Man Bites DogThe world is comprised of wolves and sheep; and as we know, wolves may wear sheep's clothing. Man Bites Dog is a nihilistic mockumentary, a violent horror film, and at times--shockingly--the blackest of comedies. A film crew follows a serial killer around the streets of an unnamed city, on trains and on the streets, to his favorite bar, and his family's convenience store, and more. The killer is Benoît (Benoît Poelvoorde)--or Ben for short--and between moments of terrible violence, he expounds on his warped perception of the world. He is a bag of hot air, and appears no worse than that on the surface. Yet as his unfortunate victims learn, the truth is far, far more horrible.
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Man Bites Dog was rated NC-17 when it debuted in 1992; it was controversial on release, and with good reason. Not because challenging or violent films are "dangerous", as some would have us believe, but because films like this one openly defy easy classification. The film is made to make you uncomfortable, because the subject matter is uncomfortable. From the very beginning, Ben ambushes a woman on a train, drags her into a compartment and strangles her to death. Next, he is explaining to the camera crew that is filming him about the "science" of weighing down corpses with a ballast before chucking them into the water at the bottom of a rock quarry. He discusses his terrible killings like someone talking about putting together a detailed miniature diorama or building a bookcase from scratch. It's unsettling, and disturbingly, kind of funny. But the humor is always of the awkward variety, and that's important. You never once feel like you have permission to laugh at the misfortune of Ben's victims, despite the unorthodox and even bizarre juxtaposition of violence and absurdity. This is largely because of the cinéma vérité style in which Man Bites Dog is shot. This and the decision to shoot in black and white add a realistic dimension to the movie that amplifies the violence. It is also a savvy decision for this altogether low-budget independent film by Rémy Belvaux--who co-directs and wrote the story, as well as stars as the director of the camera crew in the movie, also named Rémy. There's something Alfred Hitchcock said about why he chose to shoot Psycho in black and white, that he was afraid that to see the film in color would make the violence all too shocking. I think that, as with Hitchcock, the filmmakers of Man Bites Dog are fully aware that it is, in fact, the opposite which is true. When you shoot, say, blood in color, a part of you always knows that it's fake...that it's just red food coloring or something, which takes the tension out of the experience on a subconscious level. Conversely, with a film like Man Bites Dog, the violence--along with the documentarian-like conceit--informs your subconscious mind that this is "real", even if it isn't, because it looks like the kind of documentaries shot the same way. It's positively chilling. The general idea of this film is that someone, probably Rémy, had the terribly unfortunate idea to capture the "true essence" of a serial killer by way of a "fly on the wall" documentary. What follows speaks to both the inexorable involvement of the documentarian in the subject matter, and our own complicit nature in being a part of the content as its audience. Consider why people watch documentaries. Education about the subject matter? Sure, but in some cases, with more exploitative fare--like the story of Ben--there is a more insidious element...a vicarious thrill at experiencing something unacceptable for ourselves. Why is a show like "Tiger King" so popular? Because it's outrageous, because it deals with crime. Because for some, there is an urge to experience that which is wrong. What does that say about human nature?
Man Bites Dog makes no apologies for Ben. It's bad enough that he's a serial killer--and an unrepentant one--but he's also a thief, a bigot, and a drunk. Capturing Ben in the eye of Rémy's camera is to view a man who is a walking condemnation; of what, that's open to some interpretation. He is pleasant with his family, but this is a facade. His mother believes that he can do no wrong, and one has to conclude that he has become entitled because he was spoiled as a child. This speaks, I think, to his unabashed targeting of the elderly; he finds that they often have money that he can steal after he's murdered them. He also explains why he likes to target a postman at the beginning of each month, dressing in the postal outfit afterward, and using the mail to find where these elderly people live. Ben never exhibits any anxiety about killing; it's as if it is a part of his very nature--like Alex from A Clockwork Orange, but taken to the nth degree. After he ambushes a night watchman, he complains about the victim being black on the basis that it's "harder to see them" when he tries to sneak up on them. He then flies into a racist monologue, as crass as it is offensive. No, unlike Alex, Ben is deliberately made to be loathsome at every turn. What is surprising, then, is how his behavior infects the film crew. After one such killing of an elderly woman, Ben invites them to go eat mussels at a seaside restaurant two hours away. Rémy start to make excuses, aware that they shouldn't get friendly with Ben. Nevertheless, their resistances wear down and ultimately they join him, where he berates the server and vomits all over himself. And little by little, they start to become involved in the carnage until they are all but accomplices to his depravity. In the most ironic scene in Man Bites Dog, Ben finds himself in a shootout with another killer--or possibly an Italian gangster, it's a little unclear. One of the film crew is killed, and when Ben finally corners his opponent, they discover that the shootist has his own film crew (although using a TV camera instead) following him around. Ben offers to let Rémy shoot the crew in retaliation...and he does. (One wonders just how many murderers there are in the world of this movie that have their own paparazzi in tow.)
