Pure Torture

I don’t mind the odd bit of torture. I have been watching Doctor Who after all. But seriously... Like the actress popping her top off because it’s “integral to the plot,” the odd torture scene doesn’t go amiss as long as it serves precisely the same function: upping the ante, heightening the hero’s jeopardy, and conclusively proving that the villains are utterly rum coves who deserve everything coming to them.

One kind of torture or another seems to be par for the course for most TV action heroes now. Without it seasons of 24 would probably only last seven-and-three- quarter hours. While poor old Jack has the tar beaten out of him on a daily basis, perhaps one of the best character-defining moments was when President Palmer personally had one of his aides tied to a chair, electrodes attached and his bare feet in a bowl of water.

Then there’s the torture scene from the pilot of Alias, which proved to be so uncomfortable for Channel 4 when the episode was broadcast it ran forty minutes including ad breaks after they had taken the censor scissors to it. Ignoring their apparent nervousness, scenes like these are okay for a hero who will eventually break free and give their tormentors an arse-kicking the won’t forget in a hurry. But what happens when the character on the receiving end is simply designated a victim? And I don’t mean the likes of Private Pyle in Full Metal Jacket whose physical and mental beatings turn him into exactly what the US Army wants.

The consensus is about (real life) serial killers is that they’re loners and losers, the kinds of donuts that couldn’t get a girlfriend or a date to the prom. They wanted to be liked and when that didn’t happen their synapses snapped and they took all the bottled up rage out on some poor unfortunates who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I wonder if the current crop of geek film directors, who certainly looked like they were picked on at school and hate women because of it, figured out that channelling their twisted revenge fantasies into movies was a lot better than looking forward to behind-bars beatings and sodomy starters before the inevitable electric chair entrée.

Judging from the buses passing back and forth, Captivity and Hostel II is about to descend on the UK. Whoopee for us! Torture as a small part of the big picture is probably acceptable, though it does have its detractors. When torture is the picture, that’s pretty abhorrent. One of the big problems I have with Tarantino films is the heartless sadistic glee. When the fucking jerk appears in interviews chuckling about the brutality and violence, I just want to set the wolves on him.

Given that Hostel II tanked spectacularly in the US, hopefully the audience has seen more than enough and now realise how grubby it’s making them feel. I suppose we have to wait until the next Saw film to see if the tide has turned. If it has then we can give the directors a McMurphy and stick them in a rubber room out of the way where they can’t do any more harm.

Most depressing of all is the fact that the director of Captivity was Roland Joffé. He directed The Killing Fields and The Mission for Chrissakes!! Could this be the punishment for sticking the worst John Lennon song ever over the final scenes of the Cambodian-based drama. Or should it be a lesson to directors about the consequences of making a Demi Moore movie?