Violent Cinema
Hollywood’s representation of violence has undergone several transformations: stylistically in regards to technical aspects, as well as contextually in regards to socio-political motivators. Since the birth of the objectively captured moving image, filmmakers have experimented with several methods of portraying violence on-screen, subjecting their work to the criticism of production executives as well as the public at large. Concurrently, the American public itself was changing, becoming more and more accustomed to the cinema and its role as a medium. As society embraced visual representation for its communicative potential, it became reliant on media to depict the world, both in general and everyday experience. Thus, a time came in film’s evolution when American filmmakers and audiences created a shift in conventional methods of representing violence.
Violence is as fundamentally a part of the cinematic experience as it is for human experience. Our ancestors struggled persistently with brutality on all fronts, as everyday experience was then universally synonymous with “kill or be killed.” Even absent from the immediate fear of the elements, mankind still waged war between its different civilizations, as well as within them. It could be argued further that the very core of life is violent, as millions of microscopic organisms are destroyed in the process of fertilizing an egg to create a fetus. Humans, then, are inherently violent creatures, ever challenging the prospect of inevitable death. As such, violence, as an experience, is crucial to survival.
Art, in its many forms, has been a mode of expression unique to human beings. Through static image, music, literature, theater, and eventually moving images, mankind has attempted to immortalize experience by reproducing it. Cavemen painted visual representations on rock walls, depicting their world around them and their involvement within it. The ancient Egyptians embalmed their royalty, creating the ultimate in realistic sculpture. Centuries later, royalty and wealthy citizens commissioned fine artists (in various mediums) to create portraits, thus immortalizing their likeness as an inanimate representation. In each case, the main goal of art seems to quite simply be “the preservation of life by a representation of life.” In the struggle for survival on this planet, human beings developed a means to defy fleeting nature of mortal experience: in a way, attaining the “last word in [an] argument with death.” (Bazín, 10)
Photography has had a tremendous influence on the art world, and this influence has accelerated alongside the experience of the medium. The first photographs became more than a representation of the image, as the objectivity of the camera lens offered a means to examine visual reality directly and flawlessly; in short, the photograph became the image. The static art forms could not compare with the automatic precision of the camera, thus becoming free to explore other pursuits in their respective mediums. Moving pictures added the aspect of time to photography, ushering in a radically different means to reproduce experience; no longer was visual art bound to single moments in time or live performance. There existed a medium that could now snatch those memories from the fabric of memory, making them available for countless others to witness. The preservation of visual reality had reached its realization as it “embalms time, rescuing it simply from its proper corruption.” (Bazín, 14). The cinema’s ability to reproduce reality was enhanced even further with the introduction of sound, adding another primary sensory cue to the illusion.
Using violent themes, consequent to the objectivity of film, became a ground lightly treaded. While even the earliest motion pictures had violent content (indeed, the famous gun shot in The Great Train Robbery allegedly provoked the violence it suggested when audience members discharged their weapons at the screen), a graphic portrayal of this sensitive content in such a visually precise medium was out of the question at this early a stage in film’s evolution.
Filmmakers were pressured on all sides: the studios adhered to a strict Production Code, public groups such as the Legion of Decency boycotted films seen unfit or sinful, and the federal government did not view films as protected by the First Amendment which allowed city and state-wide bans. Such restrictions narrowed the cinematic experience to mostly strict convention, disabling the American filmmaker from exploring certain aspects of this newly born medium. This included a more realistic depiction of violence and violent themes. Indeed, even a scene from the horror classic Frankenstein (Whale, 1931) was cut from the theatrical release, wherein the monster inadvertently causes a young girl’s death, an action considered “a piece of senseless censorship.” (Butler, 49) In this instance, the content was up for scrutiny, not the style nor care the moment was given in context to the film. Given that violence is inherent in human experience and art is inherently a reproduction of that experience, it was only a matter of time before the old restrictions were broken and a new age of expression was allowed.
