch,” for example, to be able to see the film as a portrait of the gunning down of individualism by soulless bureaucracy and unstoppable technology.

When Sam Peckinpah’s classic Western was first released, it was slammed for its bloody content. Those reviewers, like many reactionary critics and parents in today’s world, failed to see the violence as a sort of language used to tell a very specific story with universal appeal. Real blood is something to get upset about. Stage blood is something to view as a word in a sentence designed to elicit a response from the audience member, or participant in an ongoing conversation.

That’s how I view stage violence. Watching the classic 1985 horror film “Reanimator” the other night, I was reminded of how disturbing others might find the film’s content. There are decapitations, exploding eyeballs, lobotomies and all manner of disfigured corpses. Yet for me, as for many fans of gory horror films, these images are nothing more than squibs and plastic bladders filled with dyed corn syrup and attached to tubes. These are latex shredded to resemble lacerated skin and tables with holes cut in them to simulate disembodied heads.

Being offended by staged violence is a bit like taking every joke you hear seriously. It indicates an infirm grasp on the nuance of language, whether it’s cinematic or simply spoken.

Of course, as we evolve as a culture, or a network of cultures spanning the globe, our uses of violence as a tool or symbol evolves with us. In the past couple of weeks, I watched three films that drove that home for me in unexpected ways: the new “Rambo,” horror thriller “Hard Candy” and post-war drama “In the Valley of Elah.”

Yes, I watch a strange array of films.

First up was “Rambo,” Sylvester Stallone’s latest installment in his ongoing series about a Vietnam veteran with extreme Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that always seems to find himself back in the, um, crud. My buddy Robot was kind enough to provide the Blu-ray system that made every exploding piece of viscera feel like it was really landing on the futon next to me.

Now, it’s easy to dismiss the “Rambo” franchise, because both the films that followed “First Blood” were pretty bad. Going back to the gritty, simple kind of story that made that first film great, as well as returning to the director chair, Stallone has crafted the most legitimate film in the franchise since the original.

It’s also entertaining as hell, if you can get past the fact that what you’re watching is basically a fictitious blood bath set in an area of the world, Burma, that has experienced atrocious violence over the years. Using real-world bad guys certainly gives the film a weight it might not otherwise have, but it also calls into question the simplification of watching the complexities of real violence being solved by the simplistic tool of cinematic retribution.

In other words, the stuff that works in movies doesn’t work in real life. If John Rambo went into Iraq in the movies, he’d have that mess cleaned up in 90 minutes. If he went in in real life, degenerates would be watching a tape of him being beheaded on YouTube a few days later. In the real world, violence is sometimes necessary, but it’s never a simple solution to a complex problem.

“In the Valley of Elah” deals with the effects of war on both the soldiers that fight it and their families back home in a much more nuanced fashion. It follows Tommy Lee Jones’ character as he searches for his son, who’s gone AWOL after returning from Iraq.

While the movie certainly seems to swing the other way politically — it’s hard not to view the image of an upsidedown American flag through certain cultural prejudices — it also considers very carefully the flawed nature of all humans and our own propensity for derailing and doing horrible things in the service of what appear to be noble goals.

Nobody saw “In the Valley of Elah.” Perhaps because writers such as myself framed it in terms of its political content, audiences ignored it and most other Iraq War-themed films at the box office. So, let me just point out that if “Rambo” seems more accessible to you, in actuality “Elah” is a riveting mystery that can be enjoyed as much by those who like to solve such puzzles as by those looking for deeper symbolism.

Finally, you could call “Hard Candy” a horror film, but what it really is is a psychological thriller that deconstructs most of the slasher and torture films ever made. Its manipulation of the rules of such cinematic language is masterful, and I was more horrified at times during it than I have been by films intended to evoke such emotions.

It follows a 30-something male photographer and a 14-year-old girl as they meet online, then at a coffee shop. They then proceed to his house, where the audience’s expectations are promptly turned on themselves.

While many horror films focus on the eventual revenge of the victim upon the person tormenting her or him for the majority of the film, “Hard Candy” leaves the audience in the lurch. If you don’t know absolutely that either person is “evil,” then how can you root for an oversimplified form of revenge upon them?

I don’t want to give too much about the film away, but I will say that as a man, I found the often gender-specific conventions of many horror films to be delightfully — or painfully — reversed. If you really think that you’re watching “torture porn” because you’re rooting for the victim to triumph, try watching a film that makes you question not only who the victim is, but also what good revenge really is.

Where is all this speculation headed? Only toward the point of showing the diversity of violence that exists in movies, and the ways in which it can be interpreted beyond just good or bad. In “Elah” one man is hacked apart and set on fire in the service of making the audience consider the detrimental effects of violence. In “Rambo,” whole villages are mowed down, and I still can’t rightly say what I was supposed to feel. You can’t avoid violence in film or in this world, but you can be ready to face it when you see it. With film, you can even come away a bit wiser for the analysis.

Jake TenPas can be reached at jake.tenpas@lee.net or 758-9514.