Pierrepoint: The Last Hangman

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on December 17, 2007.

At the risk of sounding like a relic of the 1800s, I sometimes wonder whether the rest of the industrial/post-industrial world looks upon the United States as a land of savagery. After all, we seem to have a predilection towards explicit violence in almost every facet of our social life. We engage in military adventures around the world, maintain a relatively high murder rate, and consume violent media in the form of movies, television, and video games. Plus, despite official pronouncements to the contrary, we also seem to engage in torture—um, enhanced interrogation techniques—a practice that does not seem to cohere with "advanced" culture (we even revel in the practice of torture in our prime-time entertainment).

There is also, of course, the death penalty. The United States holds the distinction of being a rare (perhaps the only) wealthy, industrialized country to kill a certain class of prisoners deemed "worthy" of the punishment. For sure, there is great debate about the practice—often surrounding the question of whether various methods are "cruel and unusual" and thus, unconstitutional—but there is not a sufficient enough opposition to bring about a speedy end to capital punishment. If most Americans found the death penalty to be simply wrong, then it wouldn't be too hard to pass legislation banning it. However, a large enough percentage supports the practice, despite the controversies surrounding it, and thus it persists, contributing to America's violent reputation.

As such, it is instructive, perhaps, to watch a movie about the last days of capital punishment in another country. No, I'm not talking about a documentary or a heavy-handed polemic; the movie I have in mind is Adrian Shergold's Pierrepoint (2005)—a.k.a., The Last Hangman—a biopic about one of the most "successful" executioners in the United Kingdom. Timothy Spall plays Albert Pierrepoint, who most people know as a local deliveryman, but who also moonlights for the correctional system. Following in his father's footsteps, Pierrepoint regularly receives notices in the mail about impending executions throughout the country. When duty calls, he travels to the appropriate prison, carries out the task at hand, and receives his monetary compensation — a supplement to the income from his day job.

At first, Pierrepoint is portrayed in a troubling light. He's a little too good at his job, and he makes it his goal to be the fastest hangman in the country: the "ideal" execution takes literally just seconds. (After all, the condemned have had substantial time to think about their impending death, so why prolong the final, agonizing moments?) When asked about how he manages his job, the specifics of which are—even to those who support capital punishment—troubling and distasteful, Pierrepoint is very upfront about it: he simply maintains a divided self. The person who binds the prisoners' hands, puts the rope around their necks, covers their heads with a hood, and pulls the lever to release the trap door — that person is not Albert Pierrepoint, you see. He is simply a nameless agent of the state, carrying out a dirty but necessary job. When that agent leaves the prison, he returns to his prior identity as the local deliveryman that everyone knows and loves.

Is Pierrepoint professional? Absolutely. Cold? Perhaps. Heartless? Actually, no. The movie takes great pains to show Pierrepoint as a highly moral and even compassionate man. He takes the idea of payment seriously: once the condemned have paid their price, then their sins are forgiven. As far as society is concerned, the guilty return to a prior, innocent status, and the living have no moral right to speak ill of them. He treats the bodies of the condemned with great care and respect, and he demands that each one be buried in a proper coffin.

One of the moral debates surrounding capital punishment concerns the question of whether it really enacts justice or is simply an instrument of vengeful bloodlust. Presumably, justice has a dispassionate, even somber, quality that is distinct from the clamor of the angry mob. It is clear that from Pierrepoint's perspective, his actions serve the higher cause of justice — which explains his calm, professional demeanor. When the British government commissions him to carry out the post-World War II executions of Nazi war criminals, he makes it a point not to dwell on the atrocities committed by the prisoners; even in a situation of war, when all of Britain is (understandably) incensed at the death and destruction wrought by the Nazi regime, Pierrepoint conducts his job with poise, dignity, and respect.

Does Pierrepoint have anything to say about current American debates regarding the death penalty? At one level, proponents could look at Britain's "last hangman" and argue that it is possible to carry out executions in a way that promotes justice, eschews vengeance, and treats with respect the humanity of the condemned. However, that position would have to ignore the psychological toll that is undergone by the executioner. After years of practicing his "craft," Pierrepoint starts to come apart. Because he does care about human dignity, his moonlighting gig eventually has to affect him. Not many people can maintain the "split" personalities that are required in order to engage in distasteful activities in private while "keeping up appearances" in the public square. To his credit, Pierrepoint could not maintain his double life indefinitely. Again, to use the outdated terminology, he could not reconcile the "civilization" and "savagery" warring inside him.

Of course, the Bible does not condemn executions—and in some cases, capital punishment is actually prescribed—so it is hard to make a theological case for opposing the practice outright (thus, I am not opposed to the death penalty intrinsically). However, there is plenty of reason to oppose its current administration in the United States. Many death-row inmates have faced biased juries, overworked or incompetent counsel, and corrupt prosecutors — and yes, innocent people have been convicted. If we are going to have a death penalty, then we at least can demand that it be carried out in a fair, competent manner.

Thus, in our current climate, it seems that a moratorium is a reasonable request, an opportunity to find out why and how innocent folks end up behind bars and to mitigate the incompetence and corruption in our correctional system. Death-penalty proponents argue that a moratorium is simply a back-door method to end executions outright, and perhaps that is true. However, by their very position, moratorium opponents send two messages to the world: either (a) they are ignorant of the reality of wrongful convictions or (b) they don't care. The latter, of course, simply evinces an excessive utilitarianism that, at its most extreme, is expressed by the old adage: "Kill them all. Let God sort them out."

If Albert Pierrepoint found it difficult to continue executing prisoners—even with the professional poise that he brought to the practice—and if he found that he could not, in good conscience, maintain his alternate life as a facilitator of death, then perhaps it would be wise for Americans to rethink capital punishment. While it may not be intrinsically wrong from a Biblical standpoint and while it is possible to administer it justly, we must admit that the current state of affairs is far from just. If we continue the status quo and ignore the substantial problems that plague the death penalty, then we simply confirm what many suspect of the United States: that it is a land of self-righteous hypocrisy, an outpost of savagery in the industrialized world.