Knight at the Movies ARCHIVES
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Social Studies Large and Small:
V For Vendetta and The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things
Expanded Edition of 3-15-06 Knight at the Movies/Windy City Times Column
by Richard Knight, Jr.
V For Vendetta and The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things
Expanded Edition of 3-15-06 Knight at the Movies/Windy City Times Column
by Richard Knight, Jr.
The romance of terrorism and terrorism in the form of a movie
Movies have always been a way for artists to protest authority while attempting to shake audiences out of their complacency, both
within the relatively safe distance the medium provides. King Vidor’s Our Daily Bread, Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and
John Ford’s The Grapes of Wrath are just a few of the genuine classics of the genre. Since The Wild One in 1953 with Marlon Brando
as the leader of a motorcycle gang protesting against “whatever you’ve got,” the movies have also often put the generation gap
up on the screen. Rebel Without a Cause, The Graduate, and Easy Rider, are other significant works in the genre and the gap might
be wider today than ever, as evidenced by Bully, Thirteen, and The Chumscrubber, all examinations of the commonplace brutal youth
culture of the present.
But films combining these two genres – political protest and disaffected youth – have been rarer and the results haven’t always
been as compelling. 1966’s Wild in the Streets, in which the youth quake generation took over the country and outlawed anyone
over 30 is one of the few – and it’s a weak example – that comes immediately to mind. So where are the modern day political
and social protest films that inspire and outrage? They’ve been eclipsed by documentaries focusing on real life events. In an
age with abuses of power such a commonplace seemingly everyday occurrence, audiences are galvanized by documentaries by
Michael Moore and his compatriots that have made use of the rich material at hand. The current ruling class – going into their
sixth year in power – are like a dream come true for any halfway decent filmmaker with a camera and a smidgen of rage. It’s no
surprise then that fictional stories pale in comparison to the truth.
But hopefully, V for Vendetta, the best fictional protest film in decades will have an impact on audiences similar to the one that
had the crowds buzzing as they filed out of Fahrenheit 9/11 and JFK. A cross between Fahrenheit 451, Phantom of the Opera, and
1984, V is like the Grand Guignol of propaganda films. And it’s terrifically entertaining, too.
Not surprisingly, the movie has been written by the Wachowski brothers, the purposely mysterious duo responsible for the
generally excellent sci-fi protest film The Matrix (and its less than stellar sequels). Based on the graphic novel by Alan Moore, the
story is set in the not too distant future and shares many of the same themes of The Matrix. Britain has become a totalitarian
state in which its citizens are controlled and monitored by rigid, faith based conservatives (“Strength thru unity/unity thru faith” is
their vise grip of a motto). V (Hugo Weaving), an elusive, physically scarred freedom fighter who wears the mask of 17th Century
English terrorist Guy Fawkes, rescues the beautiful but mild-mannered Evey (Natalie Portman) from a band of rogue cops after
being caught out after curfew. Phantom like, he spirits her away to his lair, known as the “Shadow Gallery,” in which he’s
stockpiled, ala “Fahrenheit 451,” illicit books, art, antiquities, and a jukebox that plays Julie London’s mournful “Cry Me a River”
among other hits. Aside from his artistic passions, V is a marshall arts expert and technical wizard able to tap into the
government-controlled airwaves long enough to urge his countrymen to join him in taking back their government. Various acts of
terrorism are then played out as Evey slowly learns the truth about her past – and V’s.
Thrown into the tale are subplots about a gay TV host who must remain closeted in such a conservative society as well as a much
longer sidebar detailing the criminalization of homosexuality and other acts of “depravity.” A taboo lesbian romance destroyed by
the repressive government is told in flashback. “I still don’t understand why they hate us so much” one of the lesbians in the
story says plaintively in voice over. This and more serves to enlighten Evey to the point where she becomes an unlikely ally for V.
As Portman (who has a gorgeous head of hair shaved onscreen) plays the rebel in training Evey, her political awakening is
believable (helped by Portman’s innate emotional sensitivity) but not nearly as compelling as the story of the charismatic V.
