Apocalyptic Musings
I’ve decided to start using the blog as a repository of my reactions to the films I see. Partially, this is because I have the unshakable (and absurd) hope that my thoughts on anything might interest someone other than myself. And partially it is because my Word document that houses the opinions at the moment is becoming much too long.
So, I’ll start off with an “easy” one: Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto. Only it’s not really much of a review. More of a “free-form exercise in expressing one’s opinion as vaguely as possible.” I think I succeeded quite nicely on that front, really. One quick note: the whole thing is as much a response to the sort of objection talked about in HERE as it is a review. My sincere apologies.
Don’t be fooled: Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto is neither mindlessly violent nor ideologically ham-fisted, despite its critics’ valiant attempts to portray it as nothing more than a warped, disturbed, and (gasp) historically inaccurate extension of its creator’s personal demons.
Is it violent? Most assuredly and emphatically so. Human sacrifices have a tendency to drift towards the brutally savage side of the violencemeter. And Gibson, as always, goes for the unflinchingly realistic approach in all things. Nor is blunt-force weaponry at work a pretty sight, and that turns up with great regularity, as well. It would not be unfair to say “relentlessly so.”
But is it violent to the point of excess? Quite possibly. Gibson as long flirted with that boundary, both in films of his own making, and those where he participation was limited to that of “on-screen talent.” There are certainly moments in this film where the violence seems to have moved out of the realm of the necessary, passed through that of the “a bit much,” and headed straight on into full-blown cartoonish territory. (The demise of the film’s most despicable antagonist is a particularly striking example of this phenomenon, as are most of the images surrounding the sacrifices themselves.)
But is the violence without purpose? Definitely not. In fact, the context of the film demands a certain level of brutality. One might question the lengths to which Gibson is willing to go in his efforts to portray the crippling effects of decadence and human insensitivity to morality. But it is also unquestionably effective. And if Gibson’s previous films have proven anything to their audiences, it is that he is a result-driven filmmaker.
Are the film’s stories and themes worthy of justifying this level of brutality? That is a difficult judgment, and one that might only be possible to make on an individual basis. Much like the overwhelming violence present in war films such as Saving Private Ryan or Black Hawk Down, the method is a large part of the message. To ask (or in the case of many critics, to demand) that Gibson make this film without its violence makes no sense.
Yet, there is much more to the film than the violence. And those moments are far more effective because of their brutal context, as Gibson surely intended them to be. The resilience and stubborn perseverance of Jaguar Paw in the face of bloodily insurmountable obstacles is truly inspiring, as is the undeniably pro-family message that Gibson has concealed in the midst of all his gore and violence. Even the film’s primary villain seems driven by a sort of natural virtue, occasionally acting with a nobleness and grandeur at least nominally inconsistent with his other actions - choosing the good seemingly in spite of himself.
Gibson has created a film where the audience is presented with a culture and a society utterly foreign to its own - except for the most basic (and most important) feature: their humanity. The result is a story where we care deeply about the protagonists, no matter where or when they existed. Despite the complete lack of continuity between the two groups - the viewers on one side, and the ancient Mayans on the other - it works. And that points to a real ability on Gibson’s part to strip away all the inessentials on his way to the real essence of the matter.
Perhaps the most compelling defense of the film’s brutal depiction of semi-civilizations is its utterly convincing immersion on a time and culture completely foreign to the vast majority of Western audiences. Such an immersion may well have been impossible without the violence Gibson uses to tell the story - a story that begins dramatically and instantaneously, without a hint of explanation or “helpfully modernizing” narration. At times, the viewer must wonder whether or not Gibson somehow managed to slip a camera crew into 16th Century Central America, so engrossing, so believable and so unusual are the events playing out on the screen.
In keeping with this effort for absolute realism, Gibson shot the film in Mayan dialect, using subtitles sparingly. To be honest, he uses language sparingly, choosing to tell the story largely through the unusually expressive faces of his actors - principles and secondary characters alike. The unHollywoodized appearances of nearly all the actors used in the project is yet another “break the mold” moment for Gibson. No pristinely beautiful savages here; these actors are as worn and unique as the people they are meant to portray.
The cinematography is spectacular. Dean Semler, wisely recognizing the extraordinary beauty and effectiveness of the natural surroundings, stayed out of the way. The camera moves effortlessly through the jungle, weaving in and out amongst trees, over waterfalls, and (lest we forget the film’s crowing achievement) the chase scene that brings the film to its finale: a good 45 minutes, at least; yet relentlessly gripping, every moment of it.
The result is a film that (like its director) never does anything half-way. It is brutally violent, brilliantly real, exhaustively immersive, and ultimately, deeply satisfying. Not without its missteps - the film’s humor tends to strike fairly hollow, and some of the action sequences provide moments of merriment that seem to have been unintended - it nevertheless achieves a peak rarely experienced in cinema. It is, as Pope John Paul II was so famously reported to have said of Gibson’s Passion, as it was. The audience is transported to a time and place never before experienced in the West, and it stays there until the film concludes. Such an achievement cannot be diminished, no matter how hard the critics may try.
Do all these things add up to a good film? Difficult to say. But it might add up to a great one. And it is most certainly unique. Is that enough? In this case, I’m tempted to say “Yes.”
HERE are some thoughts from Orson Scott Card. His is a more traditionally constructed review, so there are some story-centric spoilers. If you really dislike having a film spoiled, don’t read it. (But it has the undeniable advantage of saying a lot of what I was trying to say, only significantly better. Can’t ignore that now, can we? Even if I’d like to…)
Not for one moment did I wish I had lived in those times and in that place. But Gibson’s (and writer Farhad Safinia’s) achievement was to make me see the common humanity among these cultural strangers — even among those who capture the slaves for sacrifice.
I can’t recommend it for everyone. It’s no Pride and Prejudice. It’s not your average date movie. But I’m glad I saw it. I admire Gibson and all the rest who worked together to create it. This was a brave and difficult film to make. It will make back its investment — barely. But that’s enough, with a film like this. Congratulations to Buena Vista (Disney) for having the guts to distribute it, but most of all to Mel Gibson’s Icon Entertainment International for having the vision to make it.
And HERE is something from Sonny Bunch that appeared in The Weekly Standard a couple of months ago. Again, it says what I was trying to say, only significantly better. It, too, has significant spoilerage.
Almost any historical drama will contain such problems. That being said, it is specious for professional historians and grievance groups alike to argue that Apocalypto is a wanton desecration of the memories of the Mayan people. While it may be an inconvenient fact that the Mayans were skilled at the art of human cruelty, it is, nevertheless, a fact.
Lastly, since I’ve been frequenting Peter Chattaway’s FILMCHAT of late, HERE are his thoughts on the film. Looking over that review (and the multiple reviews linked to his), I discover myself on the opposite side of the “violence issue” than I’m accustomed to finding myself. I wonder if I am growing desensitized.