The late 1960’s marked the beginning of this transition as newly found competition forced Hollywood to reevaluate fundamental strategies of production and distribution in order for the studio systems to survive. Foreign films, unrestricted by the Production Code, were screened throughout the country, attracting audiences with its less constrained style and content. On top of this, television had gained a large prominence in the U.S., offering a daily, convenient opportunity to see moving pictures. Hollywood needed something else to attract audiences, as its given role was usurped by television. Code revisions in 1966 and the subsequent replacement by the rating system in 1968 broke down previous barriers; on one hand, the audiences could now judge the severity of questionable content, and on the other, the filmmakers were free to explore different choices without the fear of censorship. While the shift in severity of violent content surely would have occurred regardless, footage of Vietnam surely provoked a certain sense of inherent violence in audiences, accelerating the experimentation given filmmakers’ new liberties. This period from the late 1960’s to 1980 has thus been coined the “Hollywood Renaissance.”
While filmmakers were indeed given new liberties and even expected to break convention, the revolution was taking place not only in the films themselves, but in their treatment towards the public. Indeed, this transition period was not seen as liberating at all to some, who viewed the abandonment of convention as a sign of weakness. As Robert Sklar states:
Hollywood’s collapse in the late 1960’s…marked the nadir of a long
transformation: one that stretched from the demise of the old studio
system in the 1950s to the advent of effective new distribution strategiesin the mid-1970s (Sklar, 321).
Taking this into consideration, the renaissance was not simply platform for experimentation in films, but experimentation in film distribution as well. In terms of violence, studios were now faced with a proper means to market the new styles.
The success of films like Bonnie and Clyde (Penn, 1967) and Easy Rider (Hopper, 1969) directed Hollywood to look towards new, more independent filmmakers to create untraditional, modern films. The goal was to capture the attention of the younger audience, the largest targeted demographic. Given the persistent themes of sex, violence, and cultural liberation in both aforementioned films, these themes were given particular attention in relation to commercial films and the public at large.
In 1975, “Universal decided to create a massive television saturation three days before its opening by buying 30-second spots on every prime time show on all three networks for three consecutive nights” (Donahue, 93). Used in conjunction with saturation booking and common interest due to the best-selling novel’s success, Jaws (Speilberg, 1975) became an overwhelming commercial success, becoming the highest-grossing film to date. In this case, an effective marketing strategy propelled a film into unprecedented success, which is curious considering the story’s content. While the fact that Jaws was originally a best-selling novel contributed to the success of the film, the novel itself is not only graphic in its treatment of violence, but its treatment of sex as well. The book goes through increasingly mature themes, and yet Universal’s marketing strategy effectively attracted a significantly larger audience than ever before: an audience already aware of the story’s content.
Speilberg’s approach to the violent story takes an accelerating form. Although the first shark attack takes place within the first 5 minutes of the film, the audience receives no glimpse of the shark until the second attack which occurs some time after this. As the film progresses, so does the graphic nature of the image, climaxing both in Quint’s death (a drawn out, very gory sequence) and that of the shark’s (a large explosion propelling blood and parts above and throughout the ocean). In this manner, Speilberg mirrored the evolution of violence in mainstream cinema in general, whereby violence is first suggested, then displayed.
This visually graphic approach affects the audience on many levels, first and foremost being the threat of immediate violence. As cinema operates as a reproduction of reality, the audience is subsequently thrown into its content, experiencing the violence alongside the characters. The success of Jaws influenced filmmakers towards a more violently-driven film, targeted towards those audiences specifically looking to fulfill this vicarious fantasy. Jaws, as a film, thus operates on two levels: as a marketing model for future “blockbusters,” and as indicative the experimentation with and progression of violence in cinema. Even the shark’s theme, written by John Williams, starts with two notes, accelerating to a climax when the shark attacks.
