Few films have divided
critics and filmgoers to the extent of Oliver Stone’s turbulent 1994
crime satire Natural Born Killers. The normally staid Roger
Ebert descended into an frenzy of superlative, giving the film four out
of four stars and declaring it a masterpiece. Other reviewers,
including The New York Times, were less kind however, decrying
the film as ‘flashy, loathsome and utterly empty.’
Regardless of its
critical reception, few cinematic efforts in recent memory have proven
as controversial. The film was directly implicated in a number of
copycat slayings, and was known to be a favourite of several serial and
spree killers such as the Columbine shooters, resulting in both Stone
and the movie’s producers being sued numerous times as a result of such
fatal outbursts. Though constitutional laws guaranteeing the right of
artistic expression meant such court cases were all eventually
dismissed, they did little to quell the film’s reputation as a
singularly tumultuous and bloody opus.
Based on a script
originally written by Quentin Tarantino, Natural Born Killers
follows the exploits of Mickey (Woody Harrelson) and Mallory (Juliette
Lewis), a pair of maleficent lovers who go on an extended rampage across
the United States. Their exploits garner much media scrutiny, and
indeed the principle thesis of the film is the manner in which media
portrayals thoughtlessly elevate unrepentant criminals to the status of
celebrities, a point which seems to have been lost on the real-life
killers who derived inspiration from the work. The film spent almost a
year in the editing process, and reportedly contains roughly five times
as many cuts as the average movie. Eccentric camera angles, grainy
black and white insertions, rear projection, filters and stock footage
all add to the hallucinatory air, mirroring the explosiveness of the
subject matter and disorientating the viewer by barely allowing a chance
to focus on the action at hand before another lively shot is
substituted.
That the film is one of
the most savage ever to grace the screen is undeniable. The extent to
which this becomes justifiable is, of course, the extent to which the
viewer subscribes to its central tenets: that desperate people will
become driven to desperate acts, that television and popular culture
breed systematic desensitisation to violence, that you can only prod a
caged animal so many times before it bites. Truth be told much of the
violence is cartoonish and surreal, underpinning the occasionally
metaphorical nature of the acts themselves and diffusing some of the
horror inherent in the concept of decent people being killed for no
reason other than sport. Still this is not one for the squeamish, and
the manipulation of symbolism, colour and recurrent demonological motifs
all take a back seat to the visceral and frighteningly unpredictable
scenes of wanton slaughter.
Stone also makes
effective use of Tarantino’s typically vivid characterisations.
Goggle-eyed Rodney Dangerfield is truly repugnant as Mallory’s lecherous
father, spewing vitriol like a repulsive, bloated toad in scenes that
mock the mindless nature of canned-laughter sitcoms such as Married
With Children. A hyped-up Robert Downey Jr. is believable as
reporter Wayne Gale, making the somewhat idiosyncratic decision to play
the character with an Aussie twang, and Tommy Lee Jones likewise puts in
a memorable performance as a volatile and foulmouthed prison warden
determined to clamp down on the criminal riff-raff in his charge.
Natural Born Killers
also retains a Tarantino-esque element of surprise. The opening minutes
give every indication of aiming for nothing more than sleepy and
innocuous exposition before quickly degenerating into mayhem, both
toying with the filmic convention of establishing character and
narrative while taking the concept to its logical, if in this instance
somewhat brutal, conclusion. The soundtrack is a masterful affair,
effortlessly incorporating modernity, vintage Americana and hints of
world music into its shtick. Artists as varied as Bob Dylan, Nine Inch
Nails and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan all make appearances, and Stone
playfully alternates genres like a hyperactive child set loose in a toy
box. Occasionally he favours silence, or layers three songs on top of
each other as the fancy strikes. The use of Patti Smith’s ‘Rock and
Roll Nigger’ early on is especially apt given its refrain of ‘Outside of
society is where I wanna be’, and Leonard Cohen’s ‘Anthem’ proves a
disingenuously mellow choice of number to play over the bloodbath of an
establishing scene.
The director’s cut
contains four minutes of additional footage declared too extreme for the
original theatrical release, and excised by Stone in order for the film
to receive an NC-17 rating in the US. The picture looks excellent in
1080p. Colours are vibrant and clearly delineated, certainly a bonus in
a feature which makes such protracted use of chromatics, and the
contrast is respectably sharp. Sound quality is likewise crisp, and the
5.1 audio track makes good use of HD surround technology. The many
extras also prove a worthwhile incentive, with introductions and audio
commentary courtesy of Stone, in addition to deleted scenes,
documentaries and interviews.
For my money, Stone
overplays his hand slightly with Natural Born Killers. A little
too enamoured of its own cleverness, the film doesn’t so much make its
point as hammer it home repeatedly, until the viewer’s consciousness is
almost as battered as the remains of one of Mickey and Mallory’s 52
murder victims. Which is, I suppose, the point. At any rate the movie
is an uncompromising and important addition to the 1990s cinematic
landscape, and one that will continue to challenge and disquiet
audiences for many years to come.
Special Features
Featurette NBK
Revolution: How would it all go down now?
Audio commentary and new
introduction with director Oliver Stone
Chaos Rising:
The storm around Natural Born Killers
Deleted scenes featuring
performances by Ashley Judd, Denis Leary and others
Charlie Rose interview
with Oliver Stone
Alternate ending
Theatrical trailer
