Welcome to a new post series: a particularly subjective look at specific scenes in Film and Television that I simply have to skip.
Why can't I watch them? For a number of varying reasons that I intend to explore, hopefully opening out my deconstruction to cover the greater issues they represent. Why they make me uncomfortable?Is it purely a subjective response? is it simply inappropriate or poorly done? I hope you will be at least mildly intrigued as I rhapsodize about the risque, the uncomfortable and the just plain bad.
So, without further ado...
1) ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA (1984): Rape.
In the era of the Hays code – a rigid set of “Christian” principles
by which Hollywood films were vetted from the mid-30s to the mid-60s – most
“suggestive” content, including any direct references to “pregnancy” or any
kiss that lasted longer than 3 seconds, was forbidden from being shown. Having
two people, covered by a duvet, lying next to each other in bed was too much. Depictions
of rape, it goes without saying, were completely out of the question. However,
as a facet of the real world, directors managed to somehow implicitly suggest
the event, and a good deal of its trauma, through highly imaginative means. You
do not need to be told, for example, what has befallen the female protagonist
in Orson Welles’ A Touch of Evil at
the hands of the criminal gang, though nothing is shown on screen or even
directly referenced in the script. The lighting, the editing, the
“invasiveness” of the figures as they hang over the camera and gradually fill
the screen with their presence… these give you all the emotional prompts you
require. The shadow still hangs heavily, in spite of its veiled nature.
By the fact of their Italian origin - and their introduction
into the American marketplace at a time when filmmakers were actively beginning
to bend, or even outright defy, the Code - the early works of Sergio Leone avoided much of this
censorship. Many were horrified by the direct, brutal dispatch of foes [with no
cut-away between the gunshot and the impact] and the broken, bloodied
characters, but likely some were even more put-out by his increasingly
unvarnished scenes of sexual violence. While the scene itself is not
graphically sexual, the sight of the psychotic mercenary Frank pawing an
underdressed - and clearly uncomfortable Jill - while he amusedly gloats on how
she would do “anything” to keep her dead husband’s legacy alive leaves no room
for doubt. His next film, ‘Giu la Testa’ (1971) gave up all pretence, and had a
woman visibly raped by Rod Steiger’s amoral, vengeful Juan in the first 15
minutes of the film. No illusions here, this isn’t a pleasant scene… but what
makes it slightly more bearable than my chosen example is a) its brevity and b)
the lack of emotional investment you have in either character at this point in
the film.
Once Upon A Time In
America was Leone’s final and - in its original intended form - longest
film. The scene is so long… so brutal. She cries and struggles.
The camera just sits there, like a handheld abandoned by its owner, blankly
recording her responses in an artless, uncropped frame. There’s no music; nothing
to soften the blow or distance you from the encounter. You feel like you are
there, and you can do nothing. The scene does not end until the act itself is
complete. I could not tell you how long it lasts apart from: too long.
This would be an unpleasant, skippable scene in any movie. Its placement here both
damages my film-watching experience while, perversely, proving the coherence
and craft of the rest of the movie. Let
me explain. America is an
uncomfortable film from the outset. Suggestions of sexualized violence are
there from the opening scene; the unadorned depictions of adolescent sexuality
may likely make you feel uneasy. It’s very violent, in general. And yet… much
of the film is a subtle, gently paced character study. You follow Noodles [Robert de Niro], a career
criminal from the impoverished Lower East Side, and the evolution of his
undying admiration for Deborah [Elizabeth McGovern], who is rendered unattainable
by the class divide. You get the impression that he is not entirely comfortable
with the criminal lifestyle that seems to have been pre-ordained for him. While
some of the things he does are profoundly destructive, we still find ourselves
oddly sympathetic for him in a way we simply don’t for his more charismatic
accomplice Max: he seems to enjoy all this too much. At the end of the day, his
loyalty to his friends and his ceaseless love for Deborah are what underpin all
his actions, rather than avarice or egomania. Noodles is not a good man. Nor,
does the film suggest, an irredeemable one. It is this, in many respects that
makes the scene in question, halfway into an already feature-length picture, so
awful. In the run up to the scene, I could see the warning signs – Deborah’s rejection
of him, the apologetic but chaste kiss that seems to represent a final
alienation for Noodles – and I found myself talking to the screen, begging De
Niro’s character not to go where he seemed to be heading. I did not realise how
much I already had invested in the two characters. As a result, the brutality
is also felt as complete heartbreak. To its credit, where I had walked out of
the grim Tyrannosaur during a
similarly vicious scene, I kept watching Leone’s film to the end. In context,
it engendered real sadness and grief and felt believable in the long character
schema drawn through the film. There is a degree
of recovery for both characters, but it is slow, hesitant and credible.
Everything is not fine, but people
have grown and adapted. I felt pretty distressed, to be frank, but I still had
to know where these characters went.
It’s Sergio Leone: he lingers on everything. As well as the long rape scene, there is also a scene
where somebody stirs his coffee, the only soundtrack being the spoon’s grating
transit around the cup, for nearly a minute. Near the beginning of the film, a boy
has been told that one of the girls in his block will take his virginity for
the price of a choux bun. We sit and watch as he waits impatiently on the
stairs, gradually becoming distracted, and starting with a hesitant lick of the
icing, eventually abandons all pretence and eats the cake instead: No music; no
camera movement; no cutting. The scene’s patience as it reaffirms his innocence
– choosing his own nature above an oppressive, prescient “rite of passage” – in
many respects justifies the apparent voyeurism of much of the rest of the
movie. Everything in this film seems dealt with in the same way, and is thus
given equal significance.
It ain’t a snappily-paced picture, I’ll give you that.
Truth be told, I don’t enjoy this film very much. I do,
however, admire it greatly. It does exactly what it sets out to: deliver a
tragic tale of life, death, heartbreak and regret – the way time changes people
– while largely avoiding sentiment or emotional manipulation of the audience.
The dialogue is sparing, as with all Leone films, and you are never told how to feel. The film is cold, in many respects; its direction
alienated. The characters aren’t. As gorgeous and emotive as Ennio Morricone’s
operatic score is, it feels more at odds here than in any other film. Leone’s
earlier works are far more “operatic” and “comic book” in tone (I do not mean
this as a criticism). This one feels too achingly slow, too unflinchingly impartial
to the story and characters; too intimate and unceremonious for this kind of
treatment. The score – full of nostalgic nods and interacting themes - suggests
a grand stage entertainment with its own neat internal logic. The film offers,
on the contrary, a consistent, slow and real-feeling unravelling: only time and
distance can provide this (and Leone does). He seems determined, as I mentioned
before, for the viewer to make of the characters what they want; Morricone’s
score seems to inappropriately offer you an emotional response. And yet, paradoxically,
it may be the theatrical cushion of the score that stops this elegantly crafted
film from being completely unwatchable to me. Morricone’s score is completely absent from most of the pivotal “acts” of
the film - the sexual assault included - and while this certainly enhances their impact, it also makes parts of the film really tough viewing.
Join us next time as we head for more comedic ground (I promise!) ...
