A CLOCKWORK ELEPHANT?
Alex is an elementary particle, a charged electron unable to diffuse his
energy, orbiting the periphery of his social circle. But charged by what?
Director Gus Van Sant takes us on a journey inside of a high school on the morning
of a massacre. He allows us to become voyeur into the lives of victims and
perpetrators in this too brief span of time, but he does not travel inside of
the mind, into that nebulous territory of fiction and fantasy to offer any easy
answer or trite solution.
The title of the film has multiple implications. The director has stated
that he believed it to stand as a metaphor concerning blind men each touching
part of a whole and coming to different conclusions. But Art can be interpreted
many ways also, even apart from the creator’s conscious intentions. I choose to
read the film quite differently: that’s the prerogative of the consumer. I
don’t pretend this is right or wrong only that I experience the film’s depth is
illusory. ELEPHANT seems clear and shallow but it refracts light and meaning
and is much deeper than it seems.
So what is the elephant in the room, the obvious truth that is never addressed
or acknowledged? Gus Van Sant has some ideas and he offers them in very subtle
and creative ways for us to consider. Does the fault lie with video game
violence? Or is it easy access to assault weapons? The blame game as depicted
in the film can also include bullying, mental illness, distant and uncaring
parents, fascination with fascism, sexual repression…even Beethoven. My thesis
involves an interpretation of the film in that Van Sant recognizes these
influences but focuses directly upon the elephant in the room: the solipsistic perpetrators
Eric and Alex.
I find the original poster artwork contains some very interesting details.
The simple design of the poster (see above) is a white background with a small
window box where John (not one of the victims) is being consoled by a friend
with a kind kiss on the cheek. But this photo is dominated by a giant orange
elephant, one that is too obvious to be ignored. This metaphor at first blush
may seem to apply to the characters represented in the photo but watching the
film dispels this idea. So what does the orange elephant refer to beyond its
idiom? I believe it’s a veiled reference to Anthony Burgess’ novel A CLOCKWORK
ORANGE, where the sociopathic killer shares the same name and appreciation of
Lovely Ludwig Van as this film’s adversary. So a careful reading of this design
points directly to Alex as literally the elephant. Not coincidently, there are
only two elephant motifs in the entire film and both are contained within
Alex’s bedroom: one is a black and white sketch upon his wall and the other is
a blanket upon his bed. A subdued 360 degree pan reveals this information as
Alex plays Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata while Eric lounges on the bed. Again,
Van Sant pulls focus into this particular environment inhabited by the two
perpetrators, this haven of respite from the rest of their world. Here they
hang out, play a violent video game, and surf the internet for information on
assault weapons.
The video game that Eric and Alex play is not a “game” at all; it is not
a challenge. It is shadowy avatars haunting a white landscape in a static
perspective. This can easily be read as a program created by these obviously
bright kids in order to act out there fantasy. If so, then all cause and effect
concerning this thesis (video game violence) is thrown out the window. Now, the
video game becomes a safety valve that no longer fulfills its original purpose
and the desire to act out physically and indiscriminately dominates. If we
blame one element (and Van Sant offers us many disparate ones) then we can
easily blame Beethoven whom Alex plays rather eloquently immediately before the
school shooting. Or we can lay blame at sexual repression since the two boys
each receive their first kiss (from each other) before embarking on their
violent sojourn. The power of the narrative is that the obvious first cause is
the one often overlooked because the issue becomes political instead of human.
Van Sant takes time to portray the complex social hierarchies and
problems facing the other adolescents. The film begins with John’s drunken
father driving him to school. His father is so drunk that John makes him get
out of the car. After a brief argument, John drives them both to school (the
child usurping authority) and gets punished by the Principal for being late
(authority unfairly taking control). John shows very adult level decision
making in taking the keys and calling his older brother to come get their
father, and even as he reports to the Principal’s office for detention he
doesn’t bicker and throw a tantrum: he accepts his fate with dignity. But in a
later scene we see him cry alone in a room and he is consoled by a friend with
a gentle kiss upon the cheek (see poster above). It is a truly lovely and
heartbreaking scene. Van Sant then introduces us to Michelle, an invisible girl
(even to herself) who is withdrawn and introverted, on the outside of the
social structure. Her hunchbacked body language shows very little self-esteem,
a girl who fears the whispers and ridicules of her peers so she doesn’t even
wear shorts to gym class. We also meet a Goth couple early in the film that seems
happy and well adjusted, agreeing to have their picture taken. They contradict the
introverted and passive aggressive cliché often presented by the media. Even
Elias the aspiring photographer is grounded by his parents (he can’t go to the
concert) but accepts this punishment though not without a wisecrack. Though
these teenagers each have situations that are awful (both subjectively and
objectively), they don’t seem inclined to go on a murder spree or seek revenge.
