In an earlier post, I tackled the connection between Steve Rogers’ transformation into Captain America as a government sponsored PED initiative, and while I still stand by that assertion – and the way in which America’s sponsorship of PED use to “escort Adolf Hitler to the gates of Hell theoretically absolves them of blame because it’s for “the greater good – there is something additionally eerie about the emergence of Captain America when examining it through the narrative of Captain America: First Avenger.

Before delving too deeply, let’s first say that this addition to this segment of superhero stories that will ultimately compose The Avenger is rather solid for the first one hour and forty minutes – until the producers remind you that their ultimate goal is to elicit your cash for the aforementioned superhero crescendo. Some hints throughout the film – like the search for Oden’s treasure room or the emergence of Howard Stark as a main character – were subtle enough that the focus of attention could be Steve Rogers and his transformation from strong-hearted weakling to warrior with an equivalent body. At the same time, the final moments of the film that thrust Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) onto the screen seemed a bit too blatant of a teaser – and almost serves as a plea for everyone to see The Avengers – lest they had forgotten that’s what this wave of Marvel characters was ultimately destined to converge into.

That aside, the film is successful because there is much less time spent on an origin story and more time spent on watching Captain America exterminate bad guys and rescue good guys. A good origin story should be appreciated; at the same time, less interesting origin stories should be bypassed in favor of the reasons that the character is successful. Here, Rogers’ issues are readily apparent. He’s too small to join the army, and this emasculates him because he has an ancestry of enlistment. Moreover, his inability to join clashes with the radio-rhetoric that “every able-bodied young man is lining up” to defeat the Nazis. As the seemingly only person who is unfit to join Uncle Sam in his march against Hitler, Rogers repeatedly attempts to enlist by forging his papers and fabricating various identifications. His efforts are all for naught until his application is gleaned by Dr. Abraham Erskine (Stanley Tucci), who admits him into the armed forces in order to bring him into the hands of the “Strategic Scientific Reserve,” where he will be injected with a serum that will transform Rogers into Captain America.

While Captain America does well to avoid belaboring the origin story, its brevity impelled the eeriness hidden beneath the narrative – namely the use of a form of genetic modification to engineer the an “army of super soldiers” for the United States Army. As some subterfuge prevents the creation of an army, Rogers is the sole product and is initially relegated to a widget in advertising campaigns geared toward increasing bond sales. Certainly, this is a clever addition to the superhero genre inasmuch as the storyline, at first, makes Captain America less a superhero and more a propaganda-peddling cartoon – which is what the original Captain America was (the very first issue in 1941 depicted Cap punching out Hitler).

Despite the cleverly intelligent references to its own literary history, there is one major issue skirted over within the film: the similarities between the successful serum created by Erskine and the atrocities committed by Dr. Josef Mengele, the resident doctor at Auschwitz whose sobriquet “The Angel of Death” was rather ironic in that his selecting of certain prisoners most often saved them from immediate extermination but exposed them to torturous surgeries and experiments used to further the study of eugenics and the possibility of creating an ubermench – or superman.

A refugee from Germany, Erskine seems well aware of the atrocities occurring in various labor camps, and it is suggested that he left his position in the Nazi regime because “The serum amplifies the inner qualities of its taker, as well as their physical attributes. Good becomes great… bad becomes worse.” Granted, he is speaking specifically of Johan Schmidt (Hugo Weaving), but as Schmidt represents the evil within the Nazi ideology, Erskine’s sentiments can be applied to the entire Reich. Likewise, Erskine seemingly erases any overt connection to the Nazis in a minor history lesson where he notes, “One of the things that people always forget is that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own,” thus establishing himself as an outsider brought into their web of annihilation and conquest. However, his service for them – if a connection be made to the future Nuremburg trials – is that one cannot blame orders for one’s actions.

Throughout the first half of the film, Erskine is portrayed as nothing less than noble and sincere in his quest to vanquish evil from the Earth. At the same time, this utopia lies within the creation of a serum capable of creating an army of benevolent soldiers, who will – ideologically strike down evil, not perpetuate it.  Not a bad idea on the outset, but the successful serum also needs tests and subsequent modifications. These tests rely on subjects, something that Erskine confesses when he informs Schmidt that the “serum [is] not ready.” The only way for Erskine to know whether the serum was ready or not was to have tested it previously, no? Perhaps he used primates or canines, but the Nazi rhetoric suggests that he probably would have used human beings.

So, Schmidt ignores the warning and injects the serum, thus becoming the Red Skull and ultimate villain of Captain America: First Avenger. And it seems, this is when Erskine flees Nazi Germany, where he lands in the arms of the United States. But here’s the snag. While Steve Rogers was a successful experiment, how did Erskine move from an immature serum with dastardly side effects to a successful serum? More than likely through further tests and experiments. Perhaps this is why Colonel Chester Philips (Tommy Lee Jones) initially suggests that Rogers “will be useful to [Erskine] – like a gerbil.”

One issue here is the symbol that Captain America personifies. His creation in itself is viewed in a positive light because he took down Hitler (in the comic) and prohibits the Red Skull from annihilating the Eastern seaboard. The potentially larger issue here is how the curse of omission rears its ugly head in this superhero narrative. We’re only privy to the result – the heroics of Captain America, the ubermench. But the road to this creation is one seemingly paved with carcasses of the unfortunate, perhaps even those who were swayed by the desire to serve their country but were too diminutive to be of any use of the battlefield – like Rogers was prior to his run in with Erskine.

