Men who Hate Women

PLEASE BE ADVISED this post contains reference to and graphic discussion about rape within a film. If this would be upsetting to you, please do not read it.

SPOILERS.

Of all the movies I have seen this year, I have to say that The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was the most disturbing and difficult to watch. Like the few other Swedish films that have gained popularity in North America (ie Let the Right One In), this is scheduled for a Hollywood re-make. Which is a huge mistake. As it usually is. Let’s just say the big filmmakers in Hollywood don’t give much of a shit for nuance, and they all have a stick up their ass about sex, and graphic sex, and have a talent for turning on-screen intimacy into ludicrous, kitschy b-grade porn. Which would be the greatest, and most disrespectful and disgusting tragedy a re-make could suffer.

The original title, in Swedish, is translated as “Men who Hate Women.” And it is entirely a movie about violence towards women. It fits into a genre populated with classic titles like Se7en and Silence of the Lambs, but never has a more honest and disturbing discourse about sexual violence towards women been shown to a popular audience. I once heard someone say that the history of serial killers is all about violence towards women. I’ve yet to hear a compelling argument to counter this statement.

Perhaps the most upsetting part of the film is the violence and sexual assaults of strong women. Women who refuse to be victims despite being continually victimized. These women aren’t “rape victims” in that they challenge our cultural assumptions about what a rape victim looks like: weak. Obviously this is not true, a victim of rape could be anybody, even a man. The movie, in many ways, shatters stereotypes about the kind of women who suffer at the hands of sexual abuse. Yet it sheds light on the troubling reinforced stereotypes of rape victims as well.

Lisbeth Salander is the movie’s female protagonist. She is striking and edgy, androgynous and a brilliant computer hacker with a violent (and mysterious) past. One of the first scenes we see her in she is reporting to a new “guardian” figure as is required since she was institutionalized in the past and now must adhere to rules governing her freedom.

Immediately it is obvious the guy is an insane pervert. He abuses his authority and asks her personal and graphic questions about sex, and demands she co-operate. He immediately revokes her freedom and autonomy by taking control of her finances, despite the fact she is financially independent and makes her own money. He is slimy and disgusting and revolting. He is a misogynist fucking pig to the most extreme level. But he’s not a caricature. He is very real. People like this do exist and do get to prey on those who don’t hold positions of authority. It is terrifying.

Lisbeth’s second meeting with him she asks for money to purchase a new computer, as hers was broken by a gang of thugs who spilled beer on her (she gets away by threatening them with a broken glass bottle, and manages to scare the shit out of an entire group of ‘badass’ guys). But her guardian won’t give her the money, and forces her to give him a blowjob in exchange. The scene is excruciating to watch. It is disgusting. Lisbeth is a smart, strong woman who should not be forced to submit to this degradation, especially since her capacity to defend herself was just amply demonstrated in the subway. But she submits, because he is in the position of power. The dynamics of power and the culling of Lisbeth’s strength and degradation of Lisbeth herself is painful.

Afterward, we watch as she washes her mouth out with antibacterial soap. She is rewarded with a cheque less than the amount she requested. Another power-play and slap in the face. Her guardian is putting a value to Lisbeth, and reducing her to a sexual object.

As an audience member, I found myself, after asking myself the question how is it that fuckers like this – perverted and disgusting people – can rise to the top and be allowed to take sexual privilege with those who must bend to their power (and Lisbeth in this situation is not in a credible position to make claims against her guardian – her past has somehow stripped her of her credibility, which is monumentally unjust and yet another daily occurrence in the world), but why Lisbeth, given her amazing skills at hacking into even the most locked down computers and systems, never tried to do so to her guardian upon their first meeting? Doubtless this man would have something incriminating in his files. Child pornography comes to mind.

My asking why Lisbeth didn’t do so is not me asking “why didn’t she prevent her own sexual assault” (don’t make me go into victim blaming) – let’s make that clear. My question is why did the writers choose to take the sexual assault to a disturbing and violent conclusion that they, in keeping true to Lisbeth’s strengths and skills, could have prevented?

Gratuitous sexual violence? Rape-revenge? Catharsis? Apparent Justice?

I’m not entirely certain. And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. Does it add a certain dimension to the film? Yes and no.

The scene I am talking about, of course, is the culmination of the sexual abuse Lisbeth endures at the hands of her guardian into full-fledged, fucked up, violent rape.

