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. 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 it 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!). 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—remains to be seen. But based on current circumstances, one can hope.
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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 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.