Monday, June 6, 2005

French Method Actors Complicate Prospects for Real Tort Reform

The presiding judge, or rather the actor portraying him, appeared heartbroken by the verdict. Duty, and the mandates of Luc Besson's script, required that he dispatch the lovely and dangerous Nikita (of La Femme Nikita fame) to state prison for a period no less than 30 years. His hunched shoulders and downcast expression, coupled with the reluctant monotone that accompanied his reading of the sentence, betrayed a sympathy foreign to the courtrooms of American cinema.

"What a shame," he seemed to be thinking as he shuffled down from his bench; "Free men would kill for an ass like that. Our pool of potential mistresses took a severe blow on this day."

It was a portrayal most Americans, in my view, would find patently offensive, as centuries of general bellicosity have conditioned us to gleefully embrace the incarceration of almost anyone at any time. Trust me, nothing's more arousing than the sight of an aging barrister, seated purposefully erect atop an impossibly high perch, passing severe judgment on a hapless thug destined, without variation, for Sodomy State Prison.

I'm always impressed with how they sternly squeeze the maximum sentence through their tightly pursed lips; they're just so enraged and disgusted, yet so satisfied with their handiwork. "The likes of you will NEVER torment this hamlet ever again!" they say. With this I half expect them to pull a fresh toothpick from their robes and, perhaps after a shot of cognac or a benediction, get on with liberating all the bloody chunks of convict stew lodged between their teeth. Alas, our vicars of jurisprudence always defer this upkeep to their chambers, thus ensuring their sturdy and self-righteous jaws remain clenched while on screen.

In any case, this trans-Atlantic contrast in judicial styles naturally begs the question: which approach, cinematically speaking, is superior? The French method provides a helpful cue to the audience, revealing, in a cloying fashion not uncommon among former world powers, that while Nikita may appear to be a raving lunatic bitch, she's also human and worthy of respect. The downside, however, is the notion the audience actually needs this prompt - by the time Nikita's judge is sniffling his way through her sentence, it's painfully clear that Nikita is our protagonist. I mean, all of her buddies are dead; who the hell else are we gonna root for?

As such, the dominance of the American archtype is confirmed. Instead of inferring sympathies from the subtle expression of a character's motives and feelings, which could be easily missed by any ticketholder expected to work more than 35 hours a week, we Yanks rely on blatant means for achieving the same goal, and with greater effect.

How? Well, our preference for the heavy-handed portrayal of any court's presiding official serves two useful purposes. First, it foments our irrationally negative perception of government and the law; and, second, it frees us to thoroughly enjoy the visual spectacle of film, especially as it relates to Ron Jeremy's first Tenet of Movie-Making - the hero's the one with the biggest tits.