I never took that media and society course...

I'm a gal who loves the movies.

I can't help but pay outrageous ticket prices for a Friday night flick (what's it up to now? $14.95?), so long as it's something I think is worth seeing. I refuse to attend any more Will Ferrel movies, forced action blockbusters, sappy romantic comedies which boast no plot or originality (or real looking people in roles other than the token friend), or anything where there might be too many children present. So basically the season between Oscar time and the summer blockbusters is just dead time to me; I can save up some dough. But there's one movie that's been catching my eye lately: Funny Games.

Granted, that title could probably suit any of the aforementioned genres, but it turns out to be a movie that's quite the intense hour and a half. My friend Essie pointed it out to me in a New York Times article because it's a remake, and I hate remakes (I can't seem to find an article online, only a review, whose title seems to indicate distaste). But it's not just any remake. The original is only about ten years old, it's the same director, and it's shot frame by frame identically (btw, the top of my hated remakes list is the frame-by-frame re-shoot of Hitchcock's classic Psycho.). She ribbingly asked me what I thought about it (because of my overreaction to King Kong a few years ago), but since I knew little, and the circumstances were so weird, I didn't know what to say.

But for some reason I can't get away from this movie and have been furiously researching it in the office (don't judge me, everyone is gone, I have no guidance or direction and no motivation to do anything else). I've looked at the wikipedia page on the original movie, which I wouldn't recommend looking at if you don't want the movie to be fully revealed ("spoiler alert," as it were). The more I read, the more intrigued I am. When I first read about Haneke's intention of addressing the issues of violence in the media, a big red "PRETENTIOUS" sign flashed in my head. I think we all have opinions about violence in the media, or at least know of someone who does (like maybe Christine Chubbuck). After all, in the article I read from the New York Times, it seemed like Haneke has a bit of an ego issue, insisting that he intended for this important message to reach Americans (and I can't imagine why he thinks the American population is a prime nomination for needing to hear such a message), and when that didn't happen, and really couldn't happen the way he wanted it to with his Austrian version, he decided to take it upon himself to remake the film. But after reading his essay (which can be found on the movie's website, but only after some 'playing along') I like to think there's something in his movie. And while I haven't seen it, it appears to have the potential to be considered an important work of art and commentary.

Now granted, I may be giving him far more credit than he deserves. After all, the intention and concept could be solid, but the execution poor. It is quite arrogant to attempt teach what Haneke claims. He could be claiming to incite more self-reflection that he actually does. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The movie starts out with two boys dropping by the vacation home of a family (two parents and a child in tow) to borrow some eggs. Innocent enough? Well of course since I'm talking about violence, there has to be a change in pace. The boys take the family hostage and start out a series of forcefully played sadistic games with a bet: we bet you will be dead by 9 a.m. tomorrow. The family is encouraged to bet, but warned they probably won't be successful. And then something strange happens. One of the boys turns to address the camera and encourages the audience to take part in the little betting game. And of course, what are you to think? Isn't this the same game we play every time we watch slashers or thrillers? That some redeemable character, with whom we are meant to develop sympathy, will get out alive, and hopefully the vicious monsters of the screen will be left either incarcerated or dead. From reading a synopsis (which I didn't intend to do but from which I didn't stop myself reading) this fourth wall deterioration runs throughout the movie, with little smirks or asides from one of the soulless tormentors. And this is apparently where the "message" comes from (anyone ever read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead?). His character has a self awareness that is maybe even a challenge to the audience: do we have any self-awareness when we watch gratuitous violence?

It's almost a challenge to the viewer. As if to say "do you realize what you're doing?" Potentially the intention is to make us feel bad or remorseful for sadistically taking pleasure in watching such brutality. After all, with whom are we supposed to "identify" in a thriller such as this? We can't necessarily put ourselves in the shoes of the family. When have we ever been victims of such torture (besides watching American Idol)? Really we're forced to identify with the killers, and not in a sympathetic or empathetic way. The boys are soulless, bereft of conscience in their acts. But hey, we're watching too right? We're enjoying it, aren't we? Haneke, I think, is trying to convince us of our desensitized moral compass.