Lisbeth arrives at his house to ask for more money. He brings her to the bedroom and immediately punches her so hard in the face she falls, unconscious, onto the bed, which he then handcuffs her to and ties her legs down. He proceeds to beat and rape her (anally, it is later implied) for two fucking hours. Of course, we only get to see an agonizing five or so minutes of this.

I have seen a lot of rape scenes in cinema. This was the most difficult to watch. It was profoundly upsetting and horrifying. This kind of violence shouldn’t be happening.

If one good thing can be said about this scene (other than the disturbingly great acting), is that it was hopefully jarring enough to some audience members to wake them the fuck up. This happens. This is a reality. This is something that needs to be addressed.

After her guardian has had enough of raping her, he lets Lisbeth go. Without her money.

But it turns out, Lisbeth had a camera in her back (which does make sense – she works for a security company and thus has extensive knowledge about and access to such equipment) and got more than she bargained for.

Perhaps the reason the writers (of both film and movie) decided to have this act happen is to allow for the cathartic, though morally blurry, rape revenge. Which, I have to admit, is disgustingly psychologically satisfying to watch. There is something, probably, wrong with that.

Lisbeth returns to the surprised house of her guardian armed with a taser, her camera, duct tape, and a tattoo gun.

She tases her guardian in his neck.

She ties him up and gags him with the duct tape.

She rapes him in the ass with a dildo until he cries, and kicks him viciously in the kidneys several times.

She puts on the video she got when he raped her, and forces him to watch the entire two hours of it, and afterward sets her terms: she controls her finances, he never contacts her, after one year he recommends her autonomy. Or the tape gets exposed.

Once he agrees, she tattoos onto his chest in large writing:

I AM A RAPIST, SADIST PIG

Which is perhaps the best part.

But what is unnerving is the the only way the film offers to meet and overcome the power and violence of rapists is to use that same power and violence against them. Yes, he was deserving of every minute of it. But it remains morally ambiguous. Additionally, it is implied that Lisbeth cannot go the police or any kind of institution that professes to protect and administer justice because a) they wouldn’t take her seriously and b) they would not do enough. The system is broken and does not help victims of this kind of violence. Lisbeth works outside of it, and she is already an outcast from society because she is still held accountable for former violence.

Harriet Vanger, the film’s “missing girl,” is also a strong woman who is subject to horrifying abuse that is not illuminated until the end of the film. Her disappearance decades before is connected with the ritualistic and religiously-driven, anti-Semitic murders of other women. Here the themes continue to be psychologically disturbing, as Nazi experimentation and abuses are harnessed as a vehicle for the motivation behind the killings. Harriet, it seems, knew something.

Harriet, it is also revealed at the end of the film, was a survivor. Her father and elder brother were the ones killing women – and (surprise), her elder brother was still at it after their father’s death, keeping women in his sterile basement to torture, rape, and kill them. He kept meticulous photographic records of each woman he killed. And, he expresses a well-worn sentiment about his victims: they were nobodies, immigrants and prostitutes. Nobody misses them. A sad and fucked-up truth that allows countless serial killers to get away with committing multiple, sick crimes.

But both Harriet’s brother, Martin, and their father sexually abused Harriet. Violently and together. It was their father who initiated Martin into the world of strangling women to death (there is profound commentary here about indoctrination into violence and the violence of acceptable masculine culture, and the acceptability of violence as a way to assert power. Although it is not in the context of this film, see my Fight Club post if you’re interested). But one day, Harriet has had enough, and runs towards the lake bordering their family property in hopes of escaping using the boat. Her father chases her down and brags, drunkenly, about the women he’s killed. Harriet hits him over the head with an oar, and then holds him under the water until he drowns – pushing the boat out to the lake to make it look like an accident.

But Martin sees this happen. So, fearing her life, Harriet fled. Lisbeth and Mikael Blomkvist (the main character & male protagonist) find Harriet and, of course, bring her home to her elated uncle.

Lisbeth chases a fleeing Martin down the freeway, and Martin ends up crashing his car and burning alive with Lisbeth watches and does nothing.

Mikael later asks Lisbeth why she did not help Martin.

Because, Lisbeth explains, he was a man who hated women, who was sick and disgusting. Do not victimize him, he made his choice – he chose what to be despite what his father may or may not have done to him.