A low budget, highly successful film came one year earlier. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Hooper, 1974) served as a culmination of renaissance ideals. The film follows a group of young adults on the road and free from authority, one by one finding themselves amidst a perverse family unit of killers and cannibals. The film’s low budget accounts for its visual quality and effects, as the film was shot on 16mm. The prevailing themes of violence, cultural freedom, and a youthful struggle to survive speak directly to the audience of 1974, whose experience with the violence surrounding Vietnam and its protests still resonated strongly. In the shadow of this and Watergate, a thriller that centered around such relevant themes as well as social liberation created a shockwave throughout audiences, earning The Texas Chainsaw Massacre a place in Hollywood legend.
Despite its grotesque themes, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is not an overly gory film. On the contrary, violence is never graphically depicted in gruesome detail, but rather suggested and left to the imaginations of those watching. There are but two moments in the film that can be considered graphically violent, and even these both end at the extent of visable blood. Keeping in mind the story’s implications, Hooper explored mutilation, grave robbing, and cannibalism without overtly depicting it. This could arguably be a more sophisticated, true-to-life representation of said violence. Those experiencing violence vicariously through cinema do so, normally, from the standpoint of the victim. If this is the case, then a realistic depiction of this violence would entail a certain visual disconnection: we do not see the woman’s back pierced by the meat hook, just as she doesn’t.
To enhance the realism of the film’s brutal murders, Hooper made specific choices in regards to the piece’s soundtrack. A human experience of violence would not be underscored with dramatic music, building suspense and adrenaline until the ultimate action occurs. Quite contrary to this, a real world experience of violence would come with a real world soundtrack. In the case of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the brutal slaughter of the first young man is accompanied by audible detail: the ruffling of fabric as the body twitches uncontrollably, the blunt thump of Leatherface’s sledgehammer against his head, and the shrill screech of a metal sliding door. Only in the aftermath does Hooper elaborate with dark, low-toned ambience. The embellishment, then, comes after the action. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.
Violence’s role in mainstream cinema has changed dramatically since this renaissance period, however, as its primary function has shifted from experimentation to exploitation. While it can be argued that films today still explore violent content innovatively, the immediate emotional experiences to those depictions have worn off as our general media becomes ever more graphic. In the 60s and 70s, “entertainment industries [were] dominated, more completely than ever before – or since – by the television broadcast networks” (Sklar, 321). It is important to remember, however, that although the content restrictions for television have always been tighter than those of movies, both home and box-office restrictions have relaxed tremendously over the past few decades, and thus the current American public is subject to an exponentially higher desensitization level. Graphic violence no longer resonates in the manner it once did; it is too prevalent. Television’s influence, however, did shape this period and the decades since. Television’s inception revolutionized cinema: the entertainment industry finally entered the common household. It led, in part, to the Code revisions and eventual replacement by the rating system. It provided footage of the conflict in Vietnam, delivering real violence into Americans’ living rooms. It helped Jaws reach unprecedented commercial success, and with it, new marketing tools which soon became the new convention.
Cinema in 1967-1980 was revolutionary for both the financial and aesthetic aspects of the medium, but in the end, the auteur style did not hold the studio’s main interests, and thus was abandoned. With the rise of the blockbuster, innovation was no longer actively sought after in mainstream cinema, and the care with which violence was portrayed was never truly revisited. Violence became a marketing tool, specific to demographic and taste, and thus served a purpose in relation to the studios’ investments. While the domination of the auteur in this time was never revisited in Hollywood, the work of these directors paved the way for all of the films that were made in their spirit in the decades to come.
Sources:
Bazín, Andre. What is Cinema? University of California Press; 1967. pp. 9-15.
Butler, Ivan. Horror in the Cinema. A.S. Barnes & Co.; 1967. pp. 37-50.
Cook, David A. Lost Illusions: American Cinema in the Shadow of Watergate and Vietnam. University of California Press; 2000.
Donahue, Suzanne Mary. American Film Distribution: The Changing Marketplace.
1987. p. 93.
Sklar, Robert. Movie-Made America: A Cultural History of American Movies. Vintage
Books; 1975. pp. 321-325.
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