Interestingly enough, the movie never really features any on-screen violence; the action happens just off screen, the action viewed through the expressions of an onlooker, but is supposed to be "felt" by the audience (this seems to be an out of place thought, but I felt it should be included).

I think with the movie review aside now (which wasn't intended to be a movie review, but a set up, and how am I to write a review of something I haven't seen?), I'll include the writer/director's essay and a response from IGN's Todd Gilchrist. (Sorry this isn't in a link, but I'm saving you the trouble of trying to find it on the website, and didn't feel like searching for a transcript online.)

********

Violence + Media
From an Essay by Michael Haneke

It is often difficult for audiences to distinguish what is real from what is shown on the movie screen. The fascination of film lies in this very dichotomy. These genres have been born of the fine balance between the anguished sensation of experiencing something real and the reassuring certitude that one is watching an artificial or alternate reality. Violence is defused by film, which makes it easy to watch watered-down version of horror. Exorcised by being shown on-screen, evil seemed more manageable in real life.

With the advent of television, everything changed. Where the documentary approach gained dominance, it had quickly given way to fiction in the cinematic world, at least for the general public.

The immediacy and availability of film has had a profound impact on the public's way of seeing things. The violent, but limited, impressions conveyed on the big screen were ultimately replaced by a daily dose of televised impressions. Television, founded on the dramatic and aesthetic forms of the cinema, radically changed the meaning of these forms so that they could be watched constantly.

Faced with the omnipresence of television, film ramped up with an overabundance of effects, which television wasted no time in co-opting to its own advantage.

This endless oneupmanship led to a sustained frenzy, a feverish intensity that has resulted in growing confusion between reality and fiction. (Vying with real life, fictional violence is doomed to overstatement. In this battle, journalism has sacrificed the most basic respect for the victims it parades before the public.) The spiral is nowhere near an end - its' just beginning, fed by the constant fight for market share and rating that gobble up artistic and technological innovation.

The form of the medium affects how it's received by the audience. In a striking compression, the players in the great media war have, through a formalized attempt to outdo each other, removed all meaning from content, in portrayals of violence as much as in the representation of normal life, from the victim of war to the soap-opera star, from toothpaste to cars. The complete interchangeability of content devoid of all reality ensures that everything that is portrayed will be utterly fictitious, giving the audience a pleasant sense of security. The classic aesthetic link between form and content seems to have been eliminated. And the logic of the marketplace is hardly compatible with the social contract.

The problem seems to be far from being solved. But wouldn't it be worthwhile at least to try?

Starting form the premise that every art form, at least in our societies carries within itself the conditions for its acceptance, not only at the economic level of the dissemination of the work but also at the level of human dialogue, what conclusions should we draw about what the media have produced?

********

Watching a great movie in a genre you are tired of feels a little bit like Al Pacino's infamous line from "The Godfather: Part III", "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." Despite a wealth of articles to the contrary, including IGN's own well-researched look at the phenomenon, "torture porn" never really evolved into anything more than a collection of movies disguising gratuitous violence as halfhearted social commentary; notwithstanding the "Hostel" films, which were really only guilty by association (neither as stupid or graphic as people thought), the remakes and films series that rose to commercial success essentially brought about the supposed subgenre's downfall by being unrelenting, crude and just plain unentertaining.

The fact that Michael Haneke's "Funny Games" was first made ten years ago in Austria precludes its inclusion in the torture porn canon, since at that time (not to mention in that country) the term hadn't yet been invented. But newly remade for U.S. audiences by Haneke himself, and debuting in the somewhat fortunately-timed wake of the genre's commercial demise, his film takes on greater artistic proportions than likely the director or the film's distributor, Warner Independent, ever intended. In fact, it's safe to say that in creating a work of art that effectively takes all of the hallmarks of torture porn and turns them on their (severed) ear, Haneke has not only made a gripping and terrifying work of art, but on that effectively revives the horror genre by completely deconstructing it. - Todd Gilchrist, IGN Movies

*********

I have to admit that I'm completely fascinated by certain "thriller" genres of movie. Not so much these "torture porn" movies, to which I have never been able to bring myself to watch, but movies about serial killers and other psychological thrillers (especially of the Hitchcock variety) attract me. I can't say what this fascination is or from where it comes. I think Haneke addresses it in talking about the fine line that brings us close to an experience without actually being a part of it. But why are we so drawn to being so close to these violent acts? What appeal is there in bringing oneself into a home where serial killers are torturing an innocent family we are undoubtedly rooting for?

