Simkin's impressive book on Pekinpah's violent masterpiece Straw Dogs
Straw Dogs; Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer; A Clockwork Orange; The Passion Of The Christ. Four films that have made an impact on cinema which goes way beyond their success at the box office. Now the new Controversies series from Palgrave Macmillan is setting out to provide definitive analyses of these key cinematic texts. Does it succeed? Read on...
Straw Dogs, by Stevie Simkin, ISBN 978-0-230-29670-1, £12.99 With a remake currently in the works, Sam Peckinpah's grim 1971 thriller is once again a hot topic among film fans, many of whom are watching it for the first time. It's best known today for its controversial rape scene but at the time of its release its violent content was just as troubling to critics and censors. In this book, Simkin sets out to explore both of these issues and the influence they had on regulatory bodies in Britain and America.
Like its companions in the series, this book opens with a synopsis of the film. This may be frustrating to fans who know it well, but you won't miss anything important if you skip it. It's a useful reminder for readers who know the film but haven't seen it for a while, and it's an adequate introduction for newcomers, though it would seem a shame to spoil the film by first approaching it this way. That said, Simkin's analysis will make you want to watch it again after reading, and most readers - even long- standing fans - will find new things in it when they do.
What first impresses about this book is its depth of research. There are lots of fascinating insights into production and revelations that make it a must for those interested in Peckinpah as a filmmaker. Though Simkin makes no secret of his own discomfort with the rape scene, the analysis throughout is fairly neutral in tone. Some material defending the scene is provided and there are also insights into Peckinpah's own ideas about it, which some readers may find troubling. The background to the shooting of this scene is tough to read, revealing some unpleasant things about how actress Susan George was treated, but an effort is made to position it in the context of prevailing social attitudes at the time.
This contextual element is perhaps the book's strongest suit. It's difficult even for older readers to properly locate Straw Dogs now in reference to the political turmoil that was going on around the time of its release. Simkin cites the Vietnam war and the peace movement as major factors influencing both the director's vision and the critics' response, making a strong case. Feminism is also considered, but the particular concern of regulators with sexual violence is correctly identified as part of a separate movement which would go on to develop, to a large extent, independently of feminist discourse.
All this history and politics might make the book sound like a dry read. It is anything but. Simkin's energetic writing makes it far more engaging than many similar works and you'll be surprised by how quickly you get through it. If you find Straw Dogs the film interesting (whether or not your feelings about it are positive), this comes highly recommended, and if you intend to go on to watch the remake, it's a must-read. -- JK
Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer, by Shaun Kimber, ISBN 978-0-230- 29798-2, £12.99
There has always been an attraction, among some horror fans, to the cinema of endurance - to films that have a reputation for being so distressing that they are very difficult to watch. At the same time, there is a constant effort among filmmakers to resensitise audiences inured to the effects of onscreen violence. In 1986 these two forces came together in Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer, a loose adaptation of the life of real killer Henry Lee Lucas, which precipitated such strong reactions from censors that most people didn't get the chance to see it until a decade later.
Given the lingering effect of this censorship on horror (and art) cinema, it's surprising that it has taken until now for a definitive book about the film to be produced, especially as Kimber has managed to uncover such a wealth of material. Horror fans hoping to find the same appeal in the book as in the film may be disappointed, but those who were attracted to the film for its artistic qualities will find this fascinating, and it will be particularly useful to low budget filmmakers. Henry was made on a shoestring by a first time director who depended on his natural resourcefulness to make it work. Kimber's depiction of the process is compelling, with blow by blow accounts of the creation of some key scenes.
Given the detailed nature of this, it's inevitable that some of the mystique attached to Henry crumbles, but there's a lot of entertaining stuff here to make up for it. There's also a sharp look at the moral issues - real and inflated - involved in producing a film of this type. Kimber turns a critical eye on the contrast between the censors' discomfort with this film's realistic, working class protagonists and their response to widely admired, apparently sophisticated monsters like Hannibal Lector. The down to Earth approach to producing Henry reflected its values as a film, and both led to it being dismissed in the circles where it was most relevant. It also fell foul of particular influential individuals within the regulatory system, and Kimber does a good job of representing these people in their own words, though the book may have benefited from direct interviews.
The more Kimber digs into his story, the more this book seems too small to do it justice. It seems doubtful that this will be the final word on this fascinating film, but it's an excellent start and will have wide appeal, even to those defeated by the film itself. -- JK
A Clockwork Orange, by Peter Krämer, ISBN 978-0-230-30212-9, £12.99
[imageleft filename="/images/features/cobook.jpg" caption="Kubrick's infamous A Clockwork Orange is analysed by Peter Krämer"]In this review I will examine the ways in which Peter Krämer's A Clockwork Orange brings academic dryness and a series of frustrating features to a potentially interesting discussion of Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange (Warner Brothers, 1971). In the first part I will attempt to reflect the stylistic tics that give the impression it is stitched together from exemplar essays, topic sentences and all.
There are several things wrong with this book. They start on the cover, in fact, with a design error. This and the other books in the Controversies series have a film still on their front and the face of the actor depicted is also on the spine. On this volume it is Malcolm McDowell's leering litso staring out at us, yet on the spine we viddy The Passion Of The Jesus Christ himself. Jim Caviezel's whipped frame is an odd counterpoint to Alex's long lashes. Given Kubrick's attention to detail it's an ironic note, but the detail missing antics are continued within.
