Blood, Devastation, War, Death and Horror

 Recently I was having a conversation about violence in the movies. One of my coworkers is extremely averse to violence in film and television to the point where they find it incredibly upsetting. When confronted with a violent image, they react first with disgust and then with anger. "And they wonder why people are out shooting each other!" they exclaimed. 

This got me thinking. 

I've seen lots of violent films and television shows. Cartoonish violence, historical violence, realistic violence, violence that is meant to be stomach-churning, et cetera. And yet, I have never committed an act of violence. I own no guns and have no interest in ever firing one. I own a few pocket knives but they were all gifts. Am I the exception or the norm?

Fun fact: I'm the same age as the perpetrators of the Columbine School Shooting. I too was picked on by other students, I too wore a trench coat and I too saw films like The Matrix and Basketball Diaries (both of which were brought up a lot in the days immediately following the tragedy). However, in spite of all of this, it never even crossed my mind to bring a gun to school. Why would I? I was told that once I graduated, I would probably never see these people again and that turned out to be very, very accurate. 

So, why were all of the ingredients there, but the recipe didn't work? Why is it that I can watch extreme violence in films and television and be unaffected by it? Or am I being affected and just don't know it? 

Perhaps I should clarify the previous statement. When I say that I am unaffected by the violence, that doesn't mean that I view it in a state of numbness or apathy. I am disgusted when I see a graphic depiction of rape or war atrocities (as one should be). I tend to laugh off over the top cartoonish violence (like Evil Dead 2) and there is something satisfying about seeing a truly villainous character receive their graphic comeuppance. I never feel bad when zombies are destroyed in blood-soaked carnage. Watching Donnie Yen beat the everliving crap out of a group of people is pretty thrilling. The Raid: Redemption is thrilling and exciting. Conversely, Come and See or Schindler's List are extremely upsetting. The awful things inflicted on the protagonist of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is almost too much to watch. 

Perhaps context is what matters. Anonymous bad guys being mowed down by John Wick can be shrugged off. A samurai slicing through a crowd of hired assassins is exciting. A Nazi officer shooting random people just because he can is disturbing. 

An example: I've been watching The Little Shop of Horrors (1987) more or less since it first came out. Rick Moranis feeding people to a monstrous plant didn't bother me, but what did bother me, and still bothers me to this day, is watching Steve Martin's sadistic dentist slap around his girlfriend. Maybe it's simply because people-eating plants don't exist (as far as I know), but assholes who slap around their girlfriends do. Maybe because it's Steve Martin doing the slapping. The Wild and Crazy Guy, the goofy comedian, the Father of the Bride shouldn't be smacking a woman around (I mean, no one should, but you see my point). The plant can eat whoever it wants. 

This is not very focused, and I'm sorry for that. I'm still weighing a lot of this in my mind and perhaps even I am a little unsure of what point I am trying to make. 

Oh, well. It's not like anyone reads this stuff anyway. 

Inherit The Earth: The Most Mediocre Movie You Never Saw

Not many people know this about me, but half a lifetime ago, I made a movie. At the ripe old age of twenty-one, I wrote, produced and directed a feature film called Inherit The Earth.  It was a coming-of-age drama about a seminary student who meets and falls in love with a free-spirited young woman who opens his eyes to the world. I shot it on digital video and made the whole thing for around $2,000 (yes, really). 

So, where is this film now? 

No idea. 

See, the funny thing is, I never one hundred percent finished the movie. I shot all of the scenes I wanted to shoot and edited the film how I wanted it edited, but the guy who was supposed to write the score never came through. (That’s what I get for trusting my brother.) The final sound mix was never finished because we never got the music. 

The film was screened three times: once at the church where we filmed a few scenes (Unitarians, nice people), once at an art house where cast and crew brought their friends and family and once at some old ladies house because I was looking for completion funds (all three women in attendance fell asleep). We used music that we had no legal right to, but thankfully, no one turned us in. 

Eventually, the film I had worked so hard on wound up in a box at the back of my closet, a VHS that gathered dust until the day it was finally thrown away. I threw it away because looking at it made me sad. Not because the film was compromised (low budgets force you to compromise), and not because my ex-wife was in it (and dare I say she was actually pretty good, too), but because I viewed it as yet another failure. Not only was this incomplete, shot on video and wholly unmarketable movie sitting there with my name on it, more importantly, it was a constant reminder that I didn’t try again. 

“So your first movie sucked. So what? Get over it and make another one!” you might say and logically, you would be right.  But I didn’t try again. I was defeated and I slunk back with my tail between my legs. Even know, writing about it for the first time ever, the sadness is almost overwhelming. 

Making a movie is work. It can be extremely stressful, difficult and exhausting. It can ruin friendships, can turn anyone into a raging lunatic on set (like when I attacked a water fountain for turning on mid-scene and ruining the take- not my best moment) and can make you wonder why you even fucking bother. But, there is something wonderful about seeing your name up on the screen, about hearing an audience react to what you created and knowing that if you do absolutely nothing else with your life, at least you made this. 

But now it’s all gone. Like tears in the rain, to borrow a line from Blade Runner. 

If, by some miracle, a copy of my film were to turn up, what would I do? Would I hold on to it, for old times sake, or would I once again dispose of it, letting it dissolve in the dustbin of history ? 

I honestly don’t know.