"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbour as yourself." (Matthew 22:37-39)
Intentionally or otherwise, the challenges posed by these instructions of Jesus underpin the achingly fabulous (but not-for-the-faint-hearted) work of self-reflexive [1] troubled genius that is 'Seven Psychopaths'. For all the gun-toting, axe-wielding, hacksaw-brandishing, crossbow-flourishing, gasoline-dousing, razor-slicing maniacal action, it is, at the end of the day, essentially a film about faith and friendship (as, arguably, was McDonagh's previous film 'In Bruges').
To (very briefly) set the scene: Marty is a Hollywood scriptwriter working on a project which, as the film opens, has a title and not much else. His livewire best friend Billy is determined to help him find inspiration -- at one stage even putting an ad in the paper inviting people who consider themselves to be psychopaths to pay them a visit... Then there's Billy's partner-in-crime Hans -- a deeply devout and sincere Christian, devoted to his wife (who is in hospital receiving cancer treatment), with a knack for wheedling reward money from grateful pet owners when he returns to them the dogs that Billy steals ('borrows') in the park, and a predilection for peyote. Events turn sour when Billy steals the beloved Shih Tzu of a deranged Mafia boss, and the three find themselves increasingly caught up in all manner of psychopath-punctuated drama -- during which they continue to bounce around script ideas, so that there is an ongoing mutuality and interaction between fact and fiction.
The theme of faith is most obviously explored in the character of Hans. With his wife sick, and with a past peppered by tragedy, he is full of yearning and uncertainty -- a desire for God to be real and loving which at times resorts to making excuses for the apparent brokenness and imperfection of the world: "God has had a lot to contend with in His time. B*****ds killed His Son too." At other times he is bold and decisively courageous. There is a marvellous moment when the gangsters first catch up with them, and Hans exhorts Marty with great oratory to "have some pride...have some faith in the Lord Jesus...and don't tell them nothing" (or words to that effect). He is immediately vindicated by the appearance of the Jack of Diamonds -- a psychopath whose speciality is knocking off mid-to-high-ranking Mafia personnel.
The film also plays delightfully on Hans' quirky morality. He is strikingly 'flawed' in some things and at the same time highly principled, and consistent in holding to those principles. So he makes a living from petty crime -- but then, when a dog's owners turn out to live in a run-down neighbourhood with an "It's a girl!" banner over their door, he absolutely does not waver in turning down their gratefully-offered reward. So he doesn't drink -- but he has no problem with the occasional cactus-based hallucinogen. And he will praise God and swear comically unexpectedly in the same beautifully enunciated sentence. I enjoyed this overt tension; kinda puts paid to the tragic tendency amongst Christians to judge one another on superficial markers of 'being good' whilst allowing all the 'bad stuff' to carry on in secret, behind closed doors or in the hidden motivations of our hearts. Jesus had strong (and beautifully expressive) words of warning for those who 'kept up appearances' -- changing their visible behaviours so that other people would approve of them but harbouring corruption in their hearts and refusing to submit their characters to God's Lordship and transforming grace:
So, so much for faith; how about friendship? Now, this got me nervous. The things people will do to make other people like them... I am thinking of Billy in particular. Well, him and me. Mingled up with a genuine desire to be a 'good friend' to Marty (sweetly evident in his diary, in which he exhorts himself to make more of an effort with Marty's girlfriend... to stop pestering him to let him help with the screenplay... to help him kick his drink habit...), is a desperate neediness for his affection to be properly and fully reciprocated. This is most explicit in the scene where he describes the film's 'final shoot-out' as he envisions it ("it's the Viet Cong guy -- he was hiding up a tree!"): his own character, in his dying moments, saves the life of Marty's character by pulling a crossbow out of who knows where and shooting the Mafia boss... his dying breath: "I'm a good friend Marty... I'm your best friend, right?"... And that's not to mention the lengths he goes to in real life to express his friendship in his own specially troubled way. (No spoilers, now!)
Whilst, by the grace of God, my attempts to 'cement' my relationships have not quite reached the extremes of Billy's, I have my moments. (I have written about them before). Amidst glimmers of selfless, genuine love -- which wants the best for those God has blessed me with, and which is alive to His love for me in a way that brings contentment and peace regardless of how others perceive me or react to me -- there is a lot of selfish neediness bouncing around. At such times I can do far worse than remind myself of that awesome and deservedly famous bit in 1 Corinthians 13 (been to any weddings lately?):
[1] Wow, so far as self-reflexivity goes this film really takes it to the max -- by the end it has accused itself on every possible grounds; there is simply nothing left to throw at it that it hasn't thrown at itself already. E.g. the film's treatment of women: "your women characters are awful", says Hans, to Marty. And "The animals can't die -- only the women", says Billy, as he describes the final shoot-out. Reminds me of Oscar Wilde: "There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us."
Intentionally or otherwise, the challenges posed by these instructions of Jesus underpin the achingly fabulous (but not-for-the-faint-hearted) work of self-reflexive [1] troubled genius that is 'Seven Psychopaths'. For all the gun-toting, axe-wielding, hacksaw-brandishing, crossbow-flourishing, gasoline-dousing, razor-slicing maniacal action, it is, at the end of the day, essentially a film about faith and friendship (as, arguably, was McDonagh's previous film 'In Bruges').
