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Becoming he who fights monsters and the true romance of movies: The Untouchables

"I have become what I beheld and I am content that I have done right."

There’s a few quotes out there about how, when you observe evil, you’ll end up shaped by it, if not becoming it. The most famous is Frederich Nietzche’s line, “When you stare into the abyss, be aware that it also stares into you.” I enjoy Michael Herr’s line “You were as responsible for everything you saw as you were for everything you did.” He was specifically referring to American journalists who went to Vietnam in order to witness the conflict; he’s saying that you can’t judge the world for being insane and evil when you specifically went looking for insane and evil things. But my favourite by far is the line from The Untouchables, “I have become what I beheld and I am content that I have done right.”

As I understand it, the relationship between The Untouchables and the actual history of Al Capone’s fall lies somewhere between ‘inaccurate’ and ‘entirely fictional’. Yet weirdly, it contains some uncanny parallels to the real-life story of Joseph Petrosino, an Italian-American immigrant turned police officer who fought against the Italian Mafia in the 1880s and ‘90s; just like Eliot Ness in the movie, Petrosino was an underestimated individual who put together an equally ragtag bunch of misfits to turn the violent, terroristic tactics of criminals against them.

This is a perfect example of how movies – or stories in general – can be True without being literally correct. There’s that classic scene where Sean Connery’s character urgently advises that the only way to defeat Capone is to take his own actions further than he’d ever consider (“You want Capone? Here’s how you get him. He pulls a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue! That’s the Chicago way! And that’s how you get Capone!”), and that’s how Petrosino both took on the Italian Mafia in New York and created a significant Italian culture within the NYPD.

No matter how people – both creators and audiences – try to use movies as factual history, or ideological weapons, or intellectual exercises, the fact of the matter is that movies are inherently objects of emotion. There’s Truffaut’s famous statement that there are no anti-war movies because they inherently glamorize the act no matter how it’s contextualised, and I find this is true of all things in movies and TV; I’ve always been struck by Peter Capaldi’s comment that fans often say they’d vote for Malcolm Tucker, given a) the character is not a politician, b) the character is specifically shown to be, for all his bluster, vulnerable, and c) he’s holding up the very system they decry. They don’t care about consequence or effective political strategy or even, I suspect, their political ideology; they just like that Malcolm yells swear words at politicians.

This is why I suspect movies ought to be actively treated as Romances. I admit I’m the strange one here – most people seem to treat movies and fiction as historical documents; I’m particularly baffled by people who need superhero movies to contain complete fidelity to their source material, but I also include people who react negatively to any betrayal of their sense of realism. It seems that most people really just want a story to conform to their prejudices.

I personally prefer to look at the emotion of a story and ask if I can relate to it, even in a second-hand kind of way. Part of the reason literal-mindedness confuses me is because being able to point to an emotion and say ‘this is very much like an emotion I have in a different context’ is the simplest thing in the world to me. Ness and his crew might be cops in Chicago circa the Fifties, but I can relate to the story of fighting something, only to turn into it (here we find ourselves sauntering back to my original point).

“It’s not a literal connection, Dude.”

Walter Sobchak, The Big Lebowski

One of the fascinating things about conflict is that it inherently leads to a different kind of empathy. If you fight someone, you’ll likely use their own tactics; sometimes as a simple form of eye-for-an-eye reciprocation, but usually just for the same reason they did: it works. This is potentially a deeply tasteless comparison, but people have drawn comparisons between Neil Gaiman’s horrific actions against women and the abuse and torture he suffered as a child in Scientology, as if he were proving himself victorious over childhood enemies.

There are other points of comparison too; I think of Josef Stalin’s Soviet Union resembling both the Tsar he ostensibly fought against and the Bolshevik conspiracies that he used to get to power, his mind and muscle memory and bureaucracy shaped by the needs of conspiracy and a secret police hounding him. There’s atheists raised in Christian environments who leave faith behind but maintain the self-righteous attitude that drove them away, simply swapping out one set of beliefs for another.

I’m not judging here – I mean, I’m judging the rape and mass murder, that’s pretty awful, but I get being shaped by antagonistic forces. There are multiple times in my life where I’ve found myself repeating patterns that were used against me; manipulation and bullying, amongst other things. On the one hand, I’ve become much more careful about which forces I fight against, avoiding conflict with those I don’t want to resemble. I don’t argue with complete bigoted dumbasses on the internet because damn, do I not want to resemble them.

“I see a mirror, Harvey.”

Batman, The Dark Knight Returns

On the other hand… there’s worse things than being a little evil. “The abyss will stare back into you” is flawed in that it’s a warning against action, at least out of context; whenever it’s crossed my mind, it’s been a warning not to engage in behaviour that is otherwise tempting. “You’re as responsible for everything you saw” isn’t actively warning against action, but it does feel threatening, yet passive.

“I have become what I beheld and I am content that I have done right,” on the other hand, is a potent argument for choosing to live in the world. Life’s not so much about having no enemies as it is about worthy enemies – ones that you are content becoming. To walk away at the end of a conflict believing you have chosen a glorious opponent. I look at the conflicts of my life, and most of my favourite ones – the ones that were the most rewarding, that shaped me into a happier person – were with my friends, where I have taken on their traits I previously rejected because we just kept arguing about them.

What time I have left has become dedicated to ‘taking down’ the idols I previously held dear. I tried writing a story essentially ripping off Stargate: SG-1 to specifically tear into why I think it doesn’t work dramatically, and I found it a cathartic experience that let me find pleasure in the original series again. I’ve written a crime story and found I had to turn to my dramatic nemesis, The Sopranos, because it had much to teach me about the genre. I eagerly anticipate the next worthy opponent.