Given the constant daily bombardment of war, atrocities, persecution and crime in the news media, one would think that the response would be seeking diversion in uplifting, redemptive, inspirational stories. I’m one of those people who shouts “NO!” and covers my eyes, pushes the stop button or leaves the theater at moments of high suspense or imminent bloodshed. (During the scene in “Blade Runner” when the android pops out his victim’s eyeballs, I grabbed the arm of the kind stranger sitting next to me and then fled the theater, never to see the rest of the movie.) And yet, as I scroll through newspaper and magazine articles and browse movies on Netflix, I find myself increasingly drawn to stories of violent crime, murder, fatal accidents, closed and reopened cases, serial killers—the types of violent subject matter I’ve always shied away from. Why? And why now?
At my boyfriend’s suggestion, we recently watched “A History of Violence” in which Viggo Mortenson (be still, my heart!) plays a character far different from the sexy and liberating blouse man in “A Walk on the Moon.” This was my first ever David Cronenberg film, and had Viggo not been in it and my boyfriend had not insisted, I never would have watched it, judging by the poster which shows a big, out of focus gun in the foreground. I expected to last ten minutes. Instead, I was riveted. Not simply a story of gratuitous violence, this was a psychological thriller that peels back the apparent veneer of a devoted husband and father, dependable business owner and respected member of his community to expose the violent person hidden beneath. Once revealed, the conflict between apparent and hidden, past and present, benign and murderous, loved and reviled, play it out on the screen for the protagonist as well as his family, who will never again believe in the myth of goodness and safety.
This is the key. As world events grow ever more gruesome and relentless, the protective layer has been peeled back to reveal the darker side within. Especially so in the aftermath of the Covid pandemic, which brought us in touch with mortality on a daily basis and afforded a good hard look at ourselves in protracted isolation.
The world mirrors the self, and the self reflects the world. Never again can we reclaim our innocence. Yes, Zuzu’s petals may still be found in some pocket of memory, but angels and bells and good witches are most definitely a thing of the past. As comforting as those beloved old tales can be, they also put me to sleep, whereas a bracing shot of terror wakes me up. I am at once the victim and the killer. Plus, there’s the titillation, an energizing cocktail of anticipation, fear and schadenfreude, of escaping—for now—the fates of those less fortunate.
You might argue that history has left bloody tracks of war and brutality in every era. I came of age in the Vietnam era, part of a generation that hoped that its atrocities, assassinations, lynchings, and the AIDS epidemic would never be repeated. Time and again we’ve been proven wrong. From a young age, I have lost loved ones to suicide, drug overdoses, accidents and illness, tragedies that seem minuscule compared with the wholesale losses of today. In the face of all that, why seek out more anxiety? Unless as a homeopathic treatment: a focused dose of the very thing that plagues me.
I still prefer intelligent, character-driven dramas and avoid gratuitous violence, especially against animals. But it’s only now, at 71 years of age, that I finally understand the draw to thrillers and crime stories. Better late than never?
I can relate to the homeopathic aspect of self-prescribed shock from viewing shows with cruelty and blood. When I was teaching high school in a school that exposed me to daily insecurity and humiliation, I found refuge in watching Game of Thrones. I felt like I was stronger for being able to expose myself to fear rather than it taking me by surprise. I was in desperate need of emotional release as well.
The movie "Sound of Freedom" is set in the midst of story of current day slave trade. Really brings the reality of it into focus. [That Rolfer from West 93rd ... David D. Wronski]