|Director: Sam Peckinpah|
|Screenplay: David Zelag Goodman and Sam Peckinpah (based on the novel The Siege of Trencher’s Farm by Gordon M. Williams)|
|Stars: Dustin Hoffman (David Sumner), Susan George (Amy Sumner), Peter Vaughan (Tom Hedden), T.P. McKenna (Major John Scott), Del Henney (Charlie Venner), Jim Norton (Chris Cawsey), Donald Webster (Riddaway), Ken Hutchison (Norman Scutt), Len Jones (Bobby Hedden), Sally Thomsett (Janice Hedden), Robert Keegan (Harry Ware), Peter Arne (John Niles), David Warner (Henry Niles)|
|MPAA Rating: NR|
|Year of Release: 1971|
| Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs is a great and troubling masterpiece, a film of such simultaneous depth and crudeness that it has elicited some of the most conflicted responses of his or any other filmmaker’s career. For every critic who found it the work of a great and terrible genius, there were those like Judith Crist who labeled it the worst film of 1971 and declared “All anyone with an IQ of 70-plus can get out of this film is a case of the heaves.”|
Like Peckinpah’s brilliant revisionist Western The Wild Bunch (1969), Straw Dogs is not just a violent film, but a film about violence, which is what makes it so difficult to watch. Violent films (whether they be war films, or cop thrillers, or even horror films) are often easily digestible because we aren’t asked to consider the implications of the actions or in any way question our own complicity in the enjoyment of simulated bloodshed. So much cinematic violence is easy, fun, and escapist—it exists in its own thoughtless vacuum on the silver screen and never encroaches on our world.
Peckinpah’s greatest contribution to modern filmmaking was not in making violence bloody and visceral in a way it had never been before, but in using that viscera to remind us of the nonchalant indifference we feel for so many of the victims of cinematic violence who die easy, painless deaths. Yet, at the same time, Peckinpah’s depictions of violence are eerily beautiful and often exhilarating; despite the apocalyptic horrors of hundreds of men getting torn to shreds at the end of The Wild Bunch, who can honestly say that it was not a vicariously exciting ride, as well? Thus, Peckinpah, more so than virtually any other filmmaker then or now, was able to tap into the terrible paradox of violence: it is both repulsive and fascinating, and those two responses can never be reconciled.
Straw Dogs was Peckinpah’s first non-Western, but the same themes and obsessions that drove his earlier films are very much in evidence, even if transplanted to a different time and place. Dustin Hoffman (hot off the heels of The Graduate and Little Big Man) stars as David Sumner, an American mathematician who is escaping the social turmoil of the United States in the early 1970s by retreating with his British wife, Amy (Susan George), to her family farm in the Cornish countryside. David is an intellectual, a man who lives primarily inside his own head and is thus largely disconnected from everything else around him, including his own wife. His escaping the racial, political, and social problems of his native country is not so much a sign of his lack of commitment as it is a symptom of his deep inwardness—so intent is he on his mathematical theorems that he can’t be bothered by student war protests and the like.
Unfortunately, he finds the Cornish moors to be no less distracting. Peckinpah establishes this visually by depicting the countryside in drab shades of brown and gray; there is little life to be found in the surrounding fields, and the stone village near their farm is characterized by tension and moral ambiguity (the opening shots of children playing in a graveyard reflect the sadistic play of the kids with ants and scorpions in the beginning of The Wild Bunch). For various reasons, David draws the ire of the locals, most of whom are loutish men he has hired to build a roof for the garage next to his house. One of them, Charlie Venner (Del Henney), has “known” Amy in the past, and the others would like to get to “know” her, as well. David is largely blind to these past relationships, as he is to his own. His marriage to Amy is fraught with largely unspoken anger and fragility because neither one of them seems capable of the maturity and tenderness needed to maintain a relationship.
For her part, Amy is silly and insecure, a woman-child who is fully aware of her sexuality, yet not in complete control of it. She reacts to David as a spoiled child would, erasing parts of his formulas from his blackboard or irritating him while he works by loudly smacking her gum. David is no better, though. He is withdrawn and demanding, constantly wanting Amy to leave him alone and refusing to pay her the attention she craves. His is almost craven in his disregard for her, and her childish behavior can be interpreted as a response to the way he treats her as one. Even when he attempts to be kind, he comes across as insensitive; for example, while trying to teach her to play chess, he encourages her by saying, “See, you’re not so dumb.”
The narrative momentum in Straw Dogs builds as the tension between David and the locals slowly rachets up to a point where something must break. The crucial turning point occurs when Charlie Venner and the others invite David out to go hunting, but then ditch him on the moors so they can return to his house and pay Amy a visit. This culminates in a rape sequence that has been the subject of much controversy, mostly because Amy appears to enjoy parts of it. Although she at first fights Charlie off, midway through the rape her facial expressions and body language clearly suggest pleasure and desire, which so many have read as the apotheosis of the misogynistic fantasy that women not only ask to be raped, but also secretly like it.
