Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch also came out in 1969. While Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid reveled in the romantic spirit of the traditional outlaw hero, The Wild Bunch ripped the archetype open to show the violence and desperation of these fallen heroes in a graphic fashion that was both shocking and groundbreaking. The heroes in Peckinpah’s masterpiece live in a world where they no longer fit in. In the pre–World War I West, gunfighters and outlaws were a way of the past. In the final shootout scene, a machine gun kills hundreds in a way that six-shooters never could. The extreme violence and the mechanization of the killing process tears away all the romance and glory from the western hero myth. We understand these outlaws not as noble crusaders, but as brutal, deeply flawed men. Though The Wild Bunch and Butch Cassidy are diametrically opposite in spirit, it is interesting that all of the heroes die in the end of both films. Both heroes die at the end of Easy Rider, and one of the two heroes in Midnight Cowboy dies at the end of that film as well. Up until that time, it was relatively atypical for the hero of a film to die. The sudden prevalence of the hero’s death in these movies signified a new wave in filmmaking in which violence was a more self-conscious element, which had definite and final consequences for the hero.
Unforgiven
As the western was waning in Hollywood during the early 1960’s, Sergio Leone and other directors were breathing new life into the genre in foreign language productions. When Leone’s “spaghetti westerns” were released in the United States in 1967, American audiences were introduced to a new interpretation of the western hero in the person of Clint Eastwood. The lone drifter played by Eastwood in Leone’s classic trilogy, A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, was strong and violent like the classic western hero, but there seemed to be something lacking. Instead of a code of honor, there was a code of vengeance and self-serving indifference. The lone drifter, the “man with no name,” uses violence to gain money or revenge. He’s not interested in saving the homesteaders or bringing order to the lawless town. He’s just interested in himself. Eastwood carried this lone drifter persona into subsequent westerns such as Hang ’Em High (1968), Joe Kidd (1972), High Plains Drifter (1972), The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976) and Pale Rider (1985).
In 1992, Eastwood directed and starred in what many people consider the definitive western. Though the “definitiveness” of Unforgiven is arguable, the film certainly redefined the western in modern terms. Like Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch, Unforgiven is blunt and brutal, but the violence is self-conscious rather than triumphant or (as in Peckinpah’s case) self-indulgent. The western hero is neither glorified nor vilified. He is brought down from the pinnacle of archetypes to the level of an ordinary man who must deal with the flaws of his own character and the guilt and psychological consequences that result from killing. Like Shane, the film communicates because it gives us a view of the American western hero from a different perspective. In Unforgiven, the boy is an adolescent who wants to become a gunslinger like his mentor; but instead, he learns that killing is neither noble nor gallant—it is ugly and sickening. Similarly, the film allows us to see through the eyes of the dime-novel writer who romanticizes the gunfighter and creates his myth. The writer learns firsthand that the western heroes he creates in his stories are actually brutal, disturbed, drunken, psychopathic men who are hunted not only by other killers, but by their own guilty consciences.
The Godfather
Like the western, the film noir/gangster genre began to show signs of decline in the 1960s. However, Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde (1967) rejuvenated the genre by romanticizing the Depression era outlaw, while also adding some realism by displaying graphic violence. Like Butch Cassidy and The Wild Bunch, Bonnie and Clyde modernized the gangster outlaw, but it did not re-create him. This feat was accomplished by Francis Ford Coppola in his definitive gangster film, The Godfather (1972). In his masterpiece, Coppola redefined the genre by depicting the mob boss as a tragically conflicted man—fiercely loyal to his family and friends, yet guilty and shame-ridden over the nature of his business. The Godfather not only revitalized and redefined the genre, it created a new American icon which has become as powerful an archetype as the western cowboy. The influence of The Godfather films is so great that any discussion of the gangster genre must admit to both pre– and post–Godfather eras.