Let me clarify that my interest lies in this essay and response rather than with the movie (because I repeat, I haven't seen it, it might not be up to the hype).

My favorite part of Haneke's essay was the articulation in his criticism of the real danger of such violent media. He pointed out that when you watch such detached presentational media of violence where the market is out for "blood and guts", we attribute a fictitious nature to everything we watch. It's how we can be so unmoved by images in the media of violence occurring elsewhere. When we aren't living that reality, anything displayed on a screen is immediately filed away with all the other things that we receive that way, real or not. Does it keep us from being able to have compassion for injustices in the world? Or from being affected by accounts of war and violence in other countries and in other neighborhoods? And along those lines, what does this mean for people in other countries who experience this violence as reality? Do they have a different concept of media violence? And what is that saying or what are we to say to the real victims?

I was also struck by Haneke's assessment of the treatment of victims as casualties of the war for ratings. With the anniversary of the Virginia Tech shootings approaching, I'm reminded of something a friend of mine said during the events. She is a resident of Blacksburg, and was the closest I got to understanding how people were really affected by the incident. Her main struggle and her biggest hope for recovery lay with the media. She was very upset by the way the media would forever portray Blacksburg, how her town could never be the same again, how it would always be connected with the shootings by those who didn't know better, because of the face it was given by reporters and news shows. More than anything, even a semblance of normalcy wasn't possible without the vans and crews leaving. The media's sheer presence was a hindrance on moving forward. Granted, we are given great, heart-breaking, real life (!) accounts of victims, meant to tear at our heartstrings, but we never think about the effects the presence of a camera in someone's home can have on the mourning process. Bystanders of events are jerked around for the media's usage, sound bites and clips for tomorrow's broadcasts.

What can we say about Haneke's questions? I can only assume he's asking them, not just in the rhetorical, so that we might intentionally ask ourselves. I also don't mean for this to sound like a mere add-on, but what should the "Christian response" to this be?

I think of Congressional hearings on violence in the media, or of censorship for music and movies, but I don't think this is the angle at which I'm approaching the issue. Some Christians would argue that violence in the movies is a violation of common decency and should be thrown out with the trash. I for one think freedom of speech is a right informed and supported by my faith. But what do we do with senseless violence, especially when it weakens our compassion for others and our ability to recognize injustice in the world? Does is desensitize our call to action? And if so, what do we do with that? Haneke says the problem is far from being solved, but that we should at least try. But he doesn't give any suggestions. And I can only speculate that he's addressing the issue of helping the media gain a social conscience. But who writes the rules? Where is the compromise? What should the moral code be?

There are certainly many cases where presenting violence on-screen, in documentaries, news, even fictitious art, can be supported. I won't make a list here. And also to be truthful, I'm not sure violence in the media is something huge on my radar. In fact if it weren't for this movie cropping up everywhere, then I wouldn't even be thinking on it right now, but I guess that's Haneke's intention.

I'm not sure his movie can really function the way he wants it to. He sets out to make us feel ashamed for "voyeurism." I mean, if we know his intentions before we go to watch it, isn't there the potential of us becoming complacent in thinking that, even though we're watching such brutality, at least we're supposed to be "learning something." In other words, we have an excuse for enjoying it. But then again, I don't know.

It's not stopping me from watching entertaining movies, or from possibly seeing this one.

Other topics of interest that relate to this (mostly movies):

"Network"

Leopold and Loeb (also, "Rope")

"Dog Day Afternoon"