Thursday, August 25, 2016
The Films of 2016: Green Room
Green Room (2016) is a terrifying and incredibly gory horror movie of the savage cinema persuasion. It’s a spiritual update -- at least in some ways -- to 1971’s Straw Dogs (from director Sam Peckinpah).
In both (brutal) films, for example, protagonists learn something about themselves -- and their human nature -- while contending with personalities who regularly use violence to dominate others.
Both films depict fish-out-of-water stories in a sense too, and ones about cultural differences.
However, Green Room boasts a very modern spin.
Today, the greatest horror we imagine does not involve going to a different country and running afoul of the locals and their “alien” customs there.
Instead, the great fear of this decade of the 2st century is wandering into “cross-burning territory” here in the homeland, as one character puts it; about crossing the divide from tolerant modernity into hateful, backward nativism.
The cultures at war here are the mainstream, diverse, moral one, which strives towards egalitarianism and justice, and the resentful, backward one, still clinging to racism and race resentment like precious heirlooms from a past generation.
Specifically, Green Room involves irreverent clueless millennials -- and punk rockers -- running afoul of dangerous, militant white supremacists in the Pacific Northwest.
At first, the millennials don’t recognize the danger they are in, despite the fact that all the signs -- literal signs, hanging on walls -- are there.
I call these characters clueless, because despite their hard-driving, anti-establishment musical catalog, they possess “tolerant,” modern beliefs. And they don’t seem to understand that some people, and organizations, have been ginning up race hatred for years and they aren’t about to change.
And worse, these monsters still exist, still thrive.
Once upon a time, horror films were about traveling to Transylvania, and encountering an exotic monster like Dracula there. By the 1970s, that concept had begun to change. With films like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1973) or The Hills Have Eyes (1977), monsters were not ensconced in castles, across oceans. or beyond mountain ranges.
Instead, they were just one wrong turn away, on a road trip gone sour. They were here. They are here. With us.
Green Room duly follows this example, suggesting that even in 2016, civilization doesn’t extend as far and wide in America as many of us might fervently wish to believe.
Given what we have endured in terms of politics this year (wherein we’ve seen a white supremacist candidate support a major party candidate), the concept of Green Room isn't really fantasy at all. As we move into a better, more just future, there are forces of violence, ignorance, and hatred determined to drag us backward.
Green Room shows us just what happens when innocent kids wander into that battle, and must, ultimately, settle the conflict on the terms of the “monsters.”
“This is a movement, not a party.”
A punk rock band called the Ain’t Rights, travels from gig to gig, not making much money.
After one gig falls through, and the band plays at a Mexican restaurant -- with members making just seven dollars a-piece -- it is suggested that the band could visit a club in the middle of nowhere. They could make a good haul there…so long as they don’t talk politics.
The Ain’t Rights -- consisting of Pat (Anton Yelchin), Sam (Alia Shawkat), Reece (Joe Cole) and Tiger (Callum Turner) -- decide to take a chance for the money They drive the club, in the middle of the forest, and find it is a heavily populated skin-head club.
To troll their nativist audience, the band plays a cover of the Dead Kennedys’ “Nazi Punks Fuck Off.”
It doesn’t go over well, but the band makes it through its set.
But before the Ain’t Rights can collect its money and leave, however, the band mates burst in on a murder in the club’s green room. The band then holds up in the room while the club owner’s, a malevolent, older neo-Nazi named Darcy Banker (Patrick Stewart), attempts to lure the group out.
The scene soon descends into bloody violence, as the skinheads release pit bulls into the club to kill the interlopers.
“They knew real war. And they played real war.”
From the first shot of the film (an overhead view of the band’s van in a cornfield), Green Room thrives on the idea of a wrong turn into terror. The Ain’t Rights members live a modest existence, moving from cheap gig to cheap gig. They fancy themselves punks.
At one point, we see the band members siphoning gas from another vehicle, in an attempt to get to the next job. The idea here is that the band lives off the radar, mostly.
But there’s off the radar and then there’s off the radar, if you know what I mean.
These “babes in the woods,” literally, soon find themselves at a club that not just promotes, but broadcasts race hatred.
There’s a bumper sticker on a car parked at the club that reads: “save our white race.” There is graffiti on the wall that shouts “KKK.” On and on, viewers will register signs and symbols of race hatred including the Nazi Gestapo insignia (SS) and the Confederate flag.