The implication of this transition of the film crew into monsters subordinate to Ben could be taken many ways. For example, it could imply that merely being in the presence of traumatic and destructive events forces us to become monsters as well. This plays off of our inherent nature to adapt to our environment, even when that environment is damaging. As the saying goes, "beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. For when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you". Alternately, Man Bites Dog could easily be a condemnation of a society that is willing to accommodate a monster just because he is charismatic. (Charismatic, but not likable.) Ben is opinionated, emphatic, and even magnetic. Despite himself, he has managed to draw together a small cadre of people--including a girlfriend named Valérie (Valérie Parent), a flautist with an orchestra--that appear to know of his sinister hobby, yet stay by his side regardless. Why? The promise of wealth? His "interesting personality"? (Unlikely.) I think it is like with the film crew: people make excuses for bad behavior when they feel accepted by someone with charisma. It's why people congregate around and encourage bullies in school, rather than stand up to them and call them out on their victimization. We vote for politicians that we probably wouldn't be caught dead with as friends if they weren't so darned popular or confident. It's the same with Ben. Little by little, Rémy and the rest feel accepted by this maniac and forget themselves. This is the danger with emboldening lunatic leaders and not standing up to their tyranny, their insanity. People ask how someone like Hitler could rise to power; see Man Bites Dog and it becomes a little more clear, and a lot more terrifying.
Recommended for: Fans of a chilling exploration of how people tend to not just abide but justify monstrousness because of the desire to be included in the glow of their charisma. Man Bites Dog--titled It Happened Near Your Home in French--is intensely disturbing, a kind of terrifying cross between Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer and Big Man Japan. Suffice to say, only those with a strong stomach and a clear understanding of what this movie is (a critique of monstrousness, not a celebration of it) is essential to the experience.
Man Bites Dog makes no apologies for Ben. It's bad enough that he's a serial killer--and an unrepentant one--but he's also a thief, a bigot, and a drunk. Capturing Ben in the eye of Rémy's camera is to view a man who is a walking condemnation; of what, that's open to some interpretation. He is pleasant with his family, but this is a facade. His mother believes that he can do no wrong, and one has to conclude that he has become entitled because he was spoiled as a child. This speaks, I think, to his unabashed targeting of the elderly; he finds that they often have money that he can steal after he's murdered them. He also explains why he likes to target a postman at the beginning of each month, dressing in the postal outfit afterward, and using the mail to find where these elderly people live. Ben never exhibits any anxiety about killing; it's as if it is a part of his very nature--like Alex from A Clockwork Orange, but taken to the nth degree. After he ambushes a night watchman, he complains about the victim being black on the basis that it's "harder to see them" when he tries to sneak up on them. He then flies into a racist monologue, as crass as it is offensive. No, unlike Alex, Ben is deliberately made to be loathsome at every turn. What is surprising, then, is how his behavior infects the film crew. After one such killing of an elderly woman, Ben invites them to go eat mussels at a seaside restaurant two hours away. Rémy start to make excuses, aware that they shouldn't get friendly with Ben. Nevertheless, their resistances wear down and ultimately they join him, where he berates the server and vomits all over himself. And little by little, they start to become involved in the carnage until they are all but accomplices to his depravity. In the most ironic scene in Man Bites Dog, Ben finds himself in a shootout with another killer--or possibly an Italian gangster, it's a little unclear. One of the film crew is killed, and when Ben finally corners his opponent, they discover that the shootist has his own film crew (although using a TV camera instead) following him around. Ben offers to let Rémy shoot the crew in retaliation...and he does. (One wonders just how many murderers there are in the world of this movie that have their own paparazzi in tow.)
The implication of this transition of the film crew into monsters subordinate to Ben could be taken many ways. For example, it could imply that merely being in the presence of traumatic and destructive events forces us to become monsters as well. This plays off of our inherent nature to adapt to our environment, even when that environment is damaging. As the saying goes, "beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. For when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you". Alternately, Man Bites Dog could easily be a condemnation of a society that is willing to accommodate a monster just because he is charismatic. (Charismatic, but not likable.) Ben is opinionated, emphatic, and even magnetic. Despite himself, he has managed to draw together a small cadre of people--including a girlfriend named Valérie (Valérie Parent), a flautist with an orchestra--that appear to know of his sinister hobby, yet stay by his side regardless. Why? The promise of wealth? His "interesting personality"? (Unlikely.) I think it is like with the film crew: people make excuses for bad behavior when they feel accepted by someone with charisma. It's why people congregate around and encourage bullies in school, rather than stand up to them and call them out on their victimization. We vote for politicians that we probably wouldn't be caught dead with as friends if they weren't so darned popular or confident. It's the same with Ben. Little by little, Rémy and the rest feel accepted by this maniac and forget themselves. This is the danger with emboldening lunatic leaders and not standing up to their tyranny, their insanity. People ask how someone like Hitler could rise to power; see Man Bites Dog and it becomes a little more clear, and a lot more terrifying.
Recommended for: Fans of a chilling exploration of how people tend to not just abide but justify monstrousness because of the desire to be included in the glow of their charisma. Man Bites Dog--titled It Happened Near Your Home in French--is intensely disturbing, a kind of terrifying cross between Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer and Big Man Japan. Suffice to say, only those with a strong stomach and a clear understanding of what this movie is (a critique of monstrousness, not a celebration of it) is essential to the experience.