1. Why the outrage over The Killer Inside Me? Domestic violence really is brutal | Hadley Freeman | Comment is free | The Guardian 11/06/2010 11:24
Why the outrage over The Killer Inside
Me? Domestic violence really is brutal
Michael Winterbottom has made a moral film, not a misogynistic
one
Hadley Freeman
The Guardian, Wednesday 9 June 2010
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Kate Hudson plays the girlfriend in The Killer Inside Me. Photograph: c.IFC Films/Everett/Rex Features
Jerking one's knee has, I suppose, its merits. It provides excellent exercise for one's
mouth and one's pen, if not one's brain. Thus, Michael Winterbottom's latest film, The
Killer Inside Me, has provided some excellent knee exercise for certain commentators
and critics who have deemed the film, and Winterbottom himself, "gratuitously
violent", "misogynistic" and "a nasty blockhead".
The Killer Inside Me
Production year: 2010
Countries: Rest of the world, USA
Cert (UK): 18
Runtime: 109 mins
Directors: Michael Winterbottom
Cast: Bill Pullman, Casey Affleck, Elias Koteas, Jessica Alba, Kate Hudson, Ned
Beatty, Simon Baker
More on this film
Having never met Winterbottom, I cannot vouch for the shape of his head. Having
seen the film, though, I can say that I have had plenty more "gratuitously violent"
nights at the cinema and certainly much, much more misogynistic ones. In truth,
Winterbottom has made an unexpectedly moral film, one that puts many of
Hollywood's most common cliches to shame, and if some critics don't see that, it is
because they can't see the screen through their knee-jerks.
It is nearly impossible to go to the cinema and not find yourself watching some
violence. I find this both baffling and annoying as I'd far rather see two characters, say,
doing a karaoke version of Oklahoma! (When Harry Met Sally, obviously) than
punching each others' faces in. But perhaps I am alone in this, because the ubiquity of
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2. Why the outrage over The Killer Inside Me? Domestic violence really is brutal | Hadley Freeman | Comment is free | The Guardian 11/06/2010 11:24
punching each others' faces in. But perhaps I am alone in this, because the ubiquity of
violence in movies suggests there is a market for it. Or maybe it's just easier for
screenwriters to write "A punches B" than realistic conversations and funny jokes.
The Killer Inside Me, adapted from Jim Thompson's novel, is incredibly brutal –
shockingly so to a generation who grew up in the era of Guy Ritchie, who stylises
violence as lovingly as a ballet fan would stage Swan Lake. The scenes in which Lou
(played by the superior Affleck, Casey) beats up his girlfriend (Kate Hudson) and
Joyce, his mistress who is also a prostitute (Jessica Alba), are shot in bone-crunching
close-up. As I said, I'd rather not see any violence at all. But if a movie is going to
feature it, it is surely preferable to show it honestly than idealistically, euphemistically
or even aspirationally.
There is a big difference between a film depicting violence and one that glorifies it, and
similarly a movie that features a misogynist is not necessarily a misogynistic film.
The day after I saw The Killer Inside Me I happened to watch Lock, Stock and Two
Smoking Barrels. Now there is a film that glorifies violence, because it equates it with
being cool, and makes a punch in the face look like something one recovers from as
easily as a bit of grit in one's eye. The Killer Inside Me shows violence as something
that causes irrevocable damage. It is not sexy, nor set to some adrenaline pumping hip-
hop or rock'n'roll soundtrack. Even though Affleck is the main character, he remains
wholly unglorified. This differs from pretty much everything in the oeuvre of those
modern- day auteurs of glorified violence, Ritchie and Quentin Tarantino.
Stella Duffy complained on The Review Show that "we don't need to see [Jessica
Alba's] head being smashed and smashed . . . Pull the curtain!" But coyness is precisely
the wrong way to depict violence, particularly domestic violence. Domestic violence
does not make for a glitzy thriller as Sleeping With the Enemy seemed to think, where
the camera can always tastefully pan away. It makes for a woman crying "why?" as her
partner pummels her.
Another criticism has been that Joyce says she loves Lou even after he beats her. But
masochism is a common, and tragic, component of violent relationships, as Roddy
Doyle showed in one of the best books ever written about domestic violence, The
Woman Who Walked Into Doors, in which the main character stays despite the
beatings. And Doyle, like Winterbottom, is unstinting in his descriptions of the
violence.
Similarly, it is far more misogynistic and "blockheaded" to suggest that the life of a
prostitute or call girl has a fairytale ending (Pretty Woman, The Hangover) than to
show her as a deeply damaged character who is unlikely to end up with her prince.
Even tarts with hearts don't end well.
So as I said, I've had more misogynistic nights out, but I've also had more enjoyable
ones. This movie ain't no laff-a-thon, but then, neither is domestic violence. If you
want to see a movie that the leading actors should be ashamed of appearing in – as one
columnist said of Alba and Hudson – go see Sex and the City 2. Guy Ritchie,
meanwhile, should see this.
A killer and a sex tourist
There has, understandably, been much talk about whether anything in Cumbrian killer
Derrick Bird's life should have given any kind of advance warning, and how to prevent
a repeat tragedy. Theories ranging from denying anyone on anti-depressants gun
licences to frequent psychological testing for cab drivers have all been advanced – yet
the most telling detail from Bird's life has been omitted from such discussions: his
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