The difference between Charles Manson and Marilyn Manson is that one of them sells violence while the other propagates it. Granted, Charlie is probably the more despicable of the two but one could argue that at least he meant it. Marilyn is a marketing guru, a half-baked vocalist who knew how to market anger and gothic art. The sort I despise…not for fictionalizing violence (that’s quite alright), but rather for taking away the depth of emotions that make violence a very, very frightening proposition. I guess that’s the problem with violence in art; there’s no subtlety to it. Films are certainly no exception.
The only problem I had with Ameer’s Paruthiveeran (and Raam’s Tamil MA to a larger extent) came about during the climax. Ameer is a fantastic director and I can’t accuse him of being dependent on gratuitous violence to force this brilliant film to linger on in the minds of the viewers, but I do think the climax could have been handled with more finesse. It would have been far more intense and gratifying (in a messed-up way) if Muthazhagu’s final torment was insinuated rather than just bluntly translated. Left alone to our imagination, the situation could have been worse for her and the film ultimately more rewarding (again, in a messed-up way).
Even though a few Kamal Hassan films fall prey to this abject translation, Mahanadhi is a great example of insinuations being used to further the effect. As disturbing as it was, the scene involving Shobana (Kamal’s daughter) and the seedy businessman was pitch perfect in its interpretation. He sports a devilish smile, as she innocently looks at him with perhaps a hint of suspicion. He reaches forward and brushes off a morsel of food from her chin. She tenses up. Camera backs off. A cackle of laughter is heard. Door closes. End scene. In that moment, there was no second-guessing as to what happened to little Shobana but the intricacies that were left out made the scene more intense. Ironically, it is with subtlety that B-grade south Indian porn directors (not sure if there is an A-grade category) include sleaze without pissing off the censors.
Out there in the West, such parallels exist in shapes and sizes that are far more corrosive to one’s senses. Unfortunately, Jaws is as good of an example as one can possibly find in Hollywood. As much as I despise Spielberg, it’s almost stunning how much attention he paid to the little things that made it a classic. The big, bad shark was certainly in the details. In other film industries, fantastic films such as Eden Lake, Cronicas, Cache, and Orphanage take the road less traveled and partially portray anarchism, horror and even misogynistic brutality and then hint at something far more terrifying. It doesn’t have a name, of course. It’s that feeling which makes the audience question the level of brutality that they are capable of thinking of.
I will admit that a lot films had to be blunt in their imagery. I am not entirely sure how great films such as Requiem For A Dream, Manhunter, Pithamagan, and Audition might have turned out if the directors had chosen to be subtle. I guess it has to do with knowing when to wield what.
I crave to choose what I feel at the end of the film or during the course of a song. I sure as hell don’t need Marilyn Manson singing about horrific abuses that society has committed on his fanbase and then expecting me to raise my fists and join him in during the chorus. Alan Parsons Project’s Tales Of Mystery And Imagination scared the hell out me with mellow Seventies progressive rock. It’s in the details, I tell you.
