In many ways, A History of Violence carries forward some of the same themes and issue he developed so well in his last film, Spider (2003), particularly the slippery nature of “truth” and the power of the past when it intrudes on the present. Based on a graphic novel of the same name, A History of Violence takes place in the small, picturesque, blandly titled town of Millbrook, Indiana. The main character is a long-time local family man named Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen), who owns and runs a diner downtown. One night, a couple of vicious killers enter the diner and begin threatening the customers. In self-defense, Tom kills both of them. This act of “heroism” -- the small town family man protecting home and hearth from invading evil -- turns him into a minor celebrity. This celebrity, however, turns out to be a curse, as it resurrects demons from Tom’s past, namely some shady men in dark suits and sunglasses who show up one day calling him Joey Cusack.

As much as A History of Violence is about violence itself and its implications, it is also very much about the notion of identity. The film emphasizes the idea that we are who we make ourselves to be; identity is not cemented forever, but rather fluid and in flux, even if it leaves behind a trail that never goes away. Thus, a man who was once a vicious killer might be able to renounce such a life and move on, but the past will always exist and therefore threaten the new present -- a true return of the repressed.

Putting your finger on the pulse of A History of Violence and figuring out all its aims is as complex as the film is exciting. On a base level, it is a reactionary thriller in the vein of Death Wish (1974), in which violence as the answer to violence is not only acceptable, but laudable. We can see this working in a subplot involving Tom’s teenage son, Jack (Ashton Holmes), a sensitive kid who has become the target of a teen bully. When Jack finally fights back, literally pulverizing the bully and his friend and putting them both in the hospital, it’s impossible not to feel a surge of excitement and release; the jerk got what he deserved. The overinflated manner in which Cronenberg presents the violence is clearly meant to elicit just such a reaction.

Yet, at other moments in the film, violence is treated with a sense of horror and revulsion, particularly in a scene immediately following the revenge on the bully in which Tom and Jack get in a fight and Tom loses control and slaps his son, a stinging blow to both the boy and the audience. Cronenberg has also never been one to shy away from gore, and there are several points in A History of Violence in which he cuts away to the pulpy results of what a shotgun or even a human fist does to flesh and bone, reminding us with only a few, shocking seconds of screen time how easily most movies gloss over the physical realities of what we like to call “action.”

A History of Violence also works on a dramatic level, particularly in the depiction of the relationship between Tom and his wife, Edie (Maria Bello), who clearly loves her husband, but is torn by the revelation that he may not be who she thought he was. Who has she loved all these years? Mortensen and Bello have a strong chemistry, and Cronenberg ups their intensity by bookending the development of their relationship with two sex scenes, one that is playful and loving and one that is torrid and demeaning, a natural turn given the revelations about Tom’s past. Violence is a turn-on, Cronenberg seems to be saying, but a turn-on that comes with a destructively high price.

Copyright ©2005 James Kendrick

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