The Spider and the Saw

“Hey, did you ever see Saw II?” The question is not new, and I have not seen the gruesome horror flick since the last time this student asked me.

“No. Never.” I shake my head and scowl. I probably will never see any of the Saw movies, as they fall into a genre that seems to consist of gory violence heaped onto meager plots, carried out by flavorless characters who mostly die in the end, anyway. Of course, as I am not a consumer of horror movies, I cannot fairly move further than generalizations, but even without particulars I am repelled by covers, posters, previews, and the retellings to which I’m subjected the Monday after one of these gems hits the screen. Always the same wide-eyed awe at scenes of especial brutality. Always the same grimacing, writhing horror as they recall the sights to me, their faces and hands wrinkled up in distaste.

I have been baffled this year by the preoccupation of teenaged boys with this particular brand of violence. In a recent essay in Time, Richard Corliss discusses the effect that “R” ratings have on the teenage audience they mean to keep out:

“The MPAA needs the teen market. Tougher than most other national ratings boards on sexual images in movies, it's far more lenient when it comes to violence. In many countries, Saw was forbidden to those under 18. In the U.S., your 17-year-old could go and chaperone his younger siblings. The argument may be that sexuality is real and disturbs kids more than pretend maiming. But these ratings teach that sex is forbidden and killing is cool. They also tell the world that America is a place where violence rules.”

As this kind of exploitive violence begins to fill the screen—a medium that dictates in such a powerful way the conversations, priorities, and fascinations of our adolescents—I am increasingly skeptical of the teenage response: “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s just a movie. We know it’s just a movie.” How can that much of that not affect you? And, if that is the case, I’ll be just as worried about the callousness that makes a fifteen-year-old capable of consuming violence without thinking.

Cut to yesterday afternoon, when I went to see Spiderman 3 with my family. For a long 140 minutes, we were wrapped up in a world of Good vs. Evil where, even when the sides were blurry or complicated, right could always be clearly sifted from wrong. A wonderful way to spend an afternoon, escaping into a place where the heroes stumble and fall and rise again, and where the only characters who are truly lost are those who choose to be.

As we left the theater, I bristled at the word “cheesy,” which I heard floating over Market Street from the crowds pouring out into the sunshine. Cheesy? I suppose so. As the shots twisted and turned between New York City skyscrapers, I may have thought that there were holes in this story, or that the pacing was uneven. Fine.

In the end, though, I am unable to mock Spiderman 3 for its shortcomings. The overwhelming voices of pop culture today are screaming that manipulation and violence are the only means to success, and that a giant stack of cash is as good as it gets. The top-grossing films among young people generally end with pools of blood and nameless victims. When I see the grotesque values implicitly and explicitly peddled to teenagers, I can’t help but applaud a mainstream blockbuster that tackles friendship, forgiveness, and unscrupulous ambition. If one of my ninth-grade boys for once leaves a theater considering how forgiveness is related to friendship, then I am willing to forgive far more clumsy storytelling than that. Spiderman 3 was meant to have a record-breaking opening weekend. For my part, I hope that it did.