To (very briefly) set the scene: Marty is a Hollywood scriptwriter working on a project which, as the film opens, has a title and not much else. His livewire best friend Billy is determined to help him find inspiration -- at one stage even putting an ad in the paper inviting people who consider themselves to be psychopaths to pay them a visit... Then there's Billy's partner-in-crime Hans -- a deeply devout and sincere Christian, devoted to his wife (who is in hospital receiving cancer treatment), with a knack for wheedling reward money from grateful pet owners when he returns to them the dogs that Billy steals ('borrows') in the park, and a predilection for peyote. Events turn sour when Billy steals the beloved Shih Tzu of a deranged Mafia boss, and the three find themselves increasingly caught up in all manner of psychopath-punctuated drama -- during which they continue to bounce around script ideas, so that there is an ongoing mutuality and interaction between fact and fiction.
The theme of faith is most obviously explored in the character of Hans. With his wife sick, and with a past peppered by tragedy, he is full of yearning and uncertainty -- a desire for God to be real and loving which at times resorts to making excuses for the apparent brokenness and imperfection of the world: "God has had a lot to contend with in His time. B*****ds killed His Son too." At other times he is bold and decisively courageous. There is a marvellous moment when the gangsters first catch up with them, and Hans exhorts Marty with great oratory to "have some pride...have some faith in the Lord Jesus...and don't tell them nothing" (or words to that effect). He is immediately vindicated by the appearance of the Jack of Diamonds -- a psychopath whose speciality is knocking off mid-to-high-ranking Mafia personnel.
The film also plays delightfully on Hans' quirky morality. He is strikingly 'flawed' in some things and at the same time highly principled, and consistent in holding to those principles. So he makes a living from petty crime -- but then, when a dog's owners turn out to live in a run-down neighbourhood with an "It's a girl!" banner over their door, he absolutely does not waver in turning down their gratefully-offered reward. So he doesn't drink -- but he has no problem with the occasional cactus-based hallucinogen. And he will praise God and swear comically unexpectedly in the same beautifully enunciated sentence. I enjoyed this overt tension; kinda puts paid to the tragic tendency amongst Christians to judge one another on superficial markers of 'being good' whilst allowing all the 'bad stuff' to carry on in secret, behind closed doors or in the hidden motivations of our hearts. Jesus had strong (and beautifully expressive) words of warning for those who 'kept up appearances' -- changing their visible behaviours so that other people would approve of them but harbouring corruption in their hearts and refusing to submit their characters to God's Lordship and transforming grace:
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others. You blind guides, straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel!So Hans is expressly, unabashedly, imperfect -- and in being so seems all the more genuine and compelling in his muddled grapplings and slightly confused relationship with God. The film is tongue-in-cheek in this portrayal but by no means entirely dismissive: he is a nuanced and endearing character and you get the sense that McDonagh, in 'writing' him, harbours a certain envy, almost, for his faith. Indeed, in one scene, Marty (whom the audience is strongly primed to perceive as McDonagh's self-projection in the film) confesses to Hans "I put a lot of heaven and hell stuff into my stories, but I'm not sure what I believe"... Not one for the subtleties, it seems! (Incidentally, had I the chance to talk to Marty/McDonagh, I would exhort him to look at the concrete, historical evidence for Jesus and start from there -- rather than diving in with the abstracts -- "heaven vs. hell" etc -- which have a tendency to send one round in "wish-fulfillment/fear-fulfillment" circles without a rational anchor).
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean.
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones and all uncleanness. So you also outwardly appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness. (Matthew 23:23-28)
So, so much for faith; how about friendship? Now, this got me nervous. The things people will do to make other people like them... I am thinking of Billy in particular. Well, him and me. Mingled up with a genuine desire to be a 'good friend' to Marty (sweetly evident in his diary, in which he exhorts himself to make more of an effort with Marty's girlfriend... to stop pestering him to let him help with the screenplay... to help him kick his drink habit...), is a desperate neediness for his affection to be properly and fully reciprocated. This is most explicit in the scene where he describes the film's 'final shoot-out' as he envisions it ("it's the Viet Cong guy -- he was hiding up a tree!"): his own character, in his dying moments, saves the life of Marty's character by pulling a crossbow out of who knows where and shooting the Mafia boss... his dying breath: "I'm a good friend Marty... I'm your best friend, right?"... And that's not to mention the lengths he goes to in real life to express his friendship in his own specially troubled way. (No spoilers, now!)
Whilst, by the grace of God, my attempts to 'cement' my relationships have not quite reached the extremes of Billy's, I have my moments. (I have written about them before). Amidst glimmers of selfless, genuine love -- which wants the best for those God has blessed me with, and which is alive to His love for me in a way that brings contentment and peace regardless of how others perceive me or react to me -- there is a lot of selfish neediness bouncing around. At such times I can do far worse than remind myself of that awesome and deservedly famous bit in 1 Corinthians 13 (been to any weddings lately?):
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-6)OK, well, anyway. Suffice to say, I liked the film a lot: compelling, endearing, hilarious, thought-provoking and visually horrific. (I mean, really -- mum, if you're reading this, don't go see it). I will leave the potent sub-theme of "revenge vs. breaking the cycle" for another time ("Ghandi was wrong -- how're any of the blind guys gonna see to take out the eye of the last one-eyed guy..."), along with the questions we're all asking about Colin Farrel's eyebrows (really? can they possibly achieve such angles naturally or is CGI somehow involved?)....
[1] Wow, so far as self-reflexivity goes this film really takes it to the max -- by the end it has accused itself on every possible grounds; there is simply nothing left to throw at it that it hasn't thrown at itself already. E.g. the film's treatment of women: "your women characters are awful", says Hans, to Marty. And "The animals can't die -- only the women", says Billy, as he describes the final shoot-out. Reminds me of Oscar Wilde: "There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us."
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