Anatomy of an unbelievable scene
The New York Times‘ Arts section has three articles by three Times movie critics “looking deep inside three of the year’s most haunting scenes.” In “Dark Truths of a Killing Love,” Manohla Dargis looks at what most critics consider the pivotal scene in David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence [WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD]: Until the staircase ...
The New York Times' Arts section has three articles by three Times movie critics "looking deep inside three of the year's most haunting scenes." In "Dark Truths of a Killing Love," Manohla Dargis looks at what most critics consider the pivotal scene in David Cronenberg's A History of Violence [WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD]: Until the staircase sex, Mr. Cronenberg has encouraged us to look at Tom the way Edie sees him, to believe the image she has unquestioningly accepted of the good father, the loving husband, the Everyman and the hero. "You are the best man I have ever known," she whispers to Tom after their first lovemaking. Through her ignorance and slow awakening, Edie has served as our surrogate, but in this scene she becomes something else, something other. In a story of blood and vengeance, Mr. Cronenberg asks us to look at those who pick up guns in our name, protectors who whisper they love us with hands around our throats. And then, with this scene, he goes one better and asks us to look at those who open their hearts and bare themselves to such a killing love. Edie's transformation from helpmate into a gangster's moll with a taste for a little rough trade is one of the more shocking turns in a film filled with hairpin turns of mood and tone. Throughout the staircase clash, Mr. Mortensen visibly changes from Tom to Joey and back again, his face and caresses alternately gentle and brutal. When Edie unleashes her fury with that slap she's reacting as much to Tom, the husband who has betrayed her, as to Joey, the stranger who has brought havoc into her life. Yet Tom's secret self is no noir-like contrivance; it's a manifestation of all that lies beneath, the ooze and shadows, the desire and dread, one that, in turn, bares Edie's secret self too. Here, in a simple American home, the repressed returns with a vengeance. Dargis does a lovely job of deconstructing the scene, showing how details like Edie's wardrobe act as a harbinger for what's about to happen. And I suspect that Dargis' interpretation of what Cronenberg is going for are perfectly accurate. There's just one thing -- that scene completely destroyed my willing sense of disbelief in the movie. Until that point, Maria Bello as Edie acts as our emotional barometer for the events that take place, and I found her responses completely believable -- indeed, they're the best thing in the film. The idea, however, that at that particular moment on the staircase her character was going to find the violence and identity switches a turn-on was pretty damn ludicrous. Critics might have liked it because it touches on the theme of violence's hidden role in the American heartland, but as a resident of said heartland, the scene looked like pure Hollywood tripe. Edie's first reaction to the discovery of her husband's true identity -- in the hospital room -- was far more convincing. The staircase moment in the film might have been perfectly staged, brimming with craftsmanship, and well acted -- but without the emotional resonance, it was impossible to be as invested in the characters for the rest of the flick. I think Maria Bello deserves an Oscar nomination -- for everything she did but that scene. Everyone reacts to movies in different ways, so I'll ask the readers -- particularly the (five or so) women who read this blog and have seen A History of Violence. Did that scene make sense to you?
The New York Times‘ Arts section has three articles by three Times movie critics “looking deep inside three of the year’s most haunting scenes.” In “Dark Truths of a Killing Love,” Manohla Dargis looks at what most critics consider the pivotal scene in David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence [WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD]:
Until the staircase sex, Mr. Cronenberg has encouraged us to look at Tom the way Edie sees him, to believe the image she has unquestioningly accepted of the good father, the loving husband, the Everyman and the hero. “You are the best man I have ever known,” she whispers to Tom after their first lovemaking. Through her ignorance and slow awakening, Edie has served as our surrogate, but in this scene she becomes something else, something other. In a story of blood and vengeance, Mr. Cronenberg asks us to look at those who pick up guns in our name, protectors who whisper they love us with hands around our throats. And then, with this scene, he goes one better and asks us to look at those who open their hearts and bare themselves to such a killing love. Edie’s transformation from helpmate into a gangster’s moll with a taste for a little rough trade is one of the more shocking turns in a film filled with hairpin turns of mood and tone. Throughout the staircase clash, Mr. Mortensen visibly changes from Tom to Joey and back again, his face and caresses alternately gentle and brutal. When Edie unleashes her fury with that slap she’s reacting as much to Tom, the husband who has betrayed her, as to Joey, the stranger who has brought havoc into her life. Yet Tom’s secret self is no noir-like contrivance; it’s a manifestation of all that lies beneath, the ooze and shadows, the desire and dread, one that, in turn, bares Edie’s secret self too. Here, in a simple American home, the repressed returns with a vengeance.
Dargis does a lovely job of deconstructing the scene, showing how details like Edie’s wardrobe act as a harbinger for what’s about to happen. And I suspect that Dargis’ interpretation of what Cronenberg is going for are perfectly accurate. There’s just one thing — that scene completely destroyed my willing sense of disbelief in the movie. Until that point, Maria Bello as Edie acts as our emotional barometer for the events that take place, and I found her responses completely believable — indeed, they’re the best thing in the film. The idea, however, that at that particular moment on the staircase her character was going to find the violence and identity switches a turn-on was pretty damn ludicrous. Critics might have liked it because it touches on the theme of violence’s hidden role in the American heartland, but as a resident of said heartland, the scene looked like pure Hollywood tripe. Edie’s first reaction to the discovery of her husband’s true identity — in the hospital room — was far more convincing. The staircase moment in the film might have been perfectly staged, brimming with craftsmanship, and well acted — but without the emotional resonance, it was impossible to be as invested in the characters for the rest of the flick. I think Maria Bello deserves an Oscar nomination — for everything she did but that scene. Everyone reacts to movies in different ways, so I’ll ask the readers — particularly the (five or so) women who read this blog and have seen A History of Violence. Did that scene make sense to you?
Daniel W. Drezner is a professor of international politics at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University and co-host of the Space the Nation podcast. Twitter: @dandrezner
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