
Doing some mindless channel-surfing yesterday, I came across A History of Violence on one of the cable channels.
I saw it on DVD whenever it first came out — early 2006, I think — and thought what everybody thought: damned good fight scenes, one great sex scene, some good dialogue, and some domestic scenes that don’t work quite as well as the rough bits. (The kid who plays Viggo Mortensen’s teenage son seems miscast.)
All that matched my memory of the movie from three years ago (except for the fact they couldn’t show the sex scene on basic cable). What I’d completely forgotten about is the over-the-top genius of William Hurt as gangster Richie Cusack.
Quick plot summary: Mortensen plays a small-town restaurant owner who calls himself Tom Stall. He lives in the middle of nowhere with his incredibly hot wife, annoying teenage son, and quietly adorable daughter. When he foils a robbery in his restaurant, killing the two perps in the process, he gets his face in the news, and that brings some unexpected and unwelcome visitors.
Turns out, Tom is really Joey Cusack, a vicious hit man for the Philly mob and younger brother of mob boss Richie Cusack, played by Hurt. Or, at least, he used to be Joey. After his last escapade, which involved the unfortunate intersection of barbed wire and another gangster’s eyeball, he fled the mob life, reinvented himself as a small-town family man, and lived in happy anonymity.
Which begs the question: Is it actually possible for a professional killer to just stop being a man of violence and, from pure force of will, turn himself into Ward Cleaver?
One of the most memorable crime novels I’ve read is The Killer Inside Me, by Jim Thompson. In that one, a boring small-town sheriff, Lou Ford, is actually a serial killer who hides in plain site by being so predictably dull. It’s a terrific conceit for a novel, although I’m not sure if anyone could really wear the mask of normalcy as well as Thompson’s protagonist does for much of the story.
A real-world example of a serial murderer hiding in plain sight is Wichita’s BTK killer, who was a local city official and a leader in his church. He committed his final murder in 1991, and managed to go 13 years before he finally cracked and began drawing attention to himself again.
But a serial killer isn’t the same as a hitman; no matter how much the mob enforcer enjoys his work, he’s still doing a job. So I guess it’s theoretically possible for that guy to settle down somewhere. But could he get married, raise a family, and run a business without any trace of his former occupation emerging until he thwarts a robbery many years later?
If so, I think it would be one for the psychology textbooks.
Another great psycho performance I caught on TV recently was Richard Mulligan as General Custer in Little Big Man. The real-life Custer wasn’t a guy who tried to hide from anybody; he was so fond of publicity that he brought a correspondent along with him to Little Bighorn. (It would’ve produced a great story, had either of them lived.) But as ego-driven as Custer was, it’s hard to make the case that he was clinically insane.
Which isn’t a knock on Mulligan’s performance. If anything, creating a certifiably loony Custer is even more of an achievement, given how familiar the audience was with Custer’s story when the movie came out in 1970.
Still, if Custer really was even a bit unhinged, you’d expect his story to end badly, which it did. As for the fictional mob hitman played by Mortensen, whether he could really could become a new person is debatable.
That brings me back to the genius of Hurt’s performance as his unhinged brother. He makes it easy to understand why Mortensen’s character would want to get away. That’s good enough for me.
Tags: Tags: entertainment, Mental Health, movies
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