On Relationships (of the Fictional Variety), Part II

Okay. First of all, some of you may be wondering why I'm rambling about this. What could possibly be the point? After all, just about every story ever told, written, illustrated, or performed has some sort of depiction of love or relationships - and if the story is devoid of both, that tends to be a statement in and of itself. Hell, a story with no romantic elements whatsoever could actually say more about love than your average romantic comedy - in large part because most romantic comedies are shit, but also because love is so ubiquitous that its absence is arguably more noteworthy than its presence.

"But Charlie," some of you might whine, "you just went on a tangent instead of answering our question." And I would reply, "That's because the question is stupid, and so are you." I'm doing this for the hell of it, of course, not because there's any particular point. Also, I like the sound of my own voice - or rather, I enjoy the sound of my spite-filled fingertips going clickety-clack across the keyboard.

Any more questions? No?

Good.

II. Love = Something to Lose (this time, it's personal)

So, when I last left you, I had broached the subject of what happens when a hero's love interest is killed (this also often applies to family members and close bromances friends). The answer, of course, is revenge. Lots of it.

You see, sometimes people just want to tell a story about a guy who goes around killing everyone and everything that gets in his way. The thing is, though, most people don't really want to make their protagonists completely unrepentant killing machines with no values or moral code and no reason for their ongoing genocides other than boredom. Even Dexter "Bay Harbor Butcher" Morgan has a code, and he's one of the most accomplished fictional serial killers the world has ever seen. Actually, I think the only non-video-game example I've ever seen of the unrepentant-psycho-murderer-protagonist is Wesley Gibson, from the graphic novel Wanted (subtitle: And You Thought The Movie Was a Piece of Shit). Another writer might have gone with the dark, twisted, "holy shit, this guy is a monster, but a strangely fascinating one" route - but not Mark Millar. Oh, no. He went with "I used to be a pussy like you but now I'm awesome and can rape and/or murder anyone I want and I'm badass and rich and don't you wish you could be like me." No, actually, I really don't. You're an immature asshole with the mindset of a twelve-year-old school shooter. Also, while I'm on the subject: go fuck yourself, Mark Millar. People like you are the reason that so much of the public thinks all comic books are trash.

God, I hate Wanted.

Anyway, back on track. Given that unflinchingly genocidal protagonists are damn near impossible to write well, many writers turn to the tried and true formula of Murdered Loved One: Instant Moral Justification (now with Gravitas!). Sometimes this occurs late in the story, as the final act that pushes the hero over the edge, while many other movies and the like use it as the basic premise: man's girlfriend/wife/daughter gets dead, man goes on rampage, man finds and kills everyone responsible. But it's not really murder, right? It's justice. Because they totally started it.

In some cases, the death of a loved one at the hands of criminals is handled well, and treated with the proper respect. But let's be honest: most people don't go to vigilante revenge movies to see interesting characters and thoughtful writing. People see them for the violence. Thus, in most cases, whatever "love" appears in such stories is a cardboard cutout, something that exists only to be taken away. The most blatant case I've seen recently is the Gerard Butler/Jamie Foxx movie Law Abiding Citizen. While most revenge movies take a good ten to fifteen minutes to give you a passing look at the characters before their horrible deaths, Law Abiding Citizen puts the murder and rape in the very first scene. It pretty much just slaps you upside the head and says, "FAMILY DEAD. YOU SHOULD CARE." Of course, then the movie turns into a psychotic and convoluted polemic against the American criminal justice system, so it clearly doesn't expect you to care about his family for much longer. And that's a good thing, because I didn't.

Jodie Foster's The Brave One, on the other hand, is an interesting piece of work. It's not a perfect movie by any stretch of the imagination, and it hits many of the same points as your standard vigilante justice movie, but the whole thing takes on a remarkably different tone because the protagonist is female - and not your Angelina-Jolie-type badass, but a relatively normal, everyday woman. She's horrified by what she sees herself becoming, and her vigilantism is just as much a result of her desire to regain control of her life as it is a quest for revenge. When it comes down to it, there's not much actual footage of Jodie's relationship, because the focus of the movie is the result of the attack which leaves her in a coma and her lover dead - and yet, the emotion seems much stronger and much more real than it would in another movie of a similar type, in large part because she's an actual actress and not just an action star. You realize quite quickly that it's a very different sort of vigilante movie, even as you recognize the familiar hallmarks of the genre.

Aaaaand that's all for the moment. If you're wondering why this installment didn't talk a whole lot about love, it's because the source material doesn't either. Which is kinda my point. Funny how these things work.

Part III looms on the horizon, after a couple movie reviews.