There is also, in the club, a white power flag, and a sign that reads “white pride, worldwide.”
This is a place where people not only hate, but where they are proud of their hate. Hate is broadcast to all comers, a badge of honor.
Most frighteningly of all is the report that this hatred is not a political party, but a “movement.”
At least here, skinheads are ascendant.
The Ain’t Rights, who have made a point of skirting the law, are obviously out of their depth. They are used to thumbing their nose at authority figures, and so play “Nazi Punks Fuck Off.” During the song, people in the club spit beer at them. The band is playing with fire, and it doesn’t realize it. All the skin-head iconography should give them pause, but there’s the sense that the band -- dismissive of the law and authority -- feels there is nothing to fear by rejecting any establishment. They suspect that in modern America, they are safe. Just a phone call from police help.
That belief is erroneous. Instead, the band must hunker down in the green room as it falls under siege from the enemy. This is a change, as the band, thus far in the film, has been defined by its nomadic life-style. Suddenly, the band must wait, and wait, and wait, as the skinheads try to break in, and execute various strategies to kill them.
As Pat (Yelchin) comes to realize after receiving a catastrophic injury, the only way to beat the skinheads is to go to war with them. With the survivors of his band, and a woman (Imogene Poots) who has left the Neo-Nazis, he launches a counter campaign that is clever, and vicious. At last, he embodies the ideals of “punk” music, one might conclude.
I mentioned Pat’s injury. I watched this film shortly after the death of Anton Yelchin, and I won’t lie: the scene made me want to throw up. Not because it was gory, but because I knew what had happened to the actor in real life. This is an impact the film certainly could not have predicted, but as a responsible reviewer, I feel it my responsibility to warn you that Yelchin’s character does not emerge from the carnage unscathed, and it may raise unpleasant resonances of his death for some viewers.
Again, I don’t blame Green Room at all. It’s an unintended effect. But the movie’s many clashes between the band and the skinheads are ultra-violent, and indeed quite gory. For the most part, these scenes are highly effective, if in a fatalistic kind of way. Once the siege on the green room has begun -- and the pit bulls have gotten into the picture -- a sense of creeping dread and anxiety blankets the film.
You just know it’s not going to “end well,” as Darcy notes.
The color canvas for Green Room is often a squalid, sickly lime green, and that seems entirely appropriate to the action, as the film presents a world populated by sick, monstrous people. Patrick Stewart is effective as the skinhead leader. The actor crafts here an individual of cunning and intelligence, but absolutely no empathy whatsoever. That’s the real terror of skinheads, or racists in general, isn’t it? They are often clever, even well-read individuals, and yet that intelligence and cunning is directed entirely towards hate, resentment, and bitterness. It is intelligence they boast, but intelligence twisted -- and wasted -- by grotesque ugliness.
How else can I describe the mood and content of the film?
Well, consider this: the Ain’t Rights are in a punk band. Punk rock is about death and irreverence. Through the action of the film, the band members are revealed to be poseurs, essentially, who sing punk songs, but know nothing about death at all. And their cheeky irreverence cannot compete with the fully formed -- if evil -- system of belief they encounter. This idea is reflected in a recurring subplot regarding band members’ choice of a desert isle band.
Each one ends up, finally, choosing not punk rock, but rather an artist outside the genre. These selections unwittingly telegraph their “softness” and innocence, despite their presentation as hipster punk rockers.
I watch horror movies to be challenged; to be frightened. And Green Room is challenging, frightening, and incredibly intense. Like Straw Dogs it raises questions about violence, and about human nature. In this case, we are left to wonder at the lost innocence of the Ain’t Rights. These young millennials can never quite believe the nature of the battle they are asked to fight. They can never quite believe that in 2016, there are still such atavistic hatred and forces at work, and in power, in the United States. They say they are “punk,” but they are really coddled innocents. Their eyes are opened in a most unpleasant way.
The tide only turns for the band when the survivors do embody punk ideals, and bring the fight to the skinheads. But even at that point, there are moral questions raised by the film.
When is it right to end the fight?
When one’s safety is secured?
Or, only when all your enemies are dead?
Green Room’s desert isle movie is likely Straw Dogs, so that may give you the answer you need.