And this is the crux of the film: what is justice to crimes that are so disgustingly and outrageously unjust (rape, murder, torture, being a Nazi, crimes committed against an entire group of people, genocide, incest, sexually abusing one’s child, sexually abusing ANY child)? Is it really just about equalizing – an eye for an eye? About women being violent to violent men in order to level the playing field? Perhaps, but more likely not. There is no real answer given to the question, just an uncomfortable stance on both the main character’s parts.

Lisbeth was, it appears, morally fine with watching Martin burn to death. He deserved it.

Mikael claims he would have tried to help Martin, and that his violence and insanity was mostly due to a troubled childhood.

Somewhere in between these two realms might lie an answer. Until then, the film poses a reality: women are sexually abused, tortured, and raped by authority figures including their own families (perhaps especially their own families) on a regular basis. Authority figures meant to help them more often than not don’t, or can’t, because their hands are tied by flawed systems built and maintained by a culture of masculine violence. The only way these women can escape is often through their death, or meeting force with force, because there is no real institution to truly help them escape. That, and sexual torment shreds sanity and psychological stability.

If anything, the film shouldn’t be taken as merely another crime-thriller, but as a discourse on the pervasive sexual violence against women in culture, and should raise difficult but hard-hitting questions about how this can be prevented, and how sexual offenders should be dealt with. Is justice a possibility?

There shouldn’t be a need for justice in these cases. Simply, it shouldn’t fucking happen. We should not be continuing to live in and support a culture where this is the norm.

And that, I think, is the main point of the film. To bear witness and know, acutely, this isn’t entertaining, this is upsetting, and it should not be allowed to continue.

(I’m slowly catching up on all the things I have been meaning to write about for the past two months. There will be more to come.)

The Return

The Return (2003) SPOILERS

It could be said that The Return is a mercilessly empty movie. It lacks catharsis, climax and explanation. It is an existential crisis within itself – it defies definition. It is rife with tension that is never released, and a pain that is never exorcised. It is a film of isolation and desolation. It is about the pain of fathers and sons, and the potent nostalgia of childhood and family.

The title itself, The Return, is not solid. It is not a destination. It prompts questions: where are we returning to? Where have we been? The film is filled with several potential returns, but nothing resembling a true homecoming or arrival. The entire film is fluid. It is a film of constant movement. Water and clouds are omnipresent, and the few solid monuments that do exist are rickety, dangerous and suspect.

The tower.

The tower bookends the film. The movie begins with boys jumping from a tower into water below – all except Ivan, the younger of the brothers. He alone stubbornly refuses to jump and refuses to descend. It becomes a source of shame for him – this grappling to prove himself and assert himself somehow. Ivan cannot prove himself to his peers, nor can he bring himself to admit defeat. He remains in a liminal space in between. Ivan also occupies a liminal space between childhood and manhood. He is not yet an adult, despite carrying himself so resolutely it is easy to forget he is in his early teens. His attitude it often at odds with his child-like appearance and habit of pouting with anger and bending into eventual obedience when faced with the domineering and elusive figure of his father.

The tower is also a phallic monument to masculinity. An anchor of identity in a world continuously in flux. A challenge to be surmounted and conquered – climbing the tower and leaping off should be a catharsis and validation, but Ivan resists as the film resists in delivering even a moment of satisfaction or resolution. The tower continuously looms.

Throughout the film the tower stands as the only man-made thing in a world overtaken by nature. On the island that the father takes his sons, there is nothing but decrepit, decaying buildings. Nature has infiltrated and transformed every man-made thing that once existed – save the tower which still stands and gives the climber the ability to view the entire island.

Nature is the great equalizer – it ends up taking back everything. At one point the boys catch a large fish that has taken up residence in an old, stranded boat. The boat is filled with the sea, and a fish lives inside. It is a complete reversal. Nature threatens all. Nature also is a mirror of the repression acutely felt in the film. The colours are muted, subdued – yet saturated. The dialogue between the father and the sons is stunted and caught somewhere, unable to escape. Conversations are cut short, questions are never answered. Repression is a crucial part in masculinity. Repression of emotion – except in the instance of violence or anger, when it can be used to assert power. Repression in order to fit an acceptable cultural mold.