In a section dealing with reviews it discusses explicitly the language of a tiny piece in Variety. While fair to focus on its choice of words viz visceral reactions, it cries out for context given Variety's vexing vocab - this is the gazetta that flings 'prexy', 'helmer', 'lenser' around as it govoreets, so to focus on slovo singular seems, well, zammechat.
Lumbering in places, it tucks a fascinating anecdote into its last pages, and this sudden discussion of the recursive violence of audiences and judgement would seem to merit further investigation. In fairness Kubrick's ouevre is sufficiently dense that any film invites towering layers of critical investigation. Some derived at least from Kubrick's reputation; if it is hinted that everything on screen has meaning then meaning can be assigned to all. That responsiveness to interpretation is examined in the section on press and cultural response, but there could be more on how a film not available for decades in Britain still managed to become both a cultural touchstone and a political key-word. It is mentioned, but time after time it seems that the book is nearing something potentially revelatory before falling back into copiously foot-noted rigour.
Krämer does discuss the politics of the time, and his examination of Orange in its era is fascinating. There is a discussion of the novel's two endings, but in truth it's the depiction of early Seventies cinema that fascinates. To modern audiences the notion of a theatre showing the same film for three solid years is more alien than any youth violence or brain-washing. Information about production and reception is interesting, and at that level this serves well as a sort of Cliff's Notes-cum-primer.
At around 120 pages for the text proper it's not too bad, but the tone is off- putting. For scholars of Kubrickania there's little new, and for fans of ultraviolence 26 pages of references dilutes the milk plus to mere semi- skimmed. Written by a Senior Lecturer in Film Studies, its primary utility would seem to be Film Studies, properly capitalised. Its habit of discussing how it is about to discuss what it is about to discuss feels a bit like a desperate undergraduate's attempt to pad a word count. In practise the continual circuitous realignment of its argument serves tedium more than clarity.
That said, it's still interesting, and as a pointer to a wealth of other works on the subject it makes a good guide-book. It could be better, colour photographs within for example for that sweet red kroovy, a sterner hand at the editing desk and a lighter tone too. As it stands one must struggle with the text itself rather than the moral questions it discusses. A shame then, that it is probably not worth one's golly - however if finding it in a library one might consider it useful for A Lively Appreciation Of The Arts. -- AR
The Passion Of The Christ, by Neal King, ISBN 978-0-230-29434-9, £12.99 After three books focused on the interplay of sex and violence, we turn to a different type of controversy. There's violence here, certainly, but in The Passion Of The Christ it's the context of that violence that makes it fascinating. There are also questions of blasphemy and anti-Semitism.
The Passion Of The Christ is an intriguing film because it's one of those rare cases in which one individual's vision has transferred almost unaltered onto the screen. That the individual in question is Mel Gibson, known both for his religious fervour and for his unpleasant remarks about Jews (more so now that when the film came out), means there's plenty here for a writer to get stuck into. So it's interesting that, rather than go down the film studies route, the series editors have in this case commissioned an investigation by a scholar of religion. Consequently, rather than an enjoyable but rather shallow rehash of who said what and how much blood was spilled, we get an insider's perspective on what this film meant to its target audience and how, in some cases, it troubled them. This isn't about gawping at those curious fundamentalists, it's about understanding how they relate to film and how this has influenced the film industry.
This innovative approach doesn't always work. There are times when King seems so close to his subject that he doesn't quite get the effect it may have on others (among non-Christians, the most common complaint I have heard about the film is not that it is violent but that it is boring). He also takes for granted a certain level of Biblical knowledge that not every reader may have; still, this doesn't generally impede understanding of his broader themes. His own position certainly doesn't deter him from presenting a fair analysis of why many Jewish groups were deeply offended by the film. Pressure groups concerned with minority interests will find the book valuable in this respect, especially for its demonstration of how Jewish protests were turned around and presented as an attack on Christians. King seems to be making an effort not to dwell on Gibson's more outlandish statements in this regard, but he doesn't really need to. His observation of the widening gap between the director and the churchgoers who had adored him is fascinating.
Also of interest here are recorded reactions to the violence which Gibson felt essential to telling the story of Jesus' sacrifice. The technical wizardry that went into illustrating this is remarkable, and it would have been nice to see more about that here, but King owns at the outset that he has had access to little material about the production itself, which seems to be shrouded in secrecy. What we're left with are the results, the same audiences who tend to decry gore in horror films turning out in droves to see a man flogged almost to death. King's collected data strongly suggests that the film was given lighter treatment by US censors because of its subject matter. The same was not true in the UK. Production company Icon's confusion at low levels on interest on the film's international release might be the subject of a book in itself, illustrating as it does the gulf that can open up between how filmmakers understand the world and how audiences do.
Christian readers will find King's historical overview of the difficulties surrounding cinematic representations of Christ intriguing. How exactly does one do a story justice with a central character whose feelings and beliefs never change, and about whose personality one would hesitate to speculate too much? It's an interesting challenge with wider repercussions for storytelling in general. King's book brings something a little different to the Controversies series and illustrates that controversy in film doesn't usually occur just for the sake of getting attention, but can be an inevitable by-product of having something important to say. -- JK
