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.

References

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Frye, Northrup. Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957.

Izod, John. Myth, Mind and the Screen: Understanding the Heroes of our Time. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Jewett, Robert. Saint Paul at the Movies: The Apostle's Dialogue with American Culture. Westminster John Knox Press, 1993.

Jewett, Robert. Saint Paul Returns to the Movies: Triumph Over Shame. William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1998.

Lyden, John. "To Commend or to Critique? The Question of Religion and Film Studies." Journal of Religion and Film 1,2 (1997). http://www.unomaha.edu/~wwwjrf/

Mackey-Kallis, Susan. The Hero and the Perennial Journey Home in American Film. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.

Martin, Joel W. and Conrad E. Ostwalt Jr. Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth and Ideology in Popular American Film. Boulder: Westview Press, 1995.

Scott, Bernard Brandon. Hollywood Dreams and Biblical Stories. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994.