A Clockwork Orange | VIOLENCE MAKES VIOLENCE

In 1972, Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece A Clockwork Orange was unleashed onto the 

unsuspecting British public, in theatres all over the United Kingdom. The film ratings board of Great Britain had been especially harsh on this viciously violent movie, and the board’s harshness was soon justified: a multitude of replicated crimes, allegedly inspired by the movie, broke out across the country. The most horrific of these involved a 17-year-old Dutch tourist, who was raped by a gang of youths chanting—just as in the film—the lyrics to the song “Singing in the Rain.” Kubrick subsequently succumbed to public pressure and forbade the showing of the film in Great Britain; a self-imposed ban that lasted until his death in 1999. The public reaction to the movie was motivated by an unspoken theory of art and ethics; namely, that the aesthetic good is inextricably bound to the moral good, that good art makes good people. The great irony is that the work of art in question is itself an attack upon this commonly held (but rarely challenged) assumption.

Alex, the protagonist of A Clockwork Orange, has the most refined aesthetic taste of all the characters in the movie—he loves Beethoven and appreciates beauty for its own sake, even if that beauty is almost solely restricted to the female form. And yet, Alex has the blackest heart in a cast of villains. This dichotomy induces in the audience an unpleasant cognitive dissonance, conflicting with our assumptions. Despite this conflicting influence, Kubrick’s mastery of cinematography draws us into rapport with the young man. Throughout the first act of the movie, we see Alex savagely beat a homeless old man, steal a car only to run other drivers off the road, rape one woman and murder another. Even then, it all seems somehow playful. An early scene in which Alex’s gang fights with another group of thugs epitomises Kubrick’s approach to violence in the first act; the young men fight with stage furniture that shatters upon impact, making the brawl seem lighthearted. Yes, we in the audience think, this violence is morally reprehensible—but it certainly is fun to watch!

This tone is sustained until Alex is detained and sentenced for the murder of a middle-aged woman. In prison he volunteers for an experimental process that claims to ‘cure’ criminals of their sociopathy. The so-called Ludovico technique conditions Alex against violence by forcing him to watch footage of crimes and immoral acts while under the influence of a drug that makes him wretch and gag, giving him a feeling of impending death. And it works. Alex is made a better person not by appreciating beautiful things, but by being forced to see the true monstrosity inherent in violence. The transformation central to the plot of A Clockwork Orange enacts a theory that contradicts the public reaction to the film: crime is reduced by showing more violent films, not fewer.

Upon release, Alex finds himself without a home and on the street, where he meets the same characters that he persecuted in the first act. This time they take revenge upon him, assisted by Alex’s inability to remain conscious during the violence, a side effect of the Ludovico technique. I  believe Kubrick attacked our complicity in the depravity of the first act: he guided us to enjoy the savagery of the first act, and we gladly allowed it. Now, he turns the violence upon our surrogate and turns his directorial expertise to reveal the horror of that violence. And this is the director’s ultimate attack on the common conception of beauty: he uses his control over the audience’s experience to replace the drugs and straitjackets of the Ludovico technique with the pain we feel upon seeing the rehabilitated Alex so brutally punished.

When the critics of A Clockwork Orange said that the movie promoted violence through the sympathetic but evil character of Alex, they got the story only partially correct. The first act of the film certainly does, but only for the purpose of revealing our guilt in the third act. Thus we should see A Clockwork Orange, a movie banned in Britain for twenty-seven years on the grounds of excessive violence, for the anti-violent, but philosophically radical, piece of art that it actually is.

Peaky Blinders | Review

The first time that I heard of Peaky Blinders I was in HMV accumulating a lengthy christmas list last year. At the sound of the words ‘Tom Hardy’ - which were in the a conversation in the next row - I was immediately on my way round to covertly inspect the scene. What I saw looking back at me was Peaky Blinders- Series 2. Even though I had seldom heard of the show, by just looking at the cast list, brief reviews on the cover and soundtrack which included Red Right Hand by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (it doesn’t stop there – the entire soundtrack is made up from gritty, gravelly contemporary pieces)- I knew I needed the programme in my life. 