Violence is what it boils down to. The great break in the relationship between the sons and the father. The expectation of violence is fulfilled. From the beginning, the father’s presence puts everything on edge – he is simply waiting for a chance to explode and unleash harm onto his sons. Eventually, the closest the father comes to forging an emotionally satisfying relationship with his sons is through violence. He begins to hit Andrei for being late coming back from fishing. Andrei resists, and his father grabs a hatchet and threatens to kill him, when Ivan reveals he has stolen his father’s knife and threatens to kill his father. Ivan tells his dad that he could love him – if he wasn’t so evil. He tells his father that he is nobody. His father protests this is not true. This is the catalyst that sends Ivan running to the watchtower in the middle of the island, that sends Ivan climbing to the top and locking his father below. It is what prompts Ivan to stand at the top of the tower threatening to jump – which he was unable to do before – and scream, “I can do anything!” As the audience, we expect, this is it.

Ivan’s sudden burst of rage and sudden surge of violence and power end up overwhelming his father. In an attempt to save his son, Ivan’s father climbs the outside of the tower – his eyes are wide with fear for his son’s life, and finally you can see that the father does love his sons. But he falls to his death. Everything we hope for – a catharsis, a revelation – is repressed, buried and beaten back. The moment we get a brief glimpse into the father’s inner self, his true character – the moment his mask cracks – we are rewarded with nothing.

The death of the father prematurely ends any hope of catharsis. Questions only remain. Everything about the father is unexplained. He fell from the tower, and the ocean claims his body when the boat sinks – mirroring his sons’ activities in the beginning of the film – leaping from a tower into the sea. The jovial activities of childhood culminate to this: eventual death in the most unceremonious way. The father dies repressed – his memory repressed, his love for his sons repressed. Clues to his identity that have been hinted at throughout the film (the box he digs up from the ground, for example), remain hidden and out of sight or knowledge from the sons. Untold stories that they will never know. Repressed forever. It is as if the father never existed. But his absence is so suffocating it can only be interpreted as a presence. Like Ivan, the father occupies a strange liminal space – a purgatory from which he is given no escape.

When the boys finally return to land from the island, they forget to tie up the boat and their father’s body floats out to sea in a rapidly sinking vessel. Ivan is the one to run out after the boat frantically, screaming “Papa! Papa!” – the boy who was so resistant to calling his father Dad now screams and runs to retrieve his father. But it is no use. His father’s corpse sinks, and his father’s secrets and identity with it.

What does remain are photographs. The end of the film is a slideshow of the photos taken with Andrei’s camera. The photos are beautiful and emotive – the photos are both an idealization and a consolation catharsis. They show the boys smiling on their ‘vacation,’ they picture their mother – beautiful. The father is absent in body in the pictures, but suddenly his influence and presence can be acutely felt.

And then, photos that are not from Andrei’s camera. The boys as children – younger and younger. And finally, the last photo, a father holding his infant son.

It is as if the photographs at the end of the film offer an alternative. A vision of what we’d rather have – a family, an amusing and fun childhood, a vacation that doesn’t end with two young boys dealing with the accidental death of a father that was absent for twelve years of their lives, and who was a man they never knew and will never know. His death leaves a gap in their lives, and completes the plot while leaving a void of absence that is at once filled with his powerful presence.

The photos at the end of the film are jarring because they seem so real. It makes us ask if the film we witnessed was reality at all – the pictures are a substitute reality, or are they the truth? We privilege photos as ‘truth’ because they are material proof of moments and reality. They make things exist for us, as memory is fallible. The slideshow forces us to question our conception of what was just witnessed. They are, after all, the only proof of what did happen. They omit the violence and eventual death of the father and grief of his sons.

The questions at the end of the film are, of course, overwhelming. It is a movie that asks questions. Personal questions. It asks us why we are so drawn to nostalgia – why it is the point of return over and over. Why the site of trauma (the tower, the home) are continually revisited with vigor. Why parents matter so much in the way our identity is shaped – even when they are absent. The expectations of a father figure, the expectation of violence from the father. Why is it that the role of the father is assumed to be a role of destruction? How can we escape this? How can we resolve rather than kill?

The Return is a profoundly uncomfortable film. It is incredibly difficult to discuss or analyze, because it is dense with so much. It is difficult to pull a single thread or theme without taking everything together. Yet, it offers no solace, only empty space.