John Fitch, III, Johnson C. Smith University
Charlotte, NC
Abstract
Within the American cinematic gestalt, we are continually offered
portrayals of the individual redemptive journey. Filmmakers repeatedly
portray versions of the hero and anti-hero. These figures have their
roots in age-old mythological and religious characters, and are easily
identifiable in the traditional Western and more recent Road Movies.
This paper compares the mythic Odysseus and the Christian Testament's
St. Paul in an examination of the cinematic use of the hero and anti-hero
archetypes. In a majority of American films, Odysseus and Paul become
one and the same, and the journey of redemption is blighted by blood,
rather than illuminated by divine light.
[1] Transformation typically occurs in contemporary American films
within the journey of the protagonist. This tendency has deep roots
in traditional storytelling. In his Anatomy of Criticism,
Northrup Frye observes, "of all fictions, the marvelous journey
is the one formula that is never exhausted."1 The predominance and contemporary cultural relevance
of this ancient story-cycle is manifest in a very specific film genre,
the Road Movie - essentially a contemporary continuation of the traditional
Western. The characters that populate these films are continually
complex, and yet familiar. They are, perennially, the hero and/or
anti-hero. Mythologists tell us they reflect what and who we want
to be. What is the difference between the two archetypes? And why
do American filmmakers so often show these archetypal representations
resorting to violence to achieve their goals?
[2] In cinema, the hero/heroine is usually depicted as the one who
delivers salvation, enacts positive change, and brings relief from
suffering or oppression. He or she usually possesses the positive
traits common to the traditional notion of a hero: emotional, physical,
and moral strength as well as charity and fortitude. Conversely, the
anti-hero is "a protagonist who lacks the attributes that make a heroic
figure, as nobility of mind and spirit, a life or attitude marked
by action or purpose."2
The anti-hero is often a reluctant saviour - the one that we follow
and adore in spite of his own fallibility and his fundamentally flawed
human nature. He or she is someone who resembles ourselves, reminding
us not only of the ambiguous morality of existence but also the possibility
of redemptive change and transcendence.
[3] Historically, the delineation between the archetypal hero and
anti-hero has not always been clear. From Percival of the Grail legend
to the Fisher King, King David to Hercules, and Odysseus to Saint
Paul, the hero is depicted as unmistakably mortal at heart. Perhaps
by questioning the cinematic representations of the hero and anti-hero,
the movie-going public engages in a collective search for spiritual
identity and re-examination of the idea of righteousness.
[4] The stories of St. Paul and Odysseus parallel the hero-myth cycles
and the spiritual dimensions of a physical journey abundant in Western
literature - and more recently, in American cinema. The Christian
story of St. Paul provides an example of the prototypical anti-hero.
He was a sworn enemy of Christians and had initiated a campaign of
violent persecution against them. While on a journey to Damascus,
he experienced a divine revelation and was temporarily blinded by
the bright light that accompanied the voice of Christ (Acts 9: 1-19).
His consequent calling to join the Christians in peace was punctuated
by an invitation to suffering through service to Christ: "For I will
show him how great things he must suffer for my name's sake" (Acts
9:16). The experience transformed Paul and he became Christ's foremost
apostle and one of Christendom's earliest and most influential theologians.
His initial passivity (he was not actively seeking transformation)
and the promise of future suffering typify the cinematic anti-hero.
[5] Odysseus, Homer's depiction of the warrior who leaves home and
family behind to wage war, serves as a prototypical depiction of the
hero. His journey shaped and defined his character. Following the
battle he set out for home but was delayed by life-threatening ordeals
and trials, including imprisonment on Calypso's island, a feud with
the god Poseidon, and a battle with the Cyclops. When he finally does
get back home, Odysseus is a stronger force than when he departed.
His triumphs over his difficulties have strengthened him.
[6] It is notable that Odysseus's fame does not derive from his ethical
or moral stature but from his craftiness - stealth and cunning. In
the end, when he returns home, he is not a triumphant warrior. He
is a clever murderer. Even his name indicates his nature. It has been
associated with the Greek odyne, meaning pain - and pain not
just for oneself, but pain extended to others. This reciprocal sado-masochism
reverberates in the definition of the cinematic anti-hero - the hero
who is considered heroic because he receives and in the end distributes
pain.
[7] The anti-hero is rarely happy in situations that please other
men. He prefers conflict and struggle rather than comfort and certainty.