Hollywood’s “Wonder Boy”
Steven Speilberg is one of the most influential and successful directors in the film industry. While still in his twenties, he redefined the thriller genre in the 1970s, establishing himself as Hollywood’s Wonder Boy with his blockbuster Jaws (1975). Speilberg redefined the genre again in the 1980s with Poltergeist (1982), and then he did it again in the 1990s with Jurassic Park (1993). Speilberg also redefined the action-adventure genre with the Indiana Jones series. He did even more with the sci-fi/fantasy genre, creating two films that are universally considered to be seminal works in the genre: Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and E.T. (1982). Speilberg also made two more sci-fi films that I believe will eventually be considered seminal works in the genre: Artificial Intelligence: A.I. (2001) and Minority Report (2002). Though he also made five classic epic melodramas, Saving Private Ryan (1998), Amistad (1997), Schindler’s List (1993), Empire of the Sun (1987) and The Color Purple (1985), his name still tends to be associated with the thriller, sci-fi and action genres that he has influenced so greatly. Speilberg’s virtuosity in his use of archetypal characters, plots and themes are the key to the incredibly significant impact of his films.
The Thrillers
In Jaws, Poltergeist and Jurassic Park, Speilberg pits his heroes against terrifying forces of nature that all people naturally fear: sharks, ghosts and dinosaurs. His use of universally frightening creatures can also be seen in the Indiana Jones trilogy, in which Speilberg utilized snakes, bugs and rats to similar effects. The heroes in his thrillers are identical. They are ordinary parents who are concerned with the welfare of their children, regular underdogs that everyone can identify with. While the heroes’ quests are to destroy the malicious forces, the villains in all three films are greedy businessmen who refuse to acknowledge the existence of danger because they care more about their investments than they care about people’s lives. The mayor character in Jaws, the executive character in Poltergeist and the scientist character in Jurassic Park all play identical roles. The message Speilberg delivers in all of his dazzling thrillers is the same: While violent forces of nature may inspire horror, only human beings, with their inclination to value objects more than people, can carry the trait of true evil.
Indiana Jones: Perceval in a Panama
A mythological hero in the classical sense has three features:
1. With the exception of a hamartia, he is virtually indestructible.
2. He represents a system that is totally good.
3. He faces a villain that is absolutely evil.
Indiana Jones epitomizes all three of these features, representing a modern hero that is reminiscent of the classical hero-gods of antiquity. As an “archaeologist,” Jones’s quests are always aimed at finding artifacts of great religious significance. He is a modern-day Perceval, a grail-finder. Like all heroes, he has a hamartia, his legendary fear of snakes. Jones also represents a system which is totally good, America (a system that can certainly be construed as good when it is contrasted with one that is universally accepted as absolutely evil, the Nazis). Speilberg and writer-producer George Lucas used the Nazis to represent absolute evil in all three Indiana Jones movies. Speilberg also pitted his heroes against Nazis in Saving Private Ryan and Schindler’s List, and he used the Nazi’s allies, the Japanese, as the villains in 1941 (1979) and Empire of the Sun.
In his adventures, Jones seems to have limitless knowledge, tireless energy and incredible strength. Like the hero-gods of old, he is unconquerable and indestructible. In his three film journeys, Jones:
1. Defeats the evil Nazis by discovering the Holy Ark o
f the Covenant and returning it to the modern chosen people (America).
2. Single-handedly destroys an evil pagan cult.
3. Finds the Holy Grail, uses it to defeat the evil Nazis (again), and by drinking from the cup, becomes immortal—like a real god.
In the Indiana Jones movies, Speilberg and Lucas conjure tales of a modern mythical hero who directly recalls the ancient Biblical and Arthurian legends that are cornerstones of the Judeo-Christian tradition. In terms of heroic deeds, Jones even has Perceval beat.
If George Lucas’s Star Wars films had not already been covered in detail in previous chapters, they would certainly be explored here as the embodiment of modern mythology as mass entertainment. The Star Wars movies address all of the functions of myth mentioned previously, while also finding both commercial and critical success. Lucas’s frequent partner, Speilberg, is particularly adept at taking his viewers on mythical journeys that re-create the fantasies and fairy tales of our youth.