Such a reading is understandable, but ultimately misguided because it does not take into account the narrative as a whole and the complexities of both Amy’s character and the way in which Peckinpah depicts the rape. Amy is clearly a conflicted character, a woman of great sexual longing whose physical desires are unmet by her husband (not because of his physical slightness, but because he is too preoccupied with his own interests). She and Charlie have been together in the past (“There was a time, Mrs. Sumner, when you were ready to beg me for it,” he taunts her near the beginning of the film), thus the rape is also an awakening of memories. Her responses are contradictory because the act itself is so fraught with confusion. With Charlie, the rape means one thing, but when another of Charlie’s friends comes in and forcibly takes her from behind, it becomes something entirely different—any sense of conflict gives way to sheer terror, making the scene virtually unwatchable. Any suggestion of misogyny on Peckinpah’s part cannot be sustained because he clearly means for us to feel for Amy and her suffering; it is her subjectivity we endure during the scene, not those who are assaulting her. This is particularly true of the following sequence in which she must face her attackers at a church social, and Peckinpah depicts her psychological distress through fast-cut subjective flashbacks that are like knives stabbing at her soul.
Of course, what this is all leading to is the moment when David must finally stand up for himself. This occurs when he accidentally hits the “village idiot,” a man named Henry Niles (David Warner). Unbeknownst to David, Henry has just inadvertently killed a teenage girl (in a plot device lifted from John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men), the daughter of the town’s beastliest drunk, Tom Hedden (Peter Vaughan). Hedden gathers together the rest of the men in town and descend on David’s house, demanding that he turn over Henry to them so they can mete out their own justice (which is, of course, reflective of the kind of lynch-mob mentality that had plagued so much of the American South). David, for reasons that can only be attributed to his having finally been pushed too far, refuses to allow them into his house. “I will not allow violence against this house,” he declares, although the warble in his voice suggests that he has not fully accepted the inevitable consequences of these words.
What follows is a brilliantly executed sequence in which David, completely alone, battles against the men outside who are trying to gain entry to his house. Even Amy is against him, refusing to aid him when he needs it and even working against him at various times. By the end of it, David has killed a half-dozen men in a variety of ways, all of them bloody and demeaning (the worst being one man who is caught by the neck in an antique bear trap). At its crudest, this scene is about David “rising to the occasion”—the mild-mannered, bespectacled intellectual who allowed himself to be pushed around and bullied finally fights back by finding his inner strength and embracing his potential for violence. Those who detest the film point to this reading, suggesting that the entire film is about little more than how Peckinpah feels a man is not a man until he has unleashed his inner animal.
Yet, such a reading is simplistic and short-sighted, not taking into account the tone of the scene and its aftermath. Yes, the “siege” sequence is an exciting exemplar of action filmmaking. Peckinpah and his editors pieced together a spatially and temporally complex orgy of violence that gets your heart pounding and your nerves rattled. And, however we feel about David and his contemptuous behavior throughout the film, we cannot help but side with him and cheer him on as he dispatches the louts one by one, giving them “what they deserve.” But, when all is said and done, the film is darkened with a sense of defeat and pointlessness. As soon as the last intruder is dead, there is an almost immediate let-down as we realize that David’s victory is really no victory at all. Yet, even then, the paradoxical nature of the film persists, as we realize that there was little else he could have done. Should he have turned Henry over to the lynch mob? Did his protecting Henry ultimately save him? Is David really any more of a man now that he has shed blood?
These are questions that are left dangling at the end of Straw Dogs, and they have no easy answers. The critics who dislike the film tend to feel that these questions are answered, which presumes a thematic simplicity that is not in evidence. Straw Dogs frustrates and compels not because it tells us easy things like “violence lurks in the hearts of men” (which it does), but because it ultimately refuses to make any absolute value judgments about such a statement. Peckinpah clearly believed that humans are inherently violent beings—he said as much in interview after interview. Yet, he was also a committed liberal and humanist who detested the violence and scandal of the world around him. Thus, like its depictions of violence, the film’s stand on David’s descent into destruction to protect what’s his is, in the end, ambiguous.