His sense of self-actualization or righteousness is achieved through
war or strife. In Homer's story of Odysseus, as in so many contemporary
films, the goal of the warrior/hero is not long life, but glorious
life followed by glorious death.
[8] The modern cinematic hero also resembles Odysseus in that he
often travels alone. Homer compares Odysseus to lions and eagles,
animals that usually hunt apart from their families. Ultimately, the
journey of Odysseus takes on mythic and spiritual dimensions by virtue
of the destination. He, like the anti-hero, was striving not just
for Ithaca but also for a metaphysical sense of place. Just as the
anti-hero or cowboy travels west seeking to escape his past in a new
home, Odysseus fled Troy for the home of his imagination. Several
times in the poem Homer describes Odysseus's quest as a desire for
re-birth - a rising from the dead that can only occur when he reaches
his home.
[9] The flawed and undeniably ambiguous heroic/anti-heroic nature
of Robert DeNiro's character in Raging Bull (Martin Scorsese,
1980) is not so far removed from the character of Odysseus. Both men
are famous warriors (DeNiro's character is a well-known prizefighter),
both are coming to terms with their physical decline, both have to
confront the expiration of their former power and embrace a new kind
of distinction, and both possess a desire to return to the glory and
fame they once enjoyed. In the end, after much self-reflection and
examination, these two fighters are forced into a new kind of action
and determination in order to recover what they have lost. Susan Mackey-Kallis
writes of this mythic process: "The Hero's journey...is both a descent
into the world of liminal and passive unconscious and an ascent into
consciousness and the world of action."3
[10] The distinctions between the varying perennial characters are
rarely clearly defined in modern cinema. From David to Odysseus to
John Wayne, the ethical and moral substance of heroic figures is fraught
with inconsistencies - just as the mythology of Paul could be seen
as a troubling study of aborted vengeance and reluctant redemption.
A film like Dead Man Walking (Tim Robbins, 1995) underscores
the ambiguity of the nature and moral character of our cultural heroes.
The main character in the film is a confessed murderer, full of hate
and confusion - yet, in the end, he is portrayed as a beatific Christ-figure,
one who is perhaps wrongly executed for his sins following absolution
by a Catholic nun. An interesting element of this depiction is that
the character resembles Paul more closely than Christ. Paul was a
killer who was redeemed by the intervention of the Divine.
[11] A defining point in Paul's transformation is his passiveness.
He is maimed and brought into submission by the calling of Christ.
It is Paul's inactivity, or lack of direct action in achieving redemption,
that we see in most American cinematic heroes/anti-heroes. They are
men and women of violence, of revenge and reparation - essentially,
purely human. Unwittingly, they are brought to a kind of "holy aggression"
by circumstances beyond their control, as seen in the dilemmas faced
by the main characters in The Passion of Joan of Arc (Carl
Theodor Dreyer, 1928), Glory (Edward Zwick, 1989), Die Hard
(John McTiernan, 1988), The Matrix (Andy and Larry Wachowski,
1999), and The Lord of the Rings (Peter Jackson, 2001). As
with Odysseus, their redemption is marked by the blood of their enemies.
Like the pre-Christian St. Paul, their pious rage is predicated by
the fact that they are "fighting for the right side," or following
a "higher calling," or protecting their own embattled loved ones.
[12] Perhaps these themes resonate within the American psyche to
qualify and redeem the many moral indiscretions that accompanied the
creation of the nation. There may indeed be a nagging desire to quell
the collective guilt of a society that displaced the original residents
of the land, enslaved an entire race for its own financial gain, and
introduced nuclear warfare to the world. The idea that the hero had
to do "what he had to do to get the job done" postures as a righteous
stance by virtue of its dedication to a high ideal, coupled with the
embrace of self-sacrifice. Such idealism is continually evident in
most American cinematic heroes. They avoid barbarism and violence
until pushed into a corner by insurmountable odds and desperate circumstances.
