In the days of
click-bait celebrity journalism, identity-politics opinion, and
memory that extends no farther than the last hit of the 'delete' key,
it was hard to figure out exactly what it was that actor Liam Neeson
had done forty years ago after a 'close friend' had been raped that
merited the headlines it generated. The rapist had been a black man,
and the tabloids, both printed and virtual, screamed that Neeson had
gone out on the streets looking to kill a black man in revenge. And
of course the tabloid headlines generated more 'serious' reflection.
One opinion piece in Britain's Guardian explained that Neeson
confessed to having 'entertained a racist lynching fantasy' and gone
'looking for a black man to murder'.
But what Neesom had
actually said was something not so subtly different, and it rang a
warning bell in my head, as it should have done for anyone with a
passing knowledge of popular film. Neeson told the online newspaper
The Independent that he had packed a cosh and gone to black
neighbourhoods hoping 'to be approached...that some black bastard
would come out of a pub and have a go at me so I could kill him'. So
he was a man seeking vengeance for a rape going out and making
himself an obvious target so he could exact his revenge? I've seen
that movie.
It was called Death
Wish, based on the novel of the same name by the recently
deceased Brian Garfield, and it starred Charles Bronson and was
directed by Michael Winner in 1975, and thus not long before the
incident Neeson described. It was a huge hit, and it's not unlikely
that the 23 year old Neeson saw it. Bronson plays Paul Kersey, a
New York City architect whose wife is murdered and daughter raped by
a gang of intruders (including Jeff Goldblum in his first film
appearance). He begins setting himself up as an obvious target for
muggers, then kills them.
So rather than
seeking out any black man as a revenge victim, Neeson was
specifically looking for an attacker, so his vengeance might be
justified. Obviously, he never acted out those impulses, possibly
because his local community, normally a hothouse of revenge violence, was unwilling or unable to provide the requisite
'bastards' to have a go at him, but the whole thing is so close to the
plot of Death Wish to suggest he may have been acting out a movie
fantasy in his head. Which is still something for which he can indeed
still feel ashamed.
But perhaps we also need to remember that although he was not an actor then, Liam Nesson is one now, and actors do tend to see the world as an extension of their movies. Let's set some more background here: Neeson gave this revealing and controversial interview on a promotional tour for his new movie, Cold Pursuit, in which he plays a snow-plow driver seeking revenge against the drug dealers he thinks murdered his son. The film is a remake of the Norwegian thriller In Order Of Disappearance, and Neeson's casting is rather like Winner's casting of Bronson, because like Bronson, Neeson is best-known for action hero movies.
But perhaps we also need to remember that although he was not an actor then, Liam Nesson is one now, and actors do tend to see the world as an extension of their movies. Let's set some more background here: Neeson gave this revealing and controversial interview on a promotional tour for his new movie, Cold Pursuit, in which he plays a snow-plow driver seeking revenge against the drug dealers he thinks murdered his son. The film is a remake of the Norwegian thriller In Order Of Disappearance, and Neeson's casting is rather like Winner's casting of Bronson, because like Bronson, Neeson is best-known for action hero movies.
In Garfield's
original novel, Paul (called Benjamin) is an accountant. The book was
originally adapted by screenwriter Wendell Mayes for director Sidney
Lumet, the Michelangelo of New York City's urban decay in the
Seventies, and was to star Jack Lemmon. In Garfield's words, the
story was that of 'an ordinary guy who descends into madness'. It was
meant to recall the adage about digging two graves when you embark on
revenge. But when producer Dino DeLaurentis acquired the rights,
Lumet backed off the project and Winner (whom Garfield called 'an
idiot') was brought on board, along with Bronson, with whom he had a
successful working relationship. In Winner's subtle hands, the
violence was played with voyeuristic celebration, something perhaps
more requiring of apology than Neeson's own fantasies. Bronson,
of course, became an heroic figure. Enough to propel Death Wish
to four film sequels, a fifth film based on Garfield's own sequel,
Death Sentence, and a 2018 remake starring Bruce Willis, which
I have not yet seen because frankly, life is too short.
In his interview,
Nesson mentioned his growing up in Northern Ireland, during what are
euphemistically called 'The Troubles'. He grew up seeing the urge,
the constant demand, for vengeance played out all around him. His
film career reflects that, especially the series of Taken movies, in
which he avenges himself on kidnappers. Cold Pursuit was
getting none of the buzz of a Taken film, and indeed opened to
disappointing returns in the US, bringing in the worst box office for
any Neeson action film since Darkman in 1990, his introduction
to the genre. Which leads to the question of why Neeson felt now was
the moment to unroll this forty-year old fantasy tale of revenge?
The original novel
was called Death Wish because Paul Benjamin was acting out his
own death wish, and, as noted, Brian Garfield wanted to show his vengeance was
leading to his own self-destruction. Winner and Bronson's version was more celebratory of Paul's transformation. Ambiguity isn't a motif in Michael Winner movies.
So was Neeson's a bold confession,
aimed at pointing out this futility of revenge? Or was he seeing, as
Michael Winner had, a simpler vision, that, as Rap Brown reminded
us,'violence is as American as cherry pie', and thus he was using his
own life to bolster his standing as an action-hero purveyor of
violence? Or was he conflating his fantasies conveniently with a deeper
reality?
The link between
films and reality is especially strong in Neeson's own life, where
the tragedy of his wife Natasha Richardson's death recalled one his
own most moving roles, in the days before he became the Charles
Bronson de nos jours, in Ethan Frome. Eschewing cynicism, it
would not be unreasonable to believe that Neeson was not simply
promoting his latest, that he would feel drawn to unburden himself of
a memory of great unpleasantness in order to remind viewers that his
characters in films are just that, only characters in only movies, and reality is much
more cruel. If that be the case, he should be faulted only for not
realising that the sins of the past are today grist less for deep
reflection than for the internet mill of short-lived high-flame outrage.
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