Every once in a while, there is a film from which nothing is expected but its ability to kill two hours, yet surprises with a solid plot and decent performances. The other day, that film was Black Snake Moan. There are a few reasons why I hadn’t seen this when it was released in 2007. One was that it only lasted about a month in theaters and by the time I got around to wanting to go, it was gone and so was my desire. Second, it always struck me as a Christina Ricci-driven skin flick, and while there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s still a bit creepy to sit in a dark room filled with people waiting to see nudity; there are plenty of cheaper theaters at the perimeter of Manhattan where one can get those kicks, and they don’t cost thirteen dollars. Finally, the combination of “Snakes” and “Samuel L. Jackson” took me back to 2006 and the nearly residual memories of Snakes on a Plane! (exclamation points optional), a film that could only be a prequel for Opossums in a Post Office! or Deer in a Driveway!

But Black Snake Moan is neither a skin flick – though there is nudity – nor a hyperbolic venture through the weevil-infested Deep South. Instead, it’s an allegory that pits the individualistic against the collective, or rather the value of self against the value of the community. There isn’t a direct clash between the two but an exploration of method when it comes to raising children and defining “discipline.” I’m hesitant to apply racial tension to this allegory – though it’s hard to avoid at times – only because writer / director Craig Brewer (Hustle and Flow) doesn’t levy judgment on either race’s ideologies, and he makes this clear through flawed characters on both sides of the color line.

On one side, we have the God-fearing farmer and former blues musician Lazarus (Samuel L. Jackson), whose wife, Rose (Adriane Lenox) has recently left him for his younger brother Deke (Leonard L. Thomas). On the other, we have Rae (Christina Ricci), the town doorknob whose past is replete with physical and sexual abuse, and whose present is spent searching for acceptance and love in the form of fornication. Both have their demons, but both are also searching for absolution. Lazarus believes he pushed Rose away when he transitioned from popular blues musician to “husband,” failing to provide the excitement and joie de vivre of his younger brother. In contrast, Rae is perpetually pushed away, and to compensate for the loss, she resorts to sex to affirm her value, which is clear from the opening scene that shows Rae in the throes of passion with Ronnie (Justin Timberlake), her boyfriend who is preparing to join the Army. There is a genuine love between the two, but when Ronnie leaves, Rae goes into a fit and becomes possessed by a sexual demon, emphasizing the emptiness she feels in his absence, driving her to find a momentary placebo in the form of the town’s giant black drug dealer before moving on to an alcohol and drug fueled party where she meets up with a football team until she’s severely beaten and left in a ditch where Lazarus finds her.

And here is where the allegory begins. Passed around from person to person, Rae has no one else to turn to, but is unaware that she should be able to turn to someone. The men she finds, she uses as they use her, so the relationship ends with the climax. Her mother is a former addict dealing with her own recovery while working in a grocery store and isolating herself from anything in her past, including Rae, whom she delightfully reminds “I should have gotten that abortion.” Despite the past troubles they share, including the mother’s boyfriend who sexually abused Rae, both have taken an individualistic approach to solving their problems. Instead of commiserating and exchanging past transgressions, they choose to find their own destructive antidotes. Moreover, the mother-daughter relationship here is obviated by this disconnect and speaks to the influence of nurture in upbringing – or lack thereof.

On the other hand, Lazarus is caught between the need to shed his anger and his tie to the adulterer. The confrontation between Rae and her mother leads to a rumble in aisle 5, but when Deke approaches Lazarus at the local bar, the threat of violence stops short of a broken-beer-bottle stabbing, instead transitioning to Biblical salvation when Lazarus yells, “Cain slew Able, slew him out of envy!” Initially, the assumption is that Lazarus becomes Cain and Deke becomes Abel, suggesting that Lazarus envies Deke’s ability to provide Rose what he could not. Ostensibly, this would categorize him as an individualistic character; however, Lazarus shifts to a collectivist mentality when he states, “God put his mark on Cain for his sins, is that what you want Deke? Huh? Is that what you come here for? I’ll do it for you, all you got to do is say it again… Say you love me.” Here, Lazarus embraces fraternity and assumes the role of the forgiving and compassionate. When compared to Rae, Lazarus represents the ability to move past the “self” and focuses on the interaction with the “other,” something that Rae is unable to do in her relationships and her past.

Bottling up anger until it explodes may not be the best method, but the convergence of Rae and Lazarus alleviates this pressure. At first, the relationship is a bit strained to say the least. He finds her, offers her cough syrup, gives her a cold bath to break her fever, and ties her to his radiator with a fifty-pound chain. The chain has compelled a number of critics to write Black Snake Moan off as a misogynist fantasy, but the theme goes beyond the visually obvious. The chain is not solely about self-aggrandizing power and control (though it’s therapeutic for Lazarus to help someone else and prove his value). Rather, the chain provides parental control over Rae, someone whose leash has never been tethered. It’s disciplining but not punitive. He feeds her and clothes her in summer dresses as opposed to underwear and a ripped t-shirt. He doesn’t abuse her either. There are no physical or sexual advantages taken because of the train.

The end result, strangely enough, is a lesson in family and what it means to support one another in a time of need. Perhaps something else to be taken here is that the definition of “family” has changed and what looks to be punitive and restrictive is actually what’s needed in an, at times, laissez faire culture – maybe not to the extent of literal chains, but, after all, it is an allegory.

Also, Marsellus Wallace finds your lack of faith disturbing, Brett. (via Samblr)

Head over there for another dozen or so.

“Does Marsellus Wallace match the appearance of a female canine? Then why is it, good sir, that you are attempting to have coital relations with him, as if he were a female canine?”
- Pulp Fiction

“I am now fully versed in the combat stylings of “Kung Fu.”
- The Matrix

“I say to thee honestly milady, I am an indifferent.”
- Gone With the Wind