Two Essays on Film

For some reason, the last two essays I've written that I've actually been proud of in any sense were both on film. Both will be reproduced here, for your perusal and eventual ecstasy caused by my pseudo philosophic/intellectual musings. One is on "Dead Man Walking" and the other a comparative piece on "Amelie" and "Rushmore," respectively.

Left or Right—We’re all Human

The question of whether or not to allow the death penalty has been heatedly debated for as long as anyone alive today can remember. It’s a testament to the polarizing effect of this issue that no meaningful, decisive action has really been taken by the government on it. The federal government meekly makes it an issue of “federalism” whenever it can, while no federal death penalty exists, other than for treason. The states, taking the example of federal “buck-passing,” allow the issue to go directly to voters by way of putting it directly on ballots, instead of putting themselves at the mercy of angry supporters on either side of the issue. So, instead of a coherent death penalty policy throughout the country, the United States is torn on the issue; while many states have no death penalty, others have a death penalty not actively used. Still others use it often, and in some very dubious situations, like Texas. It could be this model that Tim Robbins followed when making “Dead Man Walking”—the arguments of either side of the issue are both well represented, but ultimately moot points in the story. Much like the issue itself, it is up to the individual to decide which political philosophy is more resonant throughout the story. However, the movie itself, by including both sides in such a manner, forces the thinking viewer to come to only one reasonable conclusion: that the death penalty itself is not a matter for partisan political bickering, but simply more senseless killing.
The government, ironically the true hand of death in the story, remains largely faceless throughout the story. Much like their position in real life, they simply carry out the will of the people. When sister Helen asks the “left foot” guard how he feels about seeing the deaths of these men, his immediate response is simply that it has no effect on him—he’s simply doing his job. No one responsible for carrying out the sentence ever seems to hold a position one way or the other. This sense of cold, unfeeling duty is utterly apparent in the emotionally tense final meeting of Mathew and his family. In the final moments of their time together, they are not allowed one final embrace, due, as the warden says, to “security concerns.” That the face of the government could be so cold towards the very essence of humanity, a mother’s love for her child is the manifestation of absolute apathy towards life that is the government’s modus operandi throughout.
The balance of political philosophy in this movie is quite subtle, but apparent when one attempts to discern which basic argument the movie is taking. While Mathew begins the movie portrayed as the very common victim of the system, by the end he has turned into what the courts and the victim’s of his crime had always claimed: a murderer and a rapist. This evolution from commonly used liberal anti-death penalty example to perfect conservative pro-death penalty canon fodder is actually what makes this film’s message so clear. Mathew begins the movie as a self-styled victim; a cynical defeatist who feels bad for himself, but most importantly, he claims he is innocent. While the viewer may not like him at this point, it’s still better that he goes free than be killed senselessly. Throughout the movie we slowly learn of his responsibility for the horrendous crimes he was rightly convicted of. More importantly, however, through this journey he is humanized. The viewer no longer sees the angry young man that is grudgingly viewed as innocent, but the soft-spoken, scared, endearing rapist and murderer who cares more for his mother and brothers than he does for himself. To go from an unlikable innocent to a highly human murderer and rapist is the shifting duality that makes the actual political stance of the film a moot point. Because he fits neither ideology, Mathew must be seen as a human, not as a propagandist’s tool. It is this humanism that ultimately shines through in the movie. This speaks louder than the conflicting ideologies that the movie preaches. If Mathew fit into both sides of the argument, and still evoke sympathy from the viewer, than the stock points of argumentation of either side can have no merit.
The parents of the victims also play an important role in muting these dueling ideologies. The first impression they make on the viewer is that of an enemy to Mathew’s cause. While the viewer can still sympathize with their loss, Mathew’s claims of innocence mean the viewer sees them as misguided, narrow, and ignorant. However, they too are humanized in a way that muddies political talking points. The death penalty is predicated upon the idea that justice is done once the murderer is murdered. “An eye for an eye,” as the Old Testament puts it. However, we realize that in the case of murder, there is no answer. As Mathew says himself in his final speech, he hopes that his helps the Delacroix’s and the Percy’s deal with their grief. But this is ironic, as we realize after that it has not helped anyone involved. Mr. Delacroix has still lost his wife and his son—Mathew’s death didn’t help any of his current problems.
Further, the way in which the Percy family treats Sister Prejean with complete disrespect when they come to the realization that she hasn’t “switched sides,” as they call it, is more evidence of the apolitical nature of the story. The wording of this cannot be an accident. The Percy family represents rightist side of the argument, and is thus portrayed as inconsolably, hurt and very narrow-minded. Sister Prejean represents the concern for human life that is the heart of this film. She actively seeks out both sides, trying to help everyone involved the best way she can. In this capacity, she also acts as the medium through which we view the story. Anyone, especially the government, who treats her badly is ultimately not meant to be seen as a “good,” or at least worthy of sympathy. She has no interest but the alleviation of pain for everyone, and thus we immediately like her character.
The scene in which Mathew’s death sentence is carried out is filled with imagery and symbolism that is only decipherable when taken as a whole. Mathew’s final speech, one of love, not hatred, comes only after every possible means of for him to escape death have been exhausted. However, he still asks for forgiveness, and his death is still the makings of a martyr. He consigns to die so that others may gain some comfort. Which of course, the viewer sees later is not the case, further adding to the senselessness of his death. He states in that speech that, “killing is wrong, no matter who does, whether its me or ya’ll or the government.” The vision of Hope and Walter as a reflection in the window, watching over Mathew’s demise is meant to show how death only begets more death; that both scenarios are still murder, regardless of circumstance. The fact that Mathew’s body is much in the same position as Hope and Walter’s, as well as a reference to his martyrdom, only serve to reinforce the senselessness of all three of them dying.
With all of this in mind, it becomes clear that this movie is really not political at all. It’s simply human. This movie can use both ideologies to serve its own purposes because, as is shown, this is not a propagandist’s tale, but a story of death and the senseless destruction of families because of it. It does not contend to say what is right or wrong about either side of the argument, but to show the effects of death in any form. In that sense, it accomplishes its goal: to show the futility of murder justifying murder, because either way death is the same.