Here’s what’s considered to be a landmark film by many—bought to us by Arthur Penn, this is the ostensible tale of two loveable rogues who forged themselves a relationship while sticking it to the man…at least, as far as this film is concerned. Emerging in the tumult of culture in the sixties, here’s my take on the complicated legacy of Bonnie and Clyde.
As you may know, this is based on the escapades of criminal couple Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, who in the early 1930s formed the ‘Barrow Gang’ that focused on bank robberies and other acts. The pair here are played by the always charismatic Warren Beatty in his younger years, and Hollywood longrunner Faye Dunaway—off the bat, the audience is more than likely to bat for our good looking and relatable heroes here, who have their ups and downs as any relationship does, while pursuing a righteous vendetta against banks screwing people over in the backdrop of the Great Depression.
More importantly, this represents something that was inconceivable a decade before this film (outside of the realm of exploitation cinema, with there being one slightly sleeve film that very loosely based on Bonnie beforehand). The Hays Code had kept Hollywood in a straight-laced stranglehold for a while now, with firm restrictions on what was morally permissible—here, we have sympathetic enough leads on a war against authority and the stiff-faced upper classes of America looking down on folk like them. We have fun car chases and action scenes where the crooks do in fact get away—this may not sound like much, but in 1967, this was a firm sign that US cinema was finally going to open up into worlds of moral ambiguity and expression hitherto kept in check.
And ultimately it’s still well-executed—our side characters are fun, the direction is solid, and the last few moments are of course bullet-rippingly memorable. Now, here’s the rub—in actuality, the real Bonnie and Clyde are generally considered to be a pair of psychopathic assholes. Clyde himself by many accounts enjoyed himself a bit of torture and murder, and his girlfriend certainly happily aided and abetted. We now know that Clyde may well have been psychologically put through the wringer during a prison sentence earlier in his life, but that wasn’t easy knowledge at the time, nor does it really excuse all the things he did.
It was to the extent that family of the victims and the investigator who took them down (portrayed here as just some oafish asshole) were quick to rally against this one. Where I stand…I’m not sure. Much like the leads as presented here, ultimately this film helped signify a breaking against an ossifying authority, and without it, who knows if we would have gotten the classics that defined what would arguably be Hollywood’s most interesting and experimental era. How right is it to glorify those that really didn’t deserve glory, but to still make something defining of your own in the process?
Perhaps the later slew of cop films following Dirty Harry balanced it all out, even if those tended to be considered somewhat problematic in their way own way now. I suppose the main lesson is that if you’re breaking new ground, that can partially forgive taking a stance that’s not entirely true—but in the years since, it also serves to teach that it’s best not to swing too far the other way simply because you can…
Comments
Post a Comment