|Straw Dogs Criterion Collection Blu-ray|
|Audio||English Linear PCM 1.0 monaural|
|Supplements||Audio commentary from 2003 by film scholar Stephen PrinceMantrap: “Straw Dogs”—The Final Cut 2003 retrospective documentarySam Peckinpah: Man of Iron 1993 documentaryVideo conversation between critic Michael Sragow and filmmaker Roger Spottiswoode, one of the editors on the filmVideo interview with film scholar Linda WilliamsArchival interviews with actor Susan George, producer Daniel Melnick, and Peckinpah biographer Garner SimmonsBehind-the-scenes footageTV spots and trailersInsert book with an essay by scholar and critic Joshua Clover and a 1974 interview with Peckinpah|
|Distributor||The Criterion Collection|
|Release Date||July 27, 2017|
|Criterion’s new Blu-ray of Straw Dogs, which updates their 2003 DVD, features a new 4K digital transfer from the original 35mm camera negative that was then digitally restored via MTI Film’s DRS and Digital Vision’s Phoenix. The result is a smooth, clean image that maintains the texture and grain of early ’70s celluloid and plenty of fine detail. Compared to Criterion’s DVD, the image boasts improved detail and nuance, particularly in the darker parts of the frame. Straw Dogs had previously been issued on Blu-ray by MGM in 2011, but Criterion’s disc looks a shade better with warmer hues and a slightly darker overall appearance that I have to assume is consistent with the theatrical presentation. Criterion has also ditched the 5.1-channel remix from the MGM Blu-ray in favor of the original monaural soundtrack, which was transferred from the 35mm magnetic track and digitally restored.|
The Blu-ray maintains most of the supplements that previously appeared on Criterion’s 2003 DVD, but not all of them. We still get the same audio commentary by film scholar Stephen Prince, author of Savage Cinema: Sam Peckinpah and the Rise of Ultraviolent Movies and editor of Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch and Screening Violence. He doesn’t mince words in his commentary, as he begins by saying, “Let me say right out, Straw Dogs is Sam Peckinpah’s masterpiece and one of the most audacious and brilliantly accomplished American films of the modern period.” Well, at least we know where he stands. Prince’s commentary is lively and informative as he attempts to “set the record straight” and explain why this is such a great film worthy of study. Those who have read Savage Cinema will already know the basics of Prince’s argument about Straw Dog’s merits and why so many critics were misguided in condemning it, but the commentary is still definitely worth a listen for his carefully thought-out and incisive shot-by-shot analyses. Also kept is Sam Peckinpah: Man of Iron, a British-produced 1992 documentary that runs for just over 80 minutes and consists of a series of interviews with Peckinpah’s friends and contemporaries who talk candidly about the legendary director in terms of both his virtues and his flaws. It’s a compelling piece of biographical filmmaking because it allows Peckinpah’s life to unfold in the words of those who knew him best, rather than through the lens of a biographer seeking out some kind of higher “truth.” Those interviewed include Peckinpah’s cousin, Bob Peckinpah, screenwriters Alan Sharp and Jim Silke, director Monte Hellman, satirist Mort Sahl, Straw Dogs producer Daniel Melnick, Peckinpah’s secretary Katherine Haber, and actors Kris Kristofferson, James Coburn, Ali McGraw, R.G. Armstrong, and Jason Robards (who reads from Peckinpah’s papers). The documentary would have been longer, but all of the footage from Peckinpah’s films has been removed for copyright reasons (there are still some still images remaining). Also included from the previous disc are 2002 interviews with actress Susan George and producer Daniel Melnick. In George’s interview, which runs 21 minutes, she discusses how she got the role in Straw Dogs, the experience of working with Peckinpah and Hoffman, and her thoughts on the controversy surrounding the infamous rape sequence. In Melnick’s interview, which runs 19 minutes, he talks about how he acquired the rights to the source novel, his experiences working with Peckinpah, and how and why the film was banned in Britain. He also relates how they came up with the title Straw Dogs (it’s a quote from Lao-tse) even though it has no direct meaning in relation to the film and how Hoffman ad-libbed the ambiguous last line. And, finally from the previous disc, are a theatrical trailer and two TV spots.
A few supplements from the DVD did not make the cut here, so you might want to hold on to it. Gone is “On Location: Dustin Hoffman,” a 26-minute featurette that was originally shot during the production of Straw Dogs in 1971 and ran on British TV; roughly 8 minutes of black-and-white archival footage of a British journalist interviewing Peckinpah, Hoffman, and Susan George during the film’s production; and an invaluable collection of letters written by Peckinpah to various people about their responses to Straw Dogs (the first two letters, written to critics Richard Schickel and Pauline Kael, give a great deal of insight into his intentions and how he viewed the character of David Sumner, and also included are letters written to Peckinpah by a pair of viewers who were appalled by the film and his short, but cutting responses).
We do get a trio of new supplements that are definitely worth your time. The biggest is Mantrap: “Straw Dogs”—The Final Cut, a 53-minute documentary from 2003 originally aired on Channel 4 in England and hosted by film critic Mark Kermode. It features interviews with Hoffman, George, Melnick, novelist Gordon Williams, and half a dozen other actors who appeared in the film. Kermode returns to the film’s shooting locations, including the farm house (which looks exactly as it did in 1971), and the interviews provide a great deal of insight into the film’s fraight production, which we also see in footage shot at the time. We also get a 35-minute interview by film critic Michael Sragow of filmmaker Roger Spottiswoode, who was one of several editors who worked on the film (and who had just watched the film for the first time in 45 years before the interview was recorded). Spottiswoode has a lot of great anecdotes and provides some compelling insight into how the film was put together (particularly of how the siege sequence went from an initial cut of about 110 minutes to 17 minutes).
Copyright © 2017 James Kendrick
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