Weaving, who appears throughout wearing the Guy Fawkes mask, is left to use his richly resonant voice (so at odds with the Chop
Socky stuff) to give what is basically an audio performance (not unlike Claude Rains in The Invisible Man). An assortment of
expert British actors round out the cast including Steven Rea (less irritating than usual), John Hurt and gay actor Stephen Fry as
the television host. The movie, the first for director James McTiegue, is beautifully shot (the last before his death) by Adrien
Biddle and has a lush musical score by Dario Marianelli (“Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones appropriately plays over the
end credits).
Though it’s stuffed to the gills with cliché characters and stock situations, and cynical as I am, I decided in the final analysis to
overlook the many sources that the material draws from and decide instead that V for Vendetta is another great cautionary tale (as
the film opens America has collapsed as a super power) about citizens ceding too much control to their government. The movie
certainly leaves no doubt for the viewer about what they should do after seeing it (Stand up! Fight back! Fight EVERYTHING!) --
though I'm not sure if the gay repression/torture sequences will speak to mainstream audiences (though I would like to think so).
Whether this political and cultural allegory of a movie will serve to inspire audiences into new ways of thinking – as some of its
predecessors have – also remains to be seen. But based on current circumstances, one can hope.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The best thing about The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things, the film version of the J.T. LeRoy “memoir” is knowing as
you go into the movie that it’s a complete fabrication. Neither the childhood depicted here nor the latter teenage years as a gay
hustler of J.T. LeRoy ever existed. Without that foreknowledge, the story of this little seven year-old boy would be unbearable as
it’s a horror story cataloguing seemingly every indignity a child can suffer. The movie is well directed by Asia Argento (daughter of
Italian horror mesiter Dario who helmed Suspiria) who also plays the drug and drink addled prostitute mother of J.T. but the gritty
material is so enthralled with the base possibilities and extremes of human behavior that it’s the equivalent of an anxiety attack.
One sits through this movie as an act of will, hopeful that the sun will come out once and for all for that kid (and eventually for
the audience) but it never does. T-shirts proclaiming “I sat through the entire 97 minutes of The Heart is Deceitful Above All
Things and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” should be a mandatory badge of honor (of sorts) worn by survivors of this attack dog of
a movie. If there is such a thing as serial cinema abuse this is it.
within the relatively safe distance the medium provides. King Vidor’s Our Daily Bread, Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and
John Ford’s The Grapes of Wrath are just a few of the genuine classics of the genre. Since The Wild One in 1953 with Marlon Brando
as the leader of a motorcycle gang protesting against “whatever you’ve got,” the movies have also often put the generation gap
up on the screen. Rebel Without a Cause, The Graduate, and Easy Rider, are other significant works in the genre and the gap might
be wider today than ever, as evidenced by Bully, Thirteen, and The Chumscrubber, all examinations of the commonplace brutal youth
culture of the present.
But films combining these two genres – political protest and disaffected youth – have been rarer and the results haven’t always
been as compelling. 1966’s Wild in the Streets, in which the youth quake generation took over the country and outlawed anyone
over 30 is one of the few – and it’s a weak example – that comes immediately to mind. So where are the modern day political
and social protest films that inspire and outrage? They’ve been eclipsed by documentaries focusing on real life events. In an
age with abuses of power such a commonplace seemingly everyday occurrence, audiences are galvanized by documentaries by
Michael Moore and his compatriots that have made use of the rich material at hand. The current ruling class – going into their
sixth year in power – are like a dream come true for any halfway decent filmmaker with a camera and a smidgen of rage. It’s no
surprise then that fictional stories pale in comparison to the truth.
But hopefully, V for Vendetta, the best fictional protest film in decades will have an impact on audiences similar to the one that
had the crowds buzzing as they filed out of Fahrenheit 9/11 and JFK. A cross between Fahrenheit 451, Phantom of the Opera, and
1984, V is like the Grand Guignol of propaganda films. And it’s terrifically entertaining, too.
