Director: David Cronenberg
Writers: John Wagner, Vince Locke, Josh Olson
Photography: Peter Suschitzky
Music: Howard Shore
Editor: Ronald Sanders
Cast: Viggo Mortensen, Maria Bello, Ed Harris, William Hurt, Ashton Holmes, Peter MacNeill, Stephen McHattie, Greg Bryk, Kyle Schmid
There are a lot of fundamental flaws to complain about in A History of Violence and I made this appointment largely to do exactly that. The strength of David Cronenberg's best work for me has always lain in the way it so deliberately realizes irrationality, draws from dream states of consciousness, and delivers strange, beautiful, and funny moments and images. But A History of Violence is too often easy and pat about its rationality, proceeding mechanically by the numbers. Serial killers. A mob vendetta. Corpses all over the place (though by his viscera do we yet know him). It's a weak story, predictable and filled with convenient coincidence and cliché. It makes too much sense. It's too easy to understand. The monolithic evil of "east coast organized crime" vs. the goodness of an Indiana family man. Gee, Batman, I wonder which side we're on in that one.
Before long, looking at it again recently, I found myself happily making lots of notes about the overly saccharine family scenes (Howard Shore's thick overlay of orchestral swoonings sets a real Ron Howard mood), the unfortunate Tarantino gestures such as the pro forma thrill kill pair (man and boy) in the opening sequences, lathering on "madness!" to explain various ridiculous plot developments, multiple incidents of distracting stupidity on the part of otherwise smart characters, and the general sense that it is Cronenberg bound up and muffled by some kind of psychic straitjacket. Then along comes the second half, when Tom/Joey (the Viggo Mortenson role, and "Tom/Joey" is how it is played by all concerned) drives to Philadelphia to confront his brother and then returns home again. It is an extraordinary 50 minutes or so that probably didn't need the preamble, which in the light of it feels like so much throat-clearing. I think we should just call the second half an auxiliary chapter of The Decalogue, it's such Old Testament stuff, and forget the first half.
There is an unfortunate—or maybe not so unfortunate—comic book aspect to A History of Violence and I don't mean that in terms of its origins in a graphic novel. Tom/Joey is possessed of super-heroic powers, something like what you see in those characters in Sergio Leone films. He is one hell of a fighting machine. It is admittedly cathartic, the way Tom/Joey dispatches people. Bam bam bam. Bunch of corpses, just like that. Whoa, bet you never saw that coming, did you Skippy? In fact, I hate to say, but having read the graphic novel recently, I'm of the opinion that most of the things I don't like about this come mostly out of the graphic novel, notably the serial killers and mob vendetta storylines. The Mean Streets lifts and the general preening, leering, and swagger do not work for me. This is closer to "Crime Story" than Mean Streets and I don't mean that in a good way.
When Cronenberg takes the narrative in other directions it's almost always better. But he's not above the overdone comic book touch here himself. For example, Tom/Joey's wife Edie (Maria Bello) literally throws up when Tom/Joey finally starts to tell her the truth about himself. Another example: after standing up to a high school bully (you heard me right), Tom/Joey's son Jack (Ashton Holmes) is transformed into a fighting machine like his Dad. Nice subplot!
But Cronenberg (or screenplay writer Josh Olson) contributes the best part of the story with the second half. Tom/Joey's confrontation with his brother Richie features what I think just might be my favorite performance by William Hurt ever, which I had forgot somehow. He is epic, a self-pitying monster with resentment oozing out of his pores like slick oil. He is spellbinding like I have never seen him, masterful, and everything is orchestrated to get out of the way of this titanic moment between Hurt and Mortenson.
Because remember, after all, this is Mortenson's show first and foremost. He's in charge of the (black/white) complexities of the main character and our hero, and he's got a pretty full plate here. I think Mortenson holds his own when it matter most, in the scenes with Hurt and then at the very end, largely because he is evidently more comfortable—or at least having more fun—playing with the "Joey" side of Tom/Joey, the Philly loose cannon who sounds as if, back in that history of the title, he was taking pages out of the Johnny Boy playbook from Mean Streets. Mortenson is not bad as the "Tom" side (and yes, there is also a ridiculous Sybil theme in here), though occasionally appearing to be on thorazine and manikin-like. The transition is the trickier business, of course, not always helped by the screenplay (or, for that matter, the source material) and the seams are often showing. But as the first half has a lot of the stuffing falling out of it anyway, overall it's a pretty good turn.
The most amazing scene comes at the end, after Tom/Joey has created a few dozen more corpses (well, five, counting Richie), resolved once and for all the issues of Philadelphia and his past, and makes it back to Indiana again in time for dinner. The final scene, his return home, makes the whole thing for me. It is tremendous, a transcendent moment, and it is done without a word of dialogue. It almost ameliorates the larger flaws of the picture, which is certainly worth seeing in any case for the back end.
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