The Anti-Anti-Movie

I've just finished Peter Weir's Gallipoli which tells the tale of hundreds of thousands of young Australian men lead to their deaths in a battle that made really no sense to anyone. It is often, rightfully, compared with Stanley Kubrick's anti-war masterpiece Paths of Glory, which got me thinking: what does "anti-war" even really mean?

You could throw that term in front of a lot of war movies and it would stick. Clint Eastwood's Letters from Iwo Jima, Oliver Stone's Platoon, Speilberg's Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan, David O Russell's Three Kings, Randall Wallace's We Were Soldiers and so on. But at what point do we define a movie as being anti anything? The reason the term sticks so well and is so uneasily refuted is that when the question is posed of what exactly could be named as an example of a pro-war movie, not too many titles instantly fit the bill.

And they rightfully shouldn't, but does that not mean that any movie that depicts the death and destruction caused by war is, in some way or another, anti-war by default? I can't think of too many movies, no matter how graphic or glorified the violence, that would stand up and openly claim themselves to being pro-war because, knowing the innate horrors or warfare, who would ever stand up and make a bold public statement in favour of it?

But let's assume, as we must, that not all war films are anti-war. At what point then does a film justifiably become anti-anything? Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting was originally criticized upon its release by some who felt it was pro-drug in it's stylized glorification and comedic outlook towards a bunch of Scottish junkies. I don't know about anyone else in the world, but seeing images of a man lose his bowels all over the bed sheets or another dive into the filthiest toilet in Scotland, no matter how humorous or stylized, should certainly be enough to turn most rational minds away from the temptations of heroin use.

Could this then simply be another one of these faux critical terms that seem to instill an importance in a film that simply inherently exists under the surface anyway based on the content? With the depiction of war itself, the realization of senseless death on a massive scale, the confusion and horror of being trapped alone in a place where each new step brings the possibility of death, are these things not the statement in and of itself without taste makers underlining and bolding it for us as well? I've heard many arguments about how Inception is a film about filmmaking, which I always dismiss as too easy a reading: of course Inception is a film about filmmaking. Every movie about dreams is, whether purposefully or not, a film about filmmaking.

That is of course not to take away from films such as Paths of Glory and Gallipoli, which are both, in similar and yet different ways, very affecting stories that rise above simple depictions of brutal combat. My point is, to come back to it again, at what point do we differentiate a war film from an anti-war film, a drug film from an anti-drug film, a violent film from an anti-violence film and so on? And how then, in all our infinite wisdom and critical capacity can we even begin to answer such a question when it is next to, if not completely impossible to separate a film's content from its message?

Greatest Movies That Made Going to the Movies Suck #24- Trainspotting

Simon Appears Courtsey of Four of Them

This had been one of those movies that had already achieved a following before it's eventual cinematic bombardment. I think the best adaptions are (no, not Twilight. Never Twilight). See, the late nineties was something of a blessing for cult writers with gritty, transgressive, and/or nihilistic styles. Fight Club was a-brewing, the travesty of Less Than Zero remained somewhat fresh in the minds of studio execs bidding for American Psycho, Pulp Fiction was still burning under filmmakers' asses, and American audiences were ripe for a precursor to these beauties, something miserable masquerading as awesome.

Thus, the year of 1996, Trainspotting was released upon a naive public. Danny Boyle, unknown in the States, a rising kinda-star in the European film industry for his noir thriller debut, Shallow Graves. He brought in Graves' star, Ewan McGregor, for the starring role in his adaption of Irvine Welsh's eponymous novel, a collection of connected vignettes following the misadventures of a group of young junkies. Also in the cast was Kelly MacDonald, Tommy Lee Miller (future Angelina Jolie plaything), Kevin McKidd (future Grey's Anatomy McSomething) and Robert Carlyle (future The Full Monty dude).

When this thing was released, it was released. Puritans cried glorifying drug use. Everyone else wondered where the glory was. The blackest black comedy to be released that decade--when people finally put subtitles on for the poor American audiences who couldn't understand a word--it set off a chain of controversy, acclaim, and mad dash to make a ripoff while it could still be called fresh.

Now, this is besides the black comedies featuring the underbelly of society, of various tones, success, and impact. There's Spun, a misbegotten 2002 indie starring Jason Schwartzman, Brittany Murphy, and Mickey Rourke. Requiem for a Dream, a successful drama, also from a book, made in 2000. Probably a million more I haven't seen.

But that's beside the point, the cinematic rip-offs. What it did most was really publicize drug addiction, which up until then had been treated as some glamorous rock-star-exclusive club. It managed the difficult line between slapstick and awareness, without treating the issue lightly, or getting preachy with the 'drugs are bad' stuff. It set a new standard in shock value, with the infamous Worst Toilet in Scotland, and especially the Baby Dawn episode, put Danny Boyle and Ewan McGregor on the map (sure, they split after the failure of their third project, A Life Less Ordinary) and influenced a generation of disillusioned, disaffected young things, who seemed to fast forward through the awful bits of ODing, death, and detoxing, maybe even Tommy's spiral which, okay, is relatively low-key in the midst of things, going straight for the fast-paced chase scenes, the comradely between junkies, and the relatively happy ending. Of course, that's the Catch-22, isn't it? Either make an awfully serious drug movie nobody will see, or a fast-paced drug odyssey that everybody will imitate.

People will look back on Trainspotting, no matter what the backlash, and still see a trippy, honest, brutal, hilarious, exciting, miserable, heartbreaking film.