The last film I saw in a theater
was Martin Scorsese’s Gangs of New York,
starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Daniel Day-Lewis, in 2002. Since the advent of
digital video formats and the outrageous prices attendant to going to a
theater, if a film was any good (usually involving a director and actors who are
true stars, not Ken and Barbie cutouts), I’d prefer to wait for the DVD. Bur sometimes
I miss the boat; the Scorsese/DiCaprio pairing in Shutter Island— was a film I should have seen on the big screen,
and ignored until I saw the DVD in a retail store for $5, and I’ve wasted more
money on junk food on any given day. I recalled that the film received
generally positive reviews, with the notable exception of the Washington Post and the New York Times. One has to point out,
however, that these reviewers completely missed the boat, but for a different
reason: Plot points inside a “delusional” man’s head aren’t supposed to make
“sense.”
Shutter Island turned out to be an intense psychological thriller,
following DiCaprio’s federal marshal (Edward Daniels) and his first time
partner to an island prison/hospital for the criminally insane to investigate
the mysterious disappearance of one of the inmates, a woman who drowned her
three children. At first the marshals receive little cooperation from the
staff, and Daniels receives a cryptic message from one inmate, who advises him
to “run.” But for one reason or another, the marshals cannot leave the island,
and eventually Daniels decides to remain until he discovers what he assumes is
the terrible truth about what is going on in a certain mysterious ward, and
even more dastardly crimes being committed in the lighthouse upon the inmates.
But since this is a psychological
thriller, nothing is as simple as that. Daniels cannot escape the island not
because of some evil being perpetrated there that cannot be revealed to the
outside world, but because he himself is an inmate. Although many reviewers
claimed that this was the kind of film whose intricacies, red herrings and
“shocking” plot twists were only evident in retrospect (much like films such as The Sixth Sense and The Ninth Configuration) and demanded repeat viewings,
I “got” everything on the first viewings—save for one nagging problem: Why
Daniels was incarcerated there in the first place.
Daniels has several flashbacks
that are meant to justify what several characters claim to imply “violent”
proclivities—and what Daniels calls being a “monster.” The first, coming early
in the film, show Daniels as a World War II soldier entering the Dachau
concentration camp, appalled by the thousands of corpses he sees. Soon
afterwards, he and his fellow soldiers in a state of vengeance line-up the camp
guards against a fence and shoot down every one of them. Midway through the
film, Daniels is obsessed by a ghostly image of a young girl who asks him why
he didn’t “save” her. Another inmate tells him that he won’t “escape” unless he
accepts the “truth” and goes on with his life.
The final flashback sees Daniels
returning home to find his wife soaking wet, and his three children floating
dead in the lake beyond, drowned by their mother. After carrying the children
back to the yard, Daniels—in an obviously understandable state of shock, is approached
by his wife (apparently insane) who embraces him. We then hear the report of a
gunshot, and she falls dead. Now, in the “real” world, Daniel’s actions may
have been interpreted as a “temporary” state of insanity (and if gender roles
were reversed, to be “justified”), and he might even have been acquitted of
voluntary manslaughter if he had a persuasive attorney.
But that is not what happened. We
are supposed to believe that this action made Daniels “insane,” that he is a
naturally violent “monster” who has injured (and even maimed) some fellow
inmates (although he is the only one we see attacked by others in the film),
that he has invented a fictional persona for both himself and his dead wife
(the “missing” inmate) to psychologically “escape” from his “crime”—and worst of all, he is made by the script writer
to shoulder the blame for the death of his children (“I killed my children,” he
“confesses”).
In a state of “acceptance” of the
truth, Daniels admits that he “murdered” his wife, whose own actions were the
product of a creeping insanity brought on by some mysterious “syndrome” that
only women seem to suffer, and that her husband should have seen the “warning
signs” and “saved” his children by sending her away for psychiatric help before
she acted on her murderous “intentions.” Because he didn’t suspect this, he was
a “violent monster.” The irony, of course, is that if the prison’s
psychiatrists actually wanted to “cure” him, it was their obligation to
convince him that in fact he was not—that his actions were an “understandable”
reaction to the horror he was confronted with.
If you’ve heard this all before,
you are quite correct. Texas “mother” Andrea Yates drowned her five children in
a bathtub, the horror of the act itself can be left to the imagination. This
isn’t shooting, drugging or gassing in carbon monoxide, either a quick or
painless death; this is waterboarding to death. Yates had to actually hold down
her struggling children (all boys) in the water. Yates claimed that she was
sending them to “heaven,” and had “intended” in killing herself, but she of
course didn’t. Perhaps she knew that there is something strange among Texas
jurors, who seem to have such a high regard for “mothers”—white ones,
anyways—that the only possible reason for committing such a heinously
disturbing act is insanity, which of course is what the jury found her “guilty”
of in her retrial.
But the sanctity of motherhood
inspires other myths, like the father “ignoring” the “warning” signs of an
impending slaughter, just as the Daniels’ character was “supposed” to. The
deceit of this is part of the current myth that men are beasts and women are
passive “victims”—even by their own children. Yates’ husband was vilified for
“ignoring” the psychological “signs” that she was devolving into a state of
murder. Yet we are supposed to assume that he is some kind of “mind reader,”
that he is to imagine that his wife’s occasionally strange behavior is supposed
to tip him off that she has something so horrific in mind that he must “assume”
the worst? There are those who might even accuse him of being “crazy” and “misogynistic” for even suggesting it.
This politically-correct
myth-making that asserts that women are “victims” even in the commission of
such a horrific crime of murdering a child in a most agonizing fashion is used
in Shutter Island as a difficult to tolerate justification for everything that transpired. By ending that way, what
was until the last 10 minutes was a mesmerizing thriller turned out to be an
overlong justification for male guilt for the crimes of women, particularly by
mothers against their own children.
I don’t blame Scorsese for this
mendacity, but the writer of the story. I’m sure the victim myth premise was
seen as “contemporary,” but for me the falsity of it destroyed the rationalization
of the film itself; I didn’t believe for one minute that Daniels was the true
“bad guy” in the film, but a scapegoat for the crimes of others more deserving
of scrutiny.