Not surprisingly, the movie has been written by the Wachowski brothers, the purposely mysterious duo responsible for the
generally excellent sci-fi protest film The Matrix (and its less than stellar sequels). Based on the graphic novel by Alan Moore, the
story is set in the not too distant future and shares many of the same themes of The Matrix. Britain has become a totalitarian
state in which its citizens are controlled and monitored by rigid, faith based conservatives (“Strength thru unity/unity thru faith” is
their vise grip of a motto). V (Hugo Weaving), an elusive, physically scarred freedom fighter who wears the mask of 17th Century
English terrorist Guy Fawkes, rescues the beautiful but mild-mannered Evey (Natalie Portman) from a band of rogue cops after
being caught out after curfew. Phantom like, he spirits her away to his lair, known as the “Shadow Gallery,” in which he’s
stockpiled, ala “Fahrenheit 451,” illicit books, art, antiquities, and a jukebox that plays Julie London’s mournful “Cry Me a River”
among other hits. Aside from his artistic passions, V is a marshall arts expert and technical wizard able to tap into the
government-controlled airwaves long enough to urge his countrymen to join him in taking back their government. Various acts of
terrorism are then played out as Evey slowly learns the truth about her past – and V’s.
Thrown into the tale are subplots about a gay TV host who must remain closeted in such a conservative society as well as a much
longer sidebar detailing the criminalization of homosexuality and other acts of “depravity.” A taboo lesbian romance destroyed by
the repressive government is told in flashback. “I still don’t understand why they hate us so much” one of the lesbians in the
story says plaintively in voice over. This and more serves to enlighten Evey to the point where she becomes an unlikely ally for V.
As Portman (who has a gorgeous head of hair shaved onscreen) plays the rebel in training Evey, her political awakening is
believable (helped by Portman’s innate emotional sensitivity) but not nearly as compelling as the story of the charismatic V.
Weaving, who appears throughout wearing the Guy Fawkes mask, is left to use his richly resonant voice (so at odds with the Chop
Socky stuff) to give what is basically an audio performance (not unlike Claude Rains in The Invisible Man). An assortment of
expert British actors round out the cast including Steven Rea (less irritating than usual), John Hurt and gay actor Stephen Fry as
the television host. The movie, the first for director James McTiegue, is beautifully shot (the last before his death) by Adrien
Biddle and has a lush musical score by Dario Marianelli (“Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones appropriately plays over the
end credits).
Though it’s stuffed to the gills with cliché characters and stock situations, and cynical as I am, I decided in the final analysis to
overlook the many sources that the material draws from and decide instead that V for Vendetta is another great cautionary tale (as
the film opens America has collapsed as a super power) about citizens ceding too much control to their government. The movie
certainly leaves no doubt for the viewer about what they should do after seeing it (Stand up! Fight back! Fight EVERYTHING!) --
though I'm not sure if the gay repression/torture sequences will speak to mainstream audiences (though I would like to think so).
Whether this political and cultural allegory of a movie will serve to inspire audiences into new ways of thinking – as some of its
predecessors have – also remains to be seen. But based on current circumstances, one can hope.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The best thing about The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things, the film version of the J.T. LeRoy “memoir” is knowing as
you go into the movie that it’s a complete fabrication. Neither the childhood depicted here nor the latter teenage years as a gay
hustler of J.T. LeRoy ever existed. Without that foreknowledge, the story of this little seven year-old boy would be unbearable as
it’s a horror story cataloguing seemingly every indignity a child can suffer. The movie is well directed by Asia Argento (daughter of
Italian horror mesiter Dario who helmed Suspiria) who also plays the drug and drink addled prostitute mother of J.T. but the gritty
material is so enthralled with the base possibilities and extremes of human behavior that it’s the equivalent of an anxiety attack.
One sits through this movie as an act of will, hopeful that the sun will come out once and for all for that kid (and eventually for
the audience) but it never does. T-shirts proclaiming “I sat through the entire 97 minutes of The Heart is Deceitful Above All
Things and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” should be a mandatory badge of honor (of sorts) worn by survivors of this attack dog of
a movie. If there is such a thing as serial cinema abuse this is it.