We briefly see Alex in the back of a classroom being pegged with wet
paper thrown by obvious “Jocks”. He then cleans himself off in front of a
cracked mirror. The science teacher is lecturing on outer electrons and their
increased charge but he never does answer the question as to whether a charged
electron diffuses its energy or just remains volatile forever. This is another
clue to the film’s thesis in that Alex (and by extension his friend Eric, whom
we only know in relation to Alex) is already cracked and charged, that
something inherent is wrong with him. The CLOCKWORK ORANGE analogy works here
if we consider the novel (Kubrick subverted the metaphor and his film is
contrary to the author’s intent) in that bad kids are born, they just are,
regardless of environment or upbringing. Both Alex characters are crazy as a
clockwork orange, so to speak. It begs the questions: If other kids are picked
on, if other kids have very real and seemingly insolvable conundrums, if other
kids are exposed to the same environment as Alex, why aren’t they killing or show
desire to kill? The obvious answer is this: they’re not born to kill.
Van Sant begins the film with a clear sky that gradually becomes darker.
Storm clouds brew on the horizon then take over later in the narrative, just
before the killing. Van Sant uses one rather mundane scene to pivot the entire
narrative upon so we can grasp perspectives and timeline. We see Elias
photograph John in the hallway from three different perspectives (John, Elias
and Michelle) which allow us to organize the events in our minds. This
technique also allows the audience intimacy with all of the characters,
following them languidly through the morning and lunch until the violent denouement.
This is very important because when they are murdered we experience this as a
tragedy, as real children being gunned down, not cinematic mannequins without
pain or consciousness.
The film’s point of view is quite unique and apparently deliberate. Van
Sant quite purposely uses a video game composition as statement to the
narrative. The camera often begins by following slightly behind the characters
as they go about their morning activities, then slowly wraps around to front or
profile angles. For those of us who play computer or console games, we
immediately recognize this perspective. But this skewed angle which seems
unnatural but necessary in video games (in a virtual world, when you can’t turn
your head without turning your whole body, or look down at your feet, this
omniscient angle becomes valuable) and often creates a sense of distance from
the gameplay, here does the opposite. The fluid camera develops an intimacy and
sense of immediacy and kinship with the characters as if we the audience are
sharing in the story. This faux context seems to draw a parallel concerning the
fact that video games may not be as immersive (thus, as psychologically
damaging) as feature films. Could Van Sant be pointing an accusing finger at
the very medium he utilizes to understand this temporal phenomena?
Van Sant portrays the carnage in a casually realistic manner and shows
very little blood or gore, which condemns the violence instead of accentuating
it. ELEPHANT therefore becomes an anti-action film. Michelle is the first
victim (one who “deserves” it the least?) and we see her insides spattered upon
the library books. Then the camera swoops in for tight focus upon Alex and we
see only background shapes like video game avatars, some holding up their
hands, other running (or trying to) and getting gunned down. The sound doesn’t
oversaturate the film, the gunshots sound real and not overly punctuated like
in action movies…or video games. The crying and begging have no effect upon
Alex and Eric, who seem perplexed that their bombs didn’t go off, so on to plan
B. Their attitude is indifferent, without haste or pleasure or pain they just
go about their duty. Eric even pins the Principal down at gunpoint, lets him
escape then shoots him in the back for some perceived wrongdoing. Then later,
Alex shoots his accomplice as Eric is about to tell him how many people he shot.
It’s important to note that their killing is indiscriminate because they are
not seeking revenge: they are after something more. The need is to make a statement,
to be something bigger than them, the desire to commit an act so despicable
that it will bring them attention. In other words, to be Alex the Large.
The film ends as Alex corners the popular jock Nathan (one who threw the
paper) and his cheerleader girlfriend Carrie as they hide in the freezer. Here
Alex considers them with the same lack of empathy as he would a hunk of beef
slung on a hook, and sadistically recites eeny-meeny-miny-mo to decide which
one lives. We are never given an answer if one or both escape or die. Van Sant
has shown us enough and suddenly fades out to a stormy sky. But the sky begins
to clear and the sun peeks through the thunderheads. There is daylight after
the storm. Nothing lasts forever, even tragedy.
Van Sant offers us a film whose answer is that there is no definitive
answer. Eric and Alex are obviously to blame. To seek beneath the veneer of
human motivation is to find only lies, misinformation and confusion. That’s why criminal
prosecution never has to prove motive, only intent. We may never know why. We
can only know whom…
Final Grade: (A+)
