Review: A History of Violence

I wrote an extremely long review of this movie yesterday, but then was told by a great proofreader that I gave a little too much information. Not plot giveaways, namely because there is no plot, but informed that readers didn't need to know the sickness I saw on screen to the extent that I told them. So, I'm rewriting this. It's still really long though.

Let me first start by saying: do not see this movie under any circumstance. If someone forces you at gunpoint, take the bullet. Trust me. Don't rent it. Don't be fooled by the previews that deceitfully make you think this is some type of small town mystery. It's not. There's no plot, lame dialogue, over the top acting, sick violence, disgusting sex. There's nothing enriching about this film, whatsoever. Avoid it, and tell everyone you know to do the same.

If I could sum up the movie, A History of Violence, in one word it would be: gratuitous. Every last part of this movie is gratuitous. The excruciatingly slow pace of the scenes; the awkward, soap opera pauses; the violence; the sex; everything. It was all over the top, with of course, no explanation whatsoever. It was like being subjected to a bad modern art exhibit for two hours.

You know it's bad when you're watching a movie and the only thing you can think of is: "How am I going to rip this apart on my blog?"

The other thought rummaging around my head throughout the entirety of the movie was how much I hate the arrogance of Hollywood. There was literally no point to this movie. But when I identified the lack of story in my mind I could see some snotty, beret wearing writer/director sipping on his latte condescendingly informing me: "Ha. But there is not point and that is the point. You wouldn't understand."

There was no explanation of the main character's history. There was no explanation as to how he "reformed" himself. There was no explanation to anything, at all. There was no resolution at the end. It was one of those ridiculously futile exercises in showing the masses how unrefined we are because we actually like, I don't know...a story!

I'm a big fan of independent films. I like things that are a little off the beaten track. But I like good stories, happy ending or not. This had no story. It had no point other than to shock the viewers. Allow me to explain. (Please note, if you are hell bent on seeing this film, I'm going to give things away in this review. Don't click on the link if you want to pollute your mind and see the sorry waste of celluloid.)

The first scene of the movie begins with two complete low lifes who appear unable to move any faster than molasses (I'm not exaggerating). As a viewer, I was under the impression that they were up to no good, as they were leaving a beat up, old motel. My suspicions were confirmed when one of the sorry excuses for a human being walks into the motel's management office where we're given a glimpse of what his partner in crime has done. The manager and maid are limp on the linoleum, awash in their own blood. As if that opening wasn't bad enough, a scared, whimpering little girl appears from behind a door, hoping the scummy criminal will calm her down or help her out. Quite the contrary. After the man gently touches his finger to his lips, shushing the little girl, he shoots her. Yeah, this is the intro to the movie. I should have walked out then.

But, a sucker for hoping things will redeem themselves, I stayed. Much to my regret.

Let me just fill you in on the absolute ridiculousness of the plot. This little example explains a whole lot. The main character's son is in high school. One day he laments that they'll be playing baseball in P.E., and he's terrible in right field. The next scene finds him on the field, bored to tears, hoping not to get a piece of the action for fear he'd mess it up. Then comes pretty boy jock to the plate. As predicted, he knocks one straight into right field. He arrogantly struts his stuff to first base under the assumption that he hit it out. Well, the kid catches the ball, and the camera zooms in on jock boy's face. He looks like someone just murdered his whole family in cold blood. He then attempts to beat down right fielder boy since he "caught the ball." Call me stupid, but I played sports in high school. You'd be hard pressed to find someone that retarded that he'd beat someone up for playing the sport. I thought I was watching Not Another Teen Movie or something at that point. But I digress....

Let me move onto the sex. Okay, you could call me a prude, old school, whatever you want, but I just don't think it's necessary to make movie goers voyeurs. I think sex in movies can be tastefully done; it can also be quite comic. Most of those instances occur when a couple begins to play around with one another, the camera fades out, then we come back into the scene after all is said and done. That's fine by me. I think most people post-puberty can put two and two together.

That said, I can't believe this movie wasn't rated NC-17. Not that it isn't great that a married couple is into each other after umpteen amount of years, but I do not need to see anything remotely close to what was shown on that screen. I'll spare you the disgusting details. Just trust me on this one. What was shown should never be allowed on a mainstream outlet such as a wide release film.

Again, should have walked out. Didn't. can't say why.

Oh, but I'm not done. The violence. In many movies, the violence portrayed has a point, either a message or it's a key element to the plot. The violence in this movie was the plot. You see one close up of a man's face blown off (no joke...bloody tissue hanging from bones), you've seen enough and don't need another. That didn't stop them. The violence and almost erotic shots of the aftermath were enough to make you lose your lunch. Luckily, I hadn't eaten anything.

That's not all there is to say about the film, but I'll spare you any more of my rantings. I did learn one thing. I have super strong convictions, but apparently I'm just as susceptible to the next person when it comes to calling attention to myself to walk out of a theater. I hope never to replicate that experience. I'm walkin next time.