A History of Violence
Can violence ever solve a problem, or is it just a symptom of something darker below the surface? Did any white knight ever slay a dragon without bloodshed? A History of Violence is the story of Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen), a family man residing in the small town of Millbrook, Indiana, who after repelling an assault in his diner with lethal and precise force, is labelled by the media as an "American hero". Following this publicity, he is provoked by an icy mobster named Carl Fogarty (Ed Harris), who is convinced that Tom Stall is actually Joey Cusack, a mob killer from Philadelphia who had gone into hiding many years ago.
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Directed by David Cronenberg, A History of Violence tackles the very realistic themes of violence and deception and how they affect a family--namely the Stalls, which also include Tom's wife, Edie (Maria Bello), teenage son, Jack (Ashton Holmes), and the child daughter, Sarah (Heidi Hayes). A History of Violence deliberately plays upon the audience's expectations (about Tom and the world he inhabits), using a pervading shadow of doubt to undermine stability and trust; this parallels the family's collective state of mind in the latter half of the movie. Even the opening scene--featuring a pair of men leaving a dusty motel and on the road--is superficially presented as innocuous at first. And yet, there is a pervading sense of unease, from the moment we see the cautious tracking of the car as it rolls ever so slightly to the office door and the two men's empty actions and small talk devoid of sentiment. This dread is paid off when we then see the brutal scene of carnage they have wrought with their psychopathic indifference. Cutting away to Tom's home town, the everyday drama of this Mayberry-esque village is so steeped in normalcy, one might be inclined to forget the horrors depicted at the start, if only to distance one's mind from the viciousness. A History of Violence treats Millbrook and Tom's life as one where there are instances of violence beneath the surface--such as the looming altercation between Jack and a school bully--but different from the savage violence of the hard-edged cities, full of greedy criminals who care nothing for the kind of wholesome, American values represented in Tom's domain. That changes when the same two killers come into Tom's diner intending to rob him, and then proceed to threaten to do violence to one of his employees, which provokes Tom to intervene. Tom looks like a capable man, but there's no indication he would have the skills of a warrior that he shows in dispatching his opponents with extreme efficiency before hand. After the event, Tom's community labels him as a hero, having vanquished the incursion of this evil violence into this tight knit community, one where people greet one another on the street by name. But Tom is reluctant to embrace this mantle; when interviewed by a reporter who approaches him at his house, he replies with few words, avoiding eye contact with the camera, and even seems ashamed. Is Tom merely being modest, or is there something he's hiding?
There is an idea etched throughout A History of Violence that violence itself has a rippling effect, one which destroys the innocence, like a spiritual poison. Tom's treatment as a hero gives Jack mixed messages, who in turn sees this response as a sign of acceptance by his father to quash his schoolyard tormentor in a fight. Even as Tom tries to lecture his son about the futility of violence, a sarcastic response by Jack is met with a slap in the face, disintegrating his authority to moralize about violence. The violence is like a mark on Tom, one that goes hand in hand with the specter of a mystery about Tom's past once Fogarty and his criminal accomplices arrive in their ominous black Cadillac. Fogarty comes to Millbrook due to the attention lavished on Tom, another unwanted side effect of his heroism. He insists without doubt that Tom is this Joey Cusack, and menacingly lurks during his stay, accosting Edie about Tom while she is shopping at a mall, recalling Max Cady in Cape Fear. The more he persists, the greater the shadow of doubt that darkens Tom becomes, and the swelling of distrust. The integrity of the family unit is threatened by this rippling effect, and it is evident that things are being intentionally concealed from members of the family. This may be benign in intent, but it comes at the expense of the trust that is an integral part of a loving family. Even when the young Sarah awakes screaming from her nightmare about monsters, and Tom tells her there are "no such thing as monsters", he is lying to her--evidenced by the two very real "monsters" who we saw at the start of the film. The musical score of A History of Violence--composed by Howard Shore, a frequent collaborator of Cronenberg's--accents this transmutation from small town harmony (depicted with warming trumpets and lighter tones), into something more uneasy (with deeper strings and intense rhythms). Tom and Edie's relationship sours dramatically; from the first day we see them, they are flirting, even engaging in costume foreplay one night. A later love scene between the two of them is the antithesis to this playfulness; it is rough and angry, fueled by a kind of nihilistic despair. The great paradox is that what appears as an isolated incident at the diner--where Tom saves the day and is dubbed a hero--is just the catalyst which invites more strife into his world. The great question which the film teases and yet cleverly refrains from answering definitively is whether the act of heroism or the act of violence is the true reflection of Tom Stall.
Recommended for: Fans of a tense and sometimes brutal crime thriller about the rippling effects of violence on a family, and the subsequent disintegration of trust that comes with the shadow of deception.
There is an idea etched throughout A History of Violence that violence itself has a rippling effect, one which destroys the innocence, like a spiritual poison. Tom's treatment as a hero gives Jack mixed messages, who in turn sees this response as a sign of acceptance by his father to quash his schoolyard tormentor in a fight. Even as Tom tries to lecture his son about the futility of violence, a sarcastic response by Jack is met with a slap in the face, disintegrating his authority to moralize about violence. The violence is like a mark on Tom, one that goes hand in hand with the specter of a mystery about Tom's past once Fogarty and his criminal accomplices arrive in their ominous black Cadillac. Fogarty comes to Millbrook due to the attention lavished on Tom, another unwanted side effect of his heroism. He insists without doubt that Tom is this Joey Cusack, and menacingly lurks during his stay, accosting Edie about Tom while she is shopping at a mall, recalling Max Cady in Cape Fear. The more he persists, the greater the shadow of doubt that darkens Tom becomes, and the swelling of distrust. The integrity of the family unit is threatened by this rippling effect, and it is evident that things are being intentionally concealed from members of the family. This may be benign in intent, but it comes at the expense of the trust that is an integral part of a loving family. Even when the young Sarah awakes screaming from her nightmare about monsters, and Tom tells her there are "no such thing as monsters", he is lying to her--evidenced by the two very real "monsters" who we saw at the start of the film. The musical score of A History of Violence--composed by Howard Shore, a frequent collaborator of Cronenberg's--accents this transmutation from small town harmony (depicted with warming trumpets and lighter tones), into something more uneasy (with deeper strings and intense rhythms). Tom and Edie's relationship sours dramatically; from the first day we see them, they are flirting, even engaging in costume foreplay one night. A later love scene between the two of them is the antithesis to this playfulness; it is rough and angry, fueled by a kind of nihilistic despair. The great paradox is that what appears as an isolated incident at the diner--where Tom saves the day and is dubbed a hero--is just the catalyst which invites more strife into his world. The great question which the film teases and yet cleverly refrains from answering definitively is whether the act of heroism or the act of violence is the true reflection of Tom Stall.
Recommended for: Fans of a tense and sometimes brutal crime thriller about the rippling effects of violence on a family, and the subsequent disintegration of trust that comes with the shadow of deception.