1. WHERE THE MONEY IS

[ This is the first of six essays on film I wrote in 2000 ]

Where the Money Is: Crime, Violence, and Hollywood; From The Great Train Robbery To the Present

Career bank robber Willie Sutton was once asked by a reporter why he robbed banks .He replied,”Because that’s where the money is”.

Edwin S. Porter’s film The Great Train Robbery (1903),  the most popular film in America prior to 1912,  was notable for its innovations in both narrative and camera technique.  Porter was revolutionary in his use of multiple story lines, story leaps, parallel editing, and simultaneous action.  He also pioneered the use of a variety of camera angles: the “tilt”; placing  a camera atop a moving train, etc.  The film also displayed a new sensibility in composition: scenes were shot in depth; oblique angles revealed multiple subjects and movements. These groundbreaking efforts aside, what truly distinguishes the movie is Porter’s choice to tell the story from the point of view of the robbers.  It is actually a “ how-to” exercise in robbing a train (the telegraph operator is bound and gagged; the train crew is overpowered; the cars are separated, etc. ). The crime is illustrated very methodically—and the audience is asked to identify with the robbers and participate (albeit vicariously) in executing a crime. Critics then (as now) raised the issue of moral responsibility.  Didn’t the film’s portrayal of the robbery legitimize and romanticize crime simply by deeming it as an activity worthy of depiction? And more importantly, wasn’t the audience being asked to sympathize with the robbers and enjoy crime? This seemed to establish a dangerous moral precedent. The film sent a mixed message: crime was pleasurable; law and order is ultimately restored. The common denominator between the two was violence; the criminals robbed through violence and the law punished through violence. The audience experienced both the forbidden exhilaration of crime and the righteous vengeance of society—without risk.  This has proven to be a profitable formula for Hollywood ever since.

Hollywood’s portrayal of crime and violence has evolved over the years. The earliest versions were simple dichotomies: cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, outlaws and sheriffs, gangsters and the FBI.  In the Cold War era and into the Sixties, the lines blurred and hybrids emerged : the outllaw lawman, the righteous criminal. There was the Kennedy-esque cat burglar ( To Catch A Thief ) and the gentleman spy James Bond (who seduced women, stole secrets, and killed Commies– on behalf of the Free World). Westerns became more complicated: they now featured corrupt cattle barons, murderous sheriffs, bloodthirsty posses,”bad” outlaws (Eli Wallach) and “good “ outlaws (Clint Eastwood); likable, roguish outlaws Butch and Sundance who embodied the anti-authority, anti-establishment feelings of the Sixties but in the safe, familiar context of the Saturday matinee of yesteryear. The Seventies saw the creation of Eastwood’s “Dirty Harry” character; the vigilante cop who fought against the weak liberalism and bureaucratic niceties of city government,  the better to hunt down and kill dirty, druggy hippies and minorities. The Reagan era featured a new character: the outlaw/ vet/ soldier, Stallone’s “Rambo”, betrayed by politicians, misunderstood by society. Lethal Weapon countered with a “good” outlaw/ vet/cop (Gibson’s  “Martin Riggs”) who fought “bad” drug-dealing Special Forces vets. Variations continue,  such as the futuristic outlaw/ soldier antagonists of Terminator or Bruce Willis’ rebellious cop in Die Hard.  Spurned by an independent, career-minded wife, he battles terrorists who turn out not to be political at all, but simply “Euro-trash” interested in crime for profit. Harrison Ford and Willem Dafoe  in A Clear and Present Danger played “good” CIA men fighting “bad” CIA men. What all these diverse characters had in common was the premise that society was corrupt –and only the individual, the man of action could be relied on. One had to break the law in order to do what was right.

When discussing Hollywood’s treatment of crime and violence, the horror genre cannot be ignored. Initially rooted in folklore and literature, the mythic, symbolic, supernatural figures of horror (Frankenstein, Dracula) gave way to the semi-real: the Ed Gein-inspired Psycho;  The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (with its pseudo-documentary opening); Nightmare on Elm St. (which featured a reincarnated child-molestor); The Silence of the Lambs, which featured a “good” serial killer,  Dr. Hannibal Lecter (an intellectual, a connoisseur, a cannibal) helping the FBI track down a “bad” serial killer ( a would-be transexual ).  Horror films,  more readily than straight crime drama,  raise the issue of legitimate artistic expression vs. the exploitative use of violent imagery. The classic “slasher movie” formula is the presentation—for  pleasure—of the rape, torture, and murder of sexually active young women—which is supposed to be cancelled out by the violent death of the villain (who often proves deathless; he is reincarnated over and over again for profit in sequels). The hipper of the new horror genre (such as Scream ) do not even pretend sympathy for the victims;  it’s mostly an education in the violent expression of teen angst. Quentin Tarentino ( and innumerable imitators ) have succeeded in blurring crime and horror ( Reservoir Dogs,  Pulp Fiction, From Dusk Til Dawn,  True Romance,  Kalifornia, Natural Born Killers,  etc. ); a universe where it’s more important to be cool than correct; better to kill, to die young, than be uncool— the worst sin of all. The basic message of these films is that if one is not an aggressor, than one is a victim.

Is the dramatic depiction of crime inherently exploitative ? Not at all. There can be valid social commentary and artistic expression: Scorsese’s Goodfellas, the Hughes  brothers’ Menace II Society are cautionary tales of criminal self-delusion; Coppola’s Godfather trilogy (in which the Mafia operate as overt metaphors for capitalism: “ It’s not personal, it’s business.” ); Irish director Neil Jordan’s horrifying tale of madness, The Butcher Boy; the chilling New Zealand film,  Heavenly Creatures. BBC Television has produced “Prime Suspect ” and “Cracker “, both of them superb TV series that examine  violent crime and psychology behind it without ever being exploitative.

In the wake of Columbine and other mass killings,  Hollywood denies any responsibility.              “ There’s no connection “ is the refrain as the death toll rises. Obviously, social and economic turmoil and the plentiful availability of guns are the major factors. In the earlier half of this century  the institutions of family, community, and church were stronger,  and Hollywood depictions of violence were both tamer and less ubiquitous. Since the cultural upheaval of the  Sixties  these institutions have faded away.  The one common (and most dominant)  cultural constant in most Americans’ lives are Hollywood  movies   (and  television ).  To claim there is no connection between the saturation of violent imagery and crime—is absurd at best and callous and deceitful at worst.  The existence of a thriving advertising industry that spends millions influencing Americans’ buying habits through thirty-second spots is proof enough of the media’s own belief in its power to influence.  If Hollywood’s power to influence is conceded, the next fallback position is that the studios are merely “ giving the audience what it wants “.  It’s the same defense a drug-dealer could use. While some people might want drugs, hookers, snuff films, and child pornography,  it isn’t an argument for giving it to them. The question to what degree Hollywood reflects its audience, and to what degree it shapes its audience,  is not easily answered.  Certainly, there is no denying the appeal of crime in movies: for the audience, the vicarious appeal of the forbidden; for filmmakers, it provides an abundance of topical material ; for the studios, whatever’s profitable is what they’re interested in.  Profit legitimizes any activity in this culture, and virtual crime pays —better than any robbery.