We are all gods

One of the most frightening movie-going experiences I have ever had was seeing The Boys (1998)*.

The movie tells the story of Brett Sprague and his two younger brothers, on the day he returns from prison after an extended jail term for aggravated burglary. Brett’s return has a dramatic effect on the family left outside, including his mother and her partner, girlfriend Michelle (played by Toni Collette), his brother’s wife and his younger brother’s pregnant girlfriend.

The film is, in my opinion, one of the best films ever produced in this country. It is prickly and uncomfortable. In addition to the layers of violence and abuse, both portrayed and implied, it tells difficult truths about inter-personal relationships. It takes the hot-tempered bloke you see occasionally down at the pub towards closing time, and turns his life into something far more intimidating and broad-reaching.

There is nothing half-hearted about this movie. Even the smaller roles are real and raw. Anna Lise’s portrayal of the pregnant teenage girlfriend of the youngest Sprague brother is compelling. The least cognizant of the family’s dynamic, she is terrified by the changing climate in the house precipitated by the return of oldest brother Brett (David Wenham) from prison. In her panic, she calls the police to the house after an argument escalates to violence, without realising the effect that this “betrayal” will have on all members of the family. Brett eventually coaxes her to admit that she had called through the complaint, and this scene in particular is reminiscent of a snake-and-rabbit exchange – his world closing like a fist around her. Later, she slips away unnoticed, preferring the wide-open maw of the unknown to anything she might live through in that house.

Much of the film is based on this notion: that fear and protection can be meted out by the same source, and that acceptance of a certain level of personal danger will allow a camaraderie or sense of familial acceptance. The hierarchy of the family has shifted based on what each member of the family knows the other is capable of – with the gentle (mother, and mother’s new boyfriend) or unproved (brother’s teenage girlfriend) determinedly at the bottom of the pecking order.

The women of the film are not exclusively victims. However, their attempts to fight back prove in most instances unsuccessful: when frustrated by losing ground, “the boys” resort to violence, a playing-field that is rarely level for women, and less so for women whose future is tied so closely to the men they challenge.

While growing up and going out through my teens, I had some experiences that, while they never got close to replicating the vignettes of interpersonal violence that make up The Boys, had an element of discomfort that this text clearly communicates.

David Wenham’s soft yet undeniably menacing voice had a real effect on me. It’s easy to slip from his character, clearly attractive and enticing to some women within the movie, to conversations in bars with boys (but in most cases, older men). While it’s happening you know that you’d rather not be talking to them, and they have an influence that feels oppressive and slightly nauseating well after they have staggered off to pursue some other girl.

Similarly, there are many families in which the generational dynamic runs this dangerous course: a tight-rope that begins with “boys acting out” and ends with shocking abuse. In most cases the abuse finds its “natural” victim: the younger brother, the sister, the step-child or a new girlfriend**. Everyone suffers in these exchanges: and in the small number of cases where perpetrators of violence pay the price expected by society (restraining orders or jail time), the victims of violence are left with conflicting emotions of guilt, fear, love and hate.

While most of us are lucky enough not to have experienced sexual violence on a massive and tragic scale, nearly every woman has a story about themselves or some one they know being placed in a position where she had to make a difficult and split-second choice: the choice between accepting a physical encounter she didn’t want or pushing some one away. Sadly for some young women, particularly those living in small communities, the strength it takes to resist those advances leaves a lasting (but not always physical) mark: word gets around, the word “frigid” is hissed at parties, and boys stay away in solidarity with their mates, or for fear that their advances might too be rejected.

Of course, the real impact of the movie comes in its characterisation of the circumstances leading to the eventual attack at the close of the film. By the time the three brothers have parked their car and considered their options, the frenzy of the rest of the day has dropped away. The dynamic has changed, and while the last exchange before the screen turns black is forthright and determined, it almost seems that it exists in a void beyond frustration, anger and violence. A void comprised of tedium, apathy, and an underlying expectation that “this is what happens next” for the group of men represented.

Rowan Woods (director) noted that “I can't show you why men do what they do — I can only show you the whole mess of male insecurities which might be a contributing factor”.

The frightening thing about the logical conclusion of the piece is that it is so unutterably random. With anger and nervous energy unsatisfied by their attempts to assert themselves over the women in their lives, it is a random stranger chosen for the ultimate expression of their rage.

I frequently ponder that last scene. I’ve quizzed my male friends about whether they think that it is “real”. They are, for the most part, uneasy about answering the question. I suspect that for most of them the concept of engaging in violence of that scale is so far beyond them that they cannot fathom it. To some extent, that is what I expect. It is how it should be.

I also wonder though, if they are also discomfited by the idea that they themselves might have pushed a relationship too far at some point in their life. That in “putting the hard word” on some one that they had left a faded but ever-present mark on some one no longer in their life. Plenty of men will tell you in their late 20s and early 30s that they have never made a woman feel compromised or uncomfortable during a sexual encounter. But would they know it? Would they remember it?

I’m not of the school that believes that by virtue of birthright every man is a sexual predator. I suppose that the observation above is predicated on my own experience: it’s easy to forget/fail to analyse your own life experiences if you aren’t forced to do so. And often only a pointed statement like “You said [insert comment here] to me and it really upset me” can bring on this type of reflection.

I’m still interested in what blokes have to say about this. And it took me a long time to consider David Wenham anything other than Brett Sprague, despite his very obvious acting talent.



* I went to this movie with friends and had to make them drive me to a pub for drinks afterwards. I didn’t want to be alone in the house. It wasn’t so much the thought of being attacked that made me frightened, as much as it was being in a silent room with nothing but David Wenham’s terrifying voice in my head.

** I’m not suggesting that all violence is male violence. I’m considering the examples used in the movie to reflect on what I have seen in my life.