Just some film musings of a more succinct, spontaneous and sometimes seditious nature:

Thursday, March 16, 2023

Another topic that continually arises in film related Facebook chat rooms (all readers are welcome to join ours here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/902349343110685) concerns what many movie goers have determined are films critically devalued due to the amoral behaviour and actions of their characters especially those based on real life figures such as Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. This point of view is often presented when TCM is about to air the 1967 film Bonnie and Clyde at which time I share my positive review. Some, who comment, feel that the titular couple are inappropriately romanticised in this film. A few compare it unfavourably to a less fictionalised recent movie involving the bank robbers in 2019’s The Highwaymen, the latter perceived to be more artistically accomplished because of its historical accuracy and shifting focus to the morally upstanding pair of lawmen who stopped them.

My thoughts on this subject are as follows:

First off, let’s address this false notion that cinema should not dwell on evil deeds or those who commit them. From the time cave dwellers first drew on walls, characters in stories were not meant to be some kind of endorsement as to how to act, better they reflect the way people behave (or perhaps can in special circumstances) so we relate to them and therefore gain a better understanding of ourselves and others. This, instead of say the opposite extreme where superheroes who always do the right thing and are miraculously (but without a shred of relatability) there to save us from those who do bad things. Cinema, since it is part of the storytelling arts like theatre or literature, should be no exception in exploring all kinds of human endeavour even the “left-handed” variety.

Many professional critics at the time denounced 1967’s Bonnie and Clyde for portraying these two as a glamorised couple just out to have some fun. Obviously, I disagree with that assessment since it comprises a myopic view of the story's dramatic trajectory. The Barrow gang pay for their criminal deeds continuously and in many ways, not only the extreme violence our main couple endure at their story’s conclusion but in the conflicts generated between themselves and law enforcement as a result of being wanted outlaws living on the run. Crime doesn't pay is still the one undeniable message that rings loud and clear especially when Buck Barrow succumbs to his wounds and these two beautiful criminals meet their unprecedented ugly and bloody demise.

*Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid* (1969)

Compare this to the way another pair of infamous bank robbers are portrayed in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. They too were glamorised to the extent that neither was that attractive or known to be so considerate of one another or their fellow man but I don't hear anyone complain about that film, at least not in the same way. And why is that? It’s probably because the Bonnie and Clyde portrayed in 1967’s mythical reimagining are meant to be confrontational and anti-authoritarian to our sensibilities, relevant to the time period they were created, compared to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid who are continually highlighted as likeable throughout all of their conflicts (or to be more accurate: adventures). They just had the occasional hard time is all. At the end, we still don't see Butch or Sundance suffer for their supposed “sins.” The filmmakers, even after their story is over, have left us little of exploratory value. They want us to remember “the good times” and the duo as basically affable "good guys” with nary a thought about the greater cause and effect that permeated their criminal activities unlike those depicted two years earlier in Bonnie and Clyde.

The quality of art is not based on its historical accuracy. Art is an interpretation of reality even if it's a photograph. Do we say an accurate to the last detail photograph is a work of art simply because of its ability to duplicate what it shows? Of course not... (an expensive copier can do the same thing). An Ansel Adams photograph, on the other hand, because of the feelings generated and how it captures something beyond what a simple reproduction can achieve is most certainly capable of being a work of artistic expression for those reasons. In the storytelling arts the same principle applies: it's what the artist draws from human interest that resonates, not the accurate reproduction of what's happening or has happened. Besides, The Highwaymen is fiction, just like all those cinematic interpretations of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. No matter how exacting a film portrays what occurred, it has to be a reenactment… otherwise cameras filmed the actual event… which if they did, ain’t art.

The Highwaymen focuses on lawman Frank Hamer, portrayed by Kevin Costner, challenged with apprehending Bonnie and Clyde at all costs. Aside from some effective discussion concerning the legality of how the two cold-blooded killers are stopped, The Highwaymen is reminiscent of a police procedural: steady, dull, and methodical as it nears its forgone conclusion. It’s a finale that, on paper, looks pretty much like the death of Bonnie and Clyde portrayed in the 1967 film. The couple’s demise depicted in The Highwaymen, however, lacks the timeless impact of Bonnie and Clyde due mostly to the latter’s abundance of detailed and enlivened characterisation presented beforehand: a kind of folkloric intensity typically born in an environment less beholden to historical authenticity. The truthfulness of any fictional film’s subject matter is only indebted to following its own narrative for validation, not on prior real life events. This understanding can free up the storytellers’ vision as it did with the filmmakers involved in making 1967’s Bonnie and Clyde.

The artistic value of cinema that demythologises infamous figures, such as 1971’s Doc or the following year’s Dirty Little Billy, must similarly depend on the storytellers’ ability to reimagine the characters and events in a new and engaging light. They too are creating fiction and should not be given credit simply for counteracting a revisionist, less archival interpretation of the past. The Highwaymen’s mostly dry and forgettable characterisation of lawman Hamer seems like a direct response to that same character’s humiliation suffered in Bonnie and Clyde. If so, the shift in presenting Hamer as a stalwart law enforcement official, although commendable as a concept, inhibits its storytellers from applying the kind of creative license likely to produce more enduring results. The filmmakers' apparent prioritisation of faithfully recreating yesteryear relegates The Highwaymen to more of a semi-historical, practically forgotten footnote compared to Bonnie and Clyde’s imaginative myth making… a film that has resonated well over half a century and no doubt will continue to do so.

The Highwaymen (2019):

All responses are not only welcomed but encouraged in the comments section below.

Hope to see you tomorrow.

A.G.

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