A History of Violence: Just a Hint of Optimism

This review was published originally in cinekklesia on April 22, 2006.

Determinism and pessimism are in vogue again. Popular media are filled with stories of how we can measure our genetic predisposition to particular diseases or even behaviors. Social scientists are informing us of how—with enough data and the right methods—we can measure a person's probability of engaging in a certain act, holding a certain viewpoint, reacting to particular stimuli in certain ways. (In the field of economics, the data generally point to the conclusion that yes, we are self-interested beings who function under Pavlovian incentives.)

With the question of crime, such determinism carries particular psychological, moral, and legal weight. Given the "right" set of variables—genetic, social, or both—is one predisposed to criminal activity — so much so that "reform" is a naively optimistic goal? Sure, one can bring up individual cases of people with extremely violent records who genuinely repent and change their lives for the better. However, in a broader, sociological context, are such people mere exceptions? Is the rule far more depressing?

David Cronenberg tackles this question in A History of Violence (2005), his adaptation of the graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke. Viggo Mortensen plays Tom Stall, proprietor of a small-town Indiana diner and devoted family man. When two thugs enter his establishment, hold everyone at gunpoint, and threaten to assault one of his employees, Stall fights back and kills the perpetrators. His heroic actions garner national media attention, bringing his existence to the attention of Carl Fogarty (Ed Harris), a mobster from Philadelphia. Fogarty is convinced that Stall is actually Joey Cusack, a criminal with the purported "history of violence," and he wants to bring him back to the city to, um, take care of some old business. Stall initially denies the accusation and insists that Fogarty has the wrong guy. However, in the middle of the movie, it becomes clear that Stall does have a shady past, an alternate history during which he learned the skills that allowed him to fight the thugs assailing his diner.

At this point, we can begin to despair for it seems that Cronenberg is presenting us another example of how people cannot change. Regardless of our efforts, the past creeps back, old habits reemerge, our sinful ways return to haunt us and others. The possibility of reform seems like a holdover from a more optimistic time, when we believed that it was possible to start afresh and reclaim the tabula rasa. These days, anyone and everyone can be placed in a series of genetic and socio-economic categories that seem to predict, with increasing certainty, our "outcomes" as human beings.

Yet, if we dig deeper, we see that Cronenberg is not nearly as pessimistic as he initially seems. In a recent group discussion regarding A History of Violence, cinekklesia founder Paul Marchbanks made note of Stall's previously honed skills coming out when confronted with attack; we pushed the point further and wondered whether the mere existence of those skills was morally problematic. In other words, does the mere fact that he can kill with ease make him bad? What about his motivation and intent?

For the most part, Cronenberg portrays Stall as a man desperately trying to eschew his past. He recognizes his violent history, he knows that he can kill, and he has spent years trying to channel his energies into more positive directions. For a brief moment, I suspected that Stall's small-town lifestyle and devotion to family were perhaps a facade, a necessary part of his do-it-yourself witness protection program. However, Cronenberg ultimately gives us no indication that Stall isn't sincere; as such, the director has created a highly sympathetic character for whom we wish the best.

Ultimately, A History of Violence teaches us that moral change is possible but requires both consciousness and effort. Unless we are aware of our condition and believe that we need to change, reform proves impossible. At some point in his past, Stall took a hard look in the mirror and realized that his life was morally reprehensible. On a broader level, perhaps a "hard look in the mirror" for the rest of us would involve those demographic categories and statistical probabilities into which we fall. How likely is it that we will engage in immoral or even criminal behavior? Perhaps assault and murder are not in our future but what about something like marital infidelity, a social and spiritual condition that is relatively common?

The next step, of course, is effort. Without consciousness, one sees no need to expend effort; without effort, one's consciousness proves pointless. In Stall, we see a man who has worked very hard at moral reform, who even spent time in the desert in order to fight the demons besetting his soul. Perhaps moral rectitude comes easier to some than to others, but we all need to expend some effort at righteousness — and if we are honest with ourselves, then there is always much room from improvement. (Students of psychology may see in my words hints of the Transtheoretical Model of Behavior Change, which attempts to map how people move through a series of stages—pre-contemplation, contemplation, preparation, action, and maintenance—as they attempt to modify their lifestyles.)

What is most interesting about this view of morality is how closely it lines up with Biblical injunctions to righteous living. One of the most familiar passages from the New Testament stems from Ephesians (6:10-7), in which we are exhorted to "put on the breastplate of righteousness," "take the shield of faith," etc. A friend once noted how external all of these virtues seemed. We are not righteous until we have "put on the breastplate of righteousness." Moral living does not come about naturally; as Stall realized, we must become conscious of our moral condition, seek guidance from a source (the Source) outside ourselves, and expend effort at "putting on" the virtues. Moral living is hard, and we have to fight our tendency to regress.

My more realistic side wants to extend a word of caution. Perhaps the success that Stall exhibits in fighting his past is a rarity. Perhaps most violent criminals remain violent, and the vast majority of our attempts at moral improvement ultimately fail. Nevertheless, Cronenberg doesn't despair and neither should we. The first step in moral change is consciousness, which is perhaps the biggest hurdle in our returning to the straight-and-narrow.