In almost every case, though, when the hero does finally resort to
violence he is just as vicious and ruthless as his adversaries. Many
times, the hero is absolved of past sins and indiscretions through
a resolute dedication to violence and vengeance, much like
Odysseus. In his book, Hollywood Dreams and Biblical Stories,
Brandon Scott cites Levi-Strauss:
The purpose of myth is to provide a logical
model capable of overcoming contradiction ...We use myths to hide
contradictions in the beliefs of our societies ...That is, we approve
of violence in our need to keep order. But the contradiction is
overcome in film when the violence is evacuated from civilization
after its occurrence: hence the need for the hero to leave after
he saves the family in ÔShane,' ÔThe Searchers,' and innumerable
other westerns.4
[13] This kind of faux moral redemption - of blood and retribution,
not of spirit and conscience - and its recurrence in the American
cinematic Road Movie or Western is troubling, for no real change or
spiritual transformation occurs. Examples are plentiful. From First
Blood (the first installment of the lucrative Rambo franchise,
directed by Ted Kotcheff in 1982) to Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven
(1992) to Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994), Robin
Hood: Prince of Thieves (Kevin Reynolds, 1991), Lethal Weapon
(Richard Donner, 1987) and Die Hard, the good guys seldom
wear white hats, and they frequently murder their way to this nebulous
spiritual freedom. This tendency to show even admirable characters
perpetrating violence leads to a conclusion: we live in a social system
that both sanctions and rewards such sadistic responses to threat
and danger. In American film, the spirit of Odysseus' bloody return
to Ithaca prevails over Paul's transformative journey to Damascus.
[14] The fundamental moral/social reasoning for this kind of retribution
relies on a selfless defense of friends, family, and country. Usually
the hero allows or endures many persecutions of self, but when presented
with the mistreatment of others, carnage most certainly follows. The
apparent selflessness of this modus operandi provides the hero
with redemptive accolades and indulgences from his peers and society
in general. Thereby, the anti-hero is wedded to the hero and the idea
of absolute morality is lost; the Old Testament law of equal retribution
continues to propagate itself upon the movie screens and home movie
systems of America.
[15] In a genre related to Westerns and Road Movies, the
"Mission Movie," yet another attribute common to the hero/anti-hero
is easy to identify. The Mission Movie takes its hero on a journey
toward acquisition and recovery - indeed reconnaissance, that
is, reclaiming something lost. The Mission Movie is usually a directional
story with a singular, imperative goal: the attainment of something
or someone that has been lost and must be rediscovered at all costs.
An example: the journey of the Army Rangers in Saving Private Ryan.
Mythologist Joseph Campbell writes that the hero's journey "is a labor
not of attainment but of reattainment, not of discovery but rediscovery.
The godly powers sought and dangerously won are revealed to have been
within the heart of the hero all the time."5
[16] The idea of homecoming is more important in these cases than
the idea of existential or physical flight. The mythological theme
of this type of story resonates throughout the history of narrative
form. One early example: Moses and the tribes of Israel, who wandered
through the desert in search of a "promised land." This exagogic journey
finds significant yet uneasy parallels in the character of Dorothy
in the Wizard of Oz, and in the story of Odysseus - returning
home, after traveling into distant magical lands. As in the medieval
search for the Holy Grail, the hero/protagonist cannot return home
with honour until the prescribed assignment of recovery is completed.
Modern correlations from the American screen include The Searchers
(John Ford, 1956), Thelma and Louise (Ridley Scott, 1991),
The Fugitive (Andrew Davis, 1993), The Verdict (Sidney
Lumet, 1982), Kalifornia (Dominic Sena, 1993), Saving Private
Ryan (Steven Spielberg, 1998), The Mission (Roland Joffe,
1986) and 12 Monkeys (Terry Gilliam, 1995). The deeper, more
fundamental message of this kind of narrative focuses not on the obtainment
of the intended goal, but rather upon the lessons learned upon the
road - the process of re-attainment itself. The transformative power
of the iconic wilderness in terms of the seeker's spiritual/psychological
state becomes the main focus and primary benefit of the story.
[17] Between the two journeymen, St. Paul and Odysseus, we find a
stark disparity: Paul is made into something greater, while Odysseus
remains the ruthless warrior he has always been. Odysseus returns
in disguise to violently punish his foes, while Paul has become a
benevolent force, advocating peace among his former enemies. The result
is easily observed: Odysseus has gained nothing from his journeys
but pain and a desire to draw seemingly justifiable blood from his
and his wife's tormentors. Paul is a changed man, bent upon righting
his past sins through forgiveness and a peaceful embrace of a new,
benevolent calling.
