Thursday, April 7, 2011

Reservoir Dogs

I saw this early Tarantino film a few weeks ago, and it has been occupying that part of my brain that thinks about films, both because it is interesting, and because I haven't seen anything else very recently. 

My thesis is twofold: Firstly, I argue that the violence in Reservoir Dogs is non-redemptive. Secondly, I argue that this is a meditation, not on real-world violence, but on movie violence.


I) Non-Redemptive Violence

Not a really badass crime movie, despite publicity photos like this one.
"Reservoir Dogs" is incredibly violent. Unlike so many Hollywood films, however, almost none of the violence is redemptive. Rather than engage in a lengthy discussion of Walter Wink's "myth of redemptive violence," I will simplify the notion of redemptive violence to "violence that ennobles the perpetrating character." Most instances of violence in Hollywood films fall into this category: Luke Skywalker killing Emperor Palpatine; the "heroics" of the platoon in "Saving Private Ryan," etc. Even if these movies contain instances of non-redemptive violence (the empire destroying planets), the dilemmas raised by those acts of violence are resolved by more acts of violence (destroying the death star).

"Reservoir Dogs" first piqued my interest when I realized that (with one exception) none of the violence ennobles the characters, and that the subsequent acts of violence do not resolve the dilemmas that the violence has created, except in that SPOILER ALERT all the perpetrating characters end up dead at each others' hands.


II) Temporality

Part of why this works is that the movie uses flashbacks. The advent of the violence is thus disconnected from its causality, as in the cut from the early slow-motion "walking down the street" sequence to the scene of Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) comforting the visibly wounded Mr. Orange (Tim Roth). Were the events arranged sequentially, the violence would seem more meaningful and ordered; the flashbacks, while still allowing us to (eventually) understand the motivations for the acts of violence, allow us to experience the effects of violence (Mr. Orange bleeding out on the warehouse floor) in tandem with the events of violence themselves (the botched jewelry store heist).


III) The Exception

The only act of violence that is in any way redemptive occurs during the famous "Stuck in the Middle With You" sequence. SPOILER ALERT. Just as Mr. Blonde (Michael Madsen) is about to immolate the captured policeman (Kirk Baltz) Mr. Orange, barely alive, shoots Mr. Blonde, saving the officer's life and revealing himself as the police informant. This is the film's only ennobling act of violence. Shortly after this (in diegetic time; a series of flashbacks intervene in non-diegetic screentime), the officer is killed, rendering the only redemptive act of violence meaningless; redemptive and meaningful in terms of the development of Mr. Orange's character, but meaningless in utilitarian terms.

Mr. Orange ennobled.
It could be argued that Mr. White's actions in the standoff at the film's conclusion also ennoble him. He draws his gun, and ultimately shoots one friend (Joe) in defense of the honor of another (Mr. Orange). This situation is complicated firstly by the fact that he shoots his old friend Joe, hardly an ennobling act, and secondly by the fact that his friendship with Mr. Orange is revealed to be a lie. When Mr. White learns that he has been betrayed, he also kills Mr. Orange, undoing whatever redemption he may have earned himself in the standoff.

Even though we sympathize with the characters committing the acts of violence, particularly Mr. White and Mr. Orange, "Reservoir Dogs" gives us no way to justify their violent actions.


IV) Movies

So, having arrived at the conclusion that "Reservoir Dogs" implicates systems of violence as being non-redemptive and meaningless, I initially thought "whoa, what a great pacifist movie!" This then led me to wonder about the movie's bearing on other systems of violence in the world, and I came to the conclusion that this is a movie, not about systems of violence in the world, but about systems of violence in the movies.

My first clue was the closed-off nature of the movie: It occurs, diegetically, within the confines of a warehouse. The violence that occurs occurs within a closed system (Mr. Orange is shot by the bystander, and then shoots her), affecting nothing beyond itself. This is not true to real-world systems of violence, which have all kinds of far-reaching effects beyond themselves.

My second clue was the fact that this is a Tarantino film. Tarantino is famous for making movies about movies, and this is one of the movies that gave him that distinction.

My third and most telling clue was the temporal positioning of the movie itself. Though it was made in 1992, the movie hearkens back to 1970s gangster films: the cars, the soundtrack, the famous "badass slo-mo scene," even the casting of veteran crime-film actor Harvey Keitel. Why make a movie set in the 1970s when the story would play just as well set in 1992? This movie indicts a particularly seminal period and genre of Hollywood filmmaking, and, by extension, Hollywood filmmaking in general.


V) Conclusions

While I enjoyed thinking about a movie with (almost) no redemptive violence, I was disappointed that its lessons could not be applied to real-world violence, except in a bluntly moralistic sense. Nonetheless, a movie that indicts movies for their unquestioning embrace of the myth of redemptive violence is good movie to have around, and it will be hard for me to see any onscreen violence without parsing it though the lens that "Reservoir Dogs" has afforded me.


Reservoir Dogs at IMDB and Wikipedia, two resources used in writing this analysis.

4 comments:

Erik said...

I like that, to explain a basic element of film/stories, you use Star Wars. Makes everything so much easier to understand :)

Greg said...

Star Wars: The foundational myth of our generation. I worry that the generation after ours will be confused by the prequels. The story is so much more archetypal without them.

Joel said...

While I agree that violence in "Reservoir Dogs" and in Tarantino's oeuvre as a whole, is ultimately non-redemptive, I don't think it necessarily follows that he is critiquing the myth of redemptive violence, even in the closed system of cinema. Criticism requires a set of external values, standards by which a particular character, action, or event can be evaluated. Tarantino's films offer us no such standards. His characters operate in a world utterly devoid of external values, where any attempts at forging moral codes must be internal leaps of faith with no external signified at all. In this way, he's a bit like Camus, if Camus had been raised on a steady diet of B-level action cinema and comic books.

Tarantino's characters commit violence simply because there is no other way for them to fill their time, the same way Camus's Meursault in "The Stranger" murders the Arab on the Algerian beach for no good reason other than boredom. I think, ultimately, this is why I find Tarantino's body of work so spiritually empty and ultimately unfulfilling, technically skilled and conversant with cinematic tropes as it may be. Ultimately, Tarantino cannot critique redemptive violence, because violence for him exists in a valueless state. It's non-redemptive, certainly, but redemption is as good a value for one to convince oneself of as any, since all values are essentially self-created and arbitrary.

In this way, Tarantino may be the ideal filmmaker for the postmodern age. He is thoroughly conversant in the signifiers of earlier periods in cinematic history, but unlike in these earlier films, Tarantino's signifiers do not point to any signified, but rather exist on their own, lacking any values to which to attach themselves.

Greg said...

Fair points Joel; perhaps I overstate the moral case presented by "Reservoir Dogs"; non-endorsement is not the same as condemnation.

That said, it is our prerogative and perhaps even duty as readers to make meaning from the text, so I do not think that my reading is a stretch; even if the signifiers exist in a vacuum of meaning, we as the viewing audience bring the signified to the table within ourselves.