At first glance the name intrigued me, just what was a Peaky Blinder? A selection of elucidations entered my mind, however, it turns out that Peaky Blinders were a criminal gang based in Birmingham, England, in the late 19th century following World War 1. They were one of the urban youth gangs in the era, which were among the earliest of modern street subcultures, with names which evolved from the fact that the members stitched razor blades into the peak of their flat caps, which could then be used as weapons (this made for some pretty satirical fight scenes, I’ll tell you that!)

Cillian Murphy portrays the gang’s leader Tommy Shelby- an ambitious, dangerous and traumatised head to the pack. After serving in the war, Tommy is like a lot of the cast, recovering… economically, socially and emotionally. Yes, okay, he’s on the earnest take (although much of the plot revolves around his endeavours to legitimise the family business albeit by fairly nefarious means); has come home with a sense of profound disassociation that neither women, nicotine or the occasional hit of opium can shift and is not at all adverse to slashing faces with his cap razors and whatnot, but in basically every episode there were also reminders of the good heart that beats beneath the impassive surface, as evidenced by his extraordinary loyalty and generosity to his family and friends.

Shelby family dynamic is sometime which interests the audience, as it is the second son who is in charge and not the elder; making us particularly sympathise with Arthur Shelby (Paul Anderson), whose position seemed to me to be rather an awkward one even if it is obvious why it is Tommy who is in charge of the whole shebang rather than him. Of course, as the show progresses, it becomes startlingly clear that there are more deep-seeded reasons than mere precedence to pity Arthur Shelby - who is as damaged as his younger brother by their experiences as tunnellers in World War One - but instead of retreating into himself, has become more dubious and shockingly violent. In the second series, the dark side of his nature becomes ever more crude and overwhelming, when his character evolves deeper, as he discovers ‘Tokyo’ or cocaine and is given a London nightclub to look after, with foreseeable horrible results.

These siblings and the admirable third Shelby brother John, who caused worry when thinking that he might fortuitously swallow and choke on the tooth pick that he chews on incessantly in the first series, all make the series worth a watch.

The actual members of the Peaky Blinders

For me though, it was Polly Shelby, the Shelby brother’s aunt and family matriarch, who really stole the whole show. Played with a mesmerising, powerful charisma and bravado by Draco Malfoy’s mother, as fiercely protective and loyal of her family as Tommy, she was the avenging angel of the show and, like a vixen protecting her cubs, never more terrifying than when made to feel vulnerable or forced to protect her own. Polly was only one of the selection of strong female characters who gave a foundation of appeal in the show. With the significant sister (Ada) being one of these, a heart breaking love story is interpreted into the programme, showing a forbiden love between a Shelby and Communist, Freddie Thorne. However, it is impossible to commend Tommy’s feeble love interest, cross spy, cross over confident admirer of her singing talents.

There should also be a special mention at this point for Tom Hardy’s amazing and surprisingly comedic, yet still absolutely terrifying performance as series two protagonist Alfie Solomons, a barking mad Jewish gangster based in north London. Its no secret, I’m a self obsessed Tom Hardy stalker - cough, uh - fan. With him on board, not a lot could have gone wrong (except maybe a dodgy accent here and there). 

In anticipation, I wait for series 3 of Peaky Blinders; an absolute must see and effortless to enjoy. Additionally, binge watching is a breeze, at only 6 episodes a series- both series barely took a couple days. The cinematography is golden and iconic, the script is outrageous and the cast are perfect. This review is going to be concluded with a quote from Tom Hardy regarding a change of look :

“I ain't shaving my beard off. To shave my beard off would be to cut my f*cking nuts off. You know what I mean? Without them, I am no longer… I am now a lie. Why would I do that?”… there, ended perfectly.