[18] Paul's type of rediscovery has few correlations in American
cinema. Indeed, there are not many films about the "bad guy" becoming
the "good guy" without much spilling of blood and the violence justified
as "righteous action." The examples that exist often concern Christ
- as a template of peaceful yet willful and dedicated change, as in
The Greatest Story Ever Told and The Gospel of John
(Phillip Saville, 2003). Films that include a non-violent, positive
transformation are rarely blockbusters and are often relegated to
the art house cinema. Examples are The Apostle (Robert Duvall,
1997), You Can Count on Me (Kenneth Lonergan, 2000), Prince
of Tides (Barbra Streisand 1991), Postcards from the Edge
(Mike Nichols, 1990), and Tender Mercies (Bruce Beresford,
1983).
[19] The blood-bath plot is much more the norm in contemporary films,
with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences' annual Oscars
often going to cinematic homages to the antiheroic hero: Gladiator
(Ridley Scott, 2000); Braveheart (Mel Gibson, 1995); Unforgiven
(Clint Eastwood, 1992); Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme,
1991); Platoon (Oliver Stone, 1986); The Deer Hunter
(Michael Cimino, 1978); The Godfather Part II (Francis Ford
Coppola, 1974); The French Connection (William Friedkin, 1971).
[20] The killer in such films typically remains true to predatory
instincts, with only temporary suspension of those instincts. Consider
Robert DeNiro's character in The Mission: the hero is shamed
and shackled into a true spiritual redemption, yet participates with
relish in a final battle for what we are asked to consider a just
cause. The hero/warrior is transformed, but only briefly - only until
his previously tested savage skills are needed to aid others in a
desperately violent struggle. Consider also Apocalypse Now.
It begins as a kind of Road or Mission movie where the hero has the
opportunity to rediscover himself and a fuller understanding of his
own fruitless mission in Vietnam via numerous disillusioning events
and much ennui. In the end he takes up a sword and completes his assigned
homicidal mission without remorse or regret. The film's implicit message?
That the American hero/anti-hero, under duress, has no choice but
to ruin and destroy the enemy according to the directives of his superiors
- regardless of his own conscience or his own moral/spiritual doubts.
[21] The journey of St. Paul has more to do with surrender to a spiritual
calling - a calling to self-sacrifice and spiritual re-awakening.
Paul originally takes to the road as a self-proclaimed zealot, pledging
to quell the threat of the spiritual separatists called Christians
and their threat to the orthodoxy of Judaism. At this point Paul is
a religious warrior, a crusader driven by a calling to purge the promised
land of these new "infidels." By his own later admission, his desires
were not fueled purely by religious fervor; he also desired a bit
of fame and notoriety, which would surely be bestowed upon a young
passionate devotee by the Jewish religious elite of the time. But
when the call to spirit and conscience occurred, he answered affirmatively.
[22] In contemporary American films, the variations of hero/anti-hero
continue. The stories take on the fluidity of time, for the details
must reflect a changing cultural landscape - in this era, fit the
multiplex and its patrons. Regardless of the proliferating variations,
the perennial and abiding significance of the leading man or woman
borrows heavily from a pattern set down long ago: a pattern born of
myth, scripture and enduring narrative form. St. Paul and Odysseus
serve as enduring models of heroism and anti-heroism. They resemble
American moviegoers - moviegoers who participate in the continuing
epic journey of life itself. The mythical models seen on the screen
find their universality in the human heart. The journey of self-discovery
occurs and reoccurs in the individual's secret spaces. According to
scholars such as Joseph Campbell, the challenge for the individual
is to learn from the mistakes and triumphs of the archetypal figures.
Given that the heroes and anti-heroes on American movie screens usually
choose violence, a question arises. Is there a point ahead, on the
cinematic horizon, when filmmakers will give equal screening to the
hero who achieves a non-violent transformation?
Notes
1. Northrup Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1957), 33.
2. Susan Mackey-Kallis, The Hero and the Perennial
Journey Home in American Film (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2001), 91.
3. Mackey-Kallis, The Hero, 47.
4. Bernard Brandon Scott, Hollywood Dreams and Biblical
Stories (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), quoted by John Lyden in
"To Commend or to Critique? The Question of Religion and Film Studies,"
3. Journal of Religion and Film 1,2 (1997). http://www.unomaha.edu/~wwwjrf/
5. Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1949), 39.
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Jewett, Robert. Saint Paul at the Movies: The Apostle's Dialogue
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Jewett, Robert. Saint Paul Returns to the Movies: Triumph Over
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Lyden, John. "To Commend or to Critique? The Question of Religion
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Mackey-Kallis, Susan. The Hero and the Perennial Journey Home
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