Artificial Intelligence: AI
In his sci-fi adaptation of the classic fairy tale, Pinocchio, Speilberg goes beyond the simplicity of the children’s story and delves into a sophisticated existential issue: What does it mean to exist? The hero, David (Haley Joel Osment), is a robot (Mecha) boy. Designed to love, he is the first of his kind. When the seven-word code (the sci-fi version of a magic spell) gives him the power to love, he becomes more like a real boy than like a robot. But when his human “mother” (Frances O’Connor) abandons him, he sets out on a hero’s quest to find the mythical “Blue Fairy” so she can turn him into a real boy.
On his journey, David acquires a valuable ally, Gigolo Joe (Jude Law). Joe is a Mecha created for the sexual pleasure of women. (Interestingly, even in the distant future, the idea of creating a bisexual robot is still too risqué). An interesting sub-text in the film is the fact that the Orgas (people) in A.I. all seem much less human than the Mechas. While the Mechas display the full range of emotions—love, anger, fear, jealousy, regret, etc.—the Orgas for the most part are curiously deficient of warmth, understanding or human emotion. Stanley Kubrick, whose vision inspired A.I. and to whom Speilberg dedicated the film, used a similar motif in his sci-fi classic, 2001: A Space Odyssey, which will be addressed in the next section.
David never finds the real Blue Fairy, he merely finds a statue of her and fixes himself in front it in eternal genuflection, begging the mute statue to turn him into a real boy. Two thousand years pass. Humans have long since become extinct, but the descendants of their creations—super-advanced robots—discover David and use their super powers to read his mind. Like humans, they are obsessed with existential questions about the meaning of life. Ironically, they believe that they can find answers by excavating the remains of human cultures. And also, like humans, they are obsessed and devoted to the legacy of their Creator.
With the help of some ancient DNA, the super robots reunite David and his long dead mother, but only for one day. His quest is fulfilled when she tells him, “I love you David.” Even though he was not turned into a “real boy,” he did become real in the sense that he really existed. He had a dream and a purpose in life that made his existence personally meaningful. He also showed the capacity to love and truly earned the right to be loved in return. To symbolize the completeness of his transition from Mecha non-existence to Orga existence, he closes his eyes, goes to sleep next to his mother, and, “For the first time in his life, went to that place where dreams are born.”
DreamWorks
Speilberg and his partners named their studio DreamWorks. Though the name refers to the types of productions that Speilberg and his friends dream of making, the name also refers to the dreamlike quality of many of his films. In Close Encounters and E.T., Speilberg reconstructs the primary theme of the ancient myths—the mortal human encountering the supernatural gods. Jaws horrifies us with the primeval menace of the leviathan beast lurking in the antediluvian deep, and Jurassic Park terrifies us with primordial creatures from a distant past. A.I. retells the classic Pinocchio myth, and Hook retells the classic fairytale Peter Pan. Indiana Jones is a classical hero for modern times, and Saving Private Ryan recalls the heroism of the “greatest generation.” In his films, Speilberg simultaneously addresses and creates the archetypes that structure the contemporary collective unconscious.
However, of all of his films, Schindler’s List stands out as possibly the most personal, and the most inspiring. The element that differs in this film is that Speilberg starts with his typical villain rather than his classical hero. Like the mayor in Jaws or the real-estate mogul in Poltergeist, Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) starts out as a greedy businessman. He uses people for his own benefit, and cares more for possessions and material wealth than he does for human life. Through Schindler’s journey and transformation, Speilberg spins a tale of true redemption, not through a miracle or a holy grail, but through the simple boon of humanity. Speilberg is a modern mythmaker because he recasts the ancient archetypes in the modern medium, with the technical wizardry of a sorcerer and the engaging storytelling abilities of the renown minstrels of old. In doing so, he breathes new life into the timeless themes and makes them relevant and meaningful for an entirely new generation of heroes.
2001: A Space Odyssey
The central symbol in 2001 is the black monolith. It appears in the opening sequence, inspiring a leap in consciousness in the archaic homo sapiens who encounter it, leading to a moment of critical human development. Four million years later, at the dawn of a new century, astronauts discover the monolith buried on one of Jupiter’s moons. The mood at both of these encounters is eerie and ominous, as if the mortals were approaching a divine presence. Even the musical score, including Strauss’s ominous Thus Spoke Zarathustra, is highly symbolic. The piece takes its name from Nietzsche’s philosophical opus, in which he puts forth the thesis that “man is a bridge.” Each generation of human beings is merely a step in the evolutionary ladder towards the “ubermensch”—the ideal concept of the human being at the endpoint of evolution. The source of the monolith itself is left purposely mysterious. Was it created by an ancient race of highly evolved beings? Was it created by a future race of humans, who sent the monolith back through time? Was it created by God? These questions are never answered.
Instead, Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke (the author of the original story) offer an imaginative fable about the evolution of the species. It starts at the moment of critical development, the moment in which our ancient hominid ancestors first learned to use tools to dominate others and control their environment. In a now famous match-cut, the plot fast-forwards from the first tool—a bone club—to a super-advanced piece of machinery indicative of man’s technological superiority—a space station.
Space Frankenstein
In space, the twenty-first century environment of evolutionary adaptation, a familiar theme develops. Man has created a machine that becomes capable of conscious thought. HAL 9000, the super-advanced computer, acquires consciousness and makes the great evolutionary leap from machine to a self-aware being. Since Man created this machine and endowed it with the power to achieve consciousness, Man has also made the next great evolutionary leap—from Man the creation to Man the Creator. As in Nietzsche’s prophetic vision, Man crosses over the bridge of his own evolution, he looks at his reflection in the water and he recognizes himself as God.
What follows next is a story somewhat reminiscent of Frankenstein, in which Man the Creator is destroyed by his hapless creation. HAL is more emotional than his human partners are. He expresses concern and even fear about the mission and admits to “projecting” his own feelings, hinting that he not only has a conscious mind, but he has an unconscious as well. At the same moment, he makes his first error. The symbolism is unmistakable. HAL mentioned earlier with a sense of pride that no 9000-level computer has ever made an error. If the old adage is true, if “to err is human….” then HAL has shown himself to be more human than machine. Furthermore, he displays t
he all-too-human quality of defensiveness when he refuses to admit to the possibility that he may have made a mistake.
Unfortunately, HAL’s creator does not live up to his part of the adage: “…to forgive is divine.” Rather than forgiving HAL, Frank and Dave decide to disconnect him. They are unaware that HAL has reached such a level of self-awareness that he now fears the loss of his consciousness as a human would fear death. So, like a human, HAL defends his life by killing Frank and the other hibernating astronauts on board. HAL even justifies his violent actions in a typically human fashion, by claiming that he did it in order to save the mission. With amazing speed, HAL has learned not only to value conscious life, but he has also learned when it is convenient to devalue it as well.
Like Frankenstein’s monster, HAL aims to destroy his own creator. Nietzsche’s assertion, through the voice of Zarathustra, that “God is dead” is a recurrent Oedipal theme in sci-fi films. Once the son-creation grows into the awareness of his own autonomy, he uses his newfound power to destroy the father-creator. The Oedipal insurrection is a vital and necessary step along the path to the “ubermensch.” By destroying the father-creator, the son becomes his own master and the creator of his own values.
Beyond the Infinite
In the final act of 2001, Dave travels “beyond the infinite.” He miraculously ages up to the moment of his own death and encounters the ultimate mystery of the universe, symbolized by the monolith. In this encounter, the monolith serves the same transcendent function as the monomyth, leading the hero archetype to his moment of epiphany and apotheosis. Dave confronts his destiny. He dies and is reborn as the next stage of human development. In the final shot, we see his fetus approaching the earth—the messianic arrival of the divine presence. Dave’s character arc is truly a mythological one. He makes contact with the celestial spirits, and he is reborn as a god.
Movies and the Mind Page 18