Guilt and Redemption, the Positive Side to a Negative Story [In Bruges, 2008]

            

[from google img. search]

                 

             The film “In Bruges,” released in 2008, incorporates some of the best parts of classic film noir in order to address the neglected questions that the genre raised. The strong emotions felt by Ray offer a portrait of the mind, as was witnessed with Cody Jarett in “White Heat.” “In Bruges,” also examines the way we see justice, in the style of Fritz Lang’s “M.” Ray, however, isn’t psychotic, or even someone too different from most that see the film. Ray is uncomfortably close to all of mankind, driven by the need for money, the need for happiness, and ultimately, salvation. The movie asks questions that probe deep into the heart, projecting images of our own guilt. Going farther, it offers us a way out of the purgatory that is Bruges – a medieval city that is simultaneously fairy tale and, as Jimmy the midget puts it, “Boschian nightmare.”

            Bruges, in the tradition of “Chinatown,” is a location that serves as a metaphor something else. In this vision, the hopes of our childhood evaporate as we grow older. On one of his first days in Bruges, Ray observes two children jumping around excitedly. He stares with longing at their innocence, having just killed a priest and boy in London. Right after, a dog next to him gives a knowing look. Everywhere that Ray goes, he is followed by his past and the resultant grief. The somber piano plays throughout the film, akin to the zither in “The Third Man,” oppressing the otherwise beautiful Belgian city.  Even when he meets the girl with whom he eventually falls in love, she instantly reminds him of the knot in his spirit, the terrible crime of shooting a little boy.

            The movie as a whole has repeatedly been called funny, or labeled as a comedy by serious movie critics. When the movie ends, however, the oppressive piano keys remain stroked in our mind. The dialogue is cheeky, but only as a matter of being faithful to the characters that make up the film. For example, Ray’s fascination with midgets strikes us as being humorous at first. Yet, we never really find out why he is so in awe of them. In terms of size, he may see them as being like children, and since they never grow in height it offers an interesting parable to Ray’s own disillusionment:

 “Ray: A lot of midgets tend to kill themselves. A disproportionate amount, actually. Hervé Villechaize off of Fantasy Island. I think somebody from the Time Bandits did. I suppose they must get really sad about like... being really little and that... people looking at them, laughing at them, calling them names. You know, "short arse". There's another famous midget. I miss him but I can't remember. It's not the R2D2 man; no, he's still going. I hope your midget doesn't kill himself. Your dream sequence will be fucked.
 Chloë: He doesn't like being called a midget. He prefers dwarf. Ray: This is exactly my point! People going around calling you a midget when you want to be called a dwarf. Of course you're going to blow your head off.”

                                                                 - Quote copied and pasted, IMDB.com

Eventually, Ray and Jimmy (the dwarf in question) become decent acquaintances. At the end of the film, when Ray and Chloe are enjoying a beer and Jimmy offers to have them come to a film shoot, Chloe explains that she wants a quiet night. The allusion here is that Ray and Chloe will have sex - Jimmy, who resorts to prostitutes, remarks, “In another life,” before walking away. He serves as an interestingly neutral counterpoint in Bruges’ strong willed eco-system.

            Given Ray’s strong affinity toward anything that reminds him of being a little boy, the act of shooting a child is possibly the most traumatic thing that could happen to him. After the boy and the priest die together from his hand, he becomes concerned – not from the law, or death, but for his soul. He tells Ken that the only way he can make his guilt go away is if he dies.       We’re all born feeling a great measure of guilt for things that, if left un-addressed, will eventually consume us. Even the child who was shot in this movie had guilt that he carried with him. When he was shot in a church he hoped to repent for, “being moody, being bad at maths, and being sad.”  Ken, in a snippet of dialogue from after they’re in the museum observing paintings of judgment, asserts, “The things we’re taught as a child never really leave you.” Ken then goes on to explain how you can try to be nice and live a good life, but in reality it doesn’t always work out. “If ya tried to help an old lady with her shopping, she would just think you were trying to nick her shopping – that’s the world we live in,” Ray adds. This dialogue between the two characters after the museum scene seems to explain the situation of how difficult it is to try and lead a morally decent life. The way we view guilt and judgment seems to be ill-suited towards life itself, leading Harry at the end to commit suicide over the misjudgment of a situation. Before killing himself he utters, “You have to stick to your principles.”

            What the movie causes the audience to consider is whether those who commit the worst crimes should be given a chance to change their ways. Do we misinterpret the Bible in a medieval, Boschian sense and give it the attributes of punishment or of the deeper value of forgiveness? A telling question is to ask whether Harry Waters is a good man. As a hit man he has struck down many people he deems to be evil, including the killer of Ken’s wife. He is also a family man, with strong values about the proper life. Simultaneously, in a religious context, he takes the role of punishment reserved for God, and he is angered so quickly that he abuses most of the people around him, even calling them inanimate objects. Another way to look at it is whether director Martin McDonagh meant Waters to represent God himself. Having love of a medieval city, and acting the way he does, it would provide commentary on the literary sentiment of God being a tyrant.

            If Harry Waters is God then Ken would be an apt symbol of Satan, who rebelled against God. In the movie, we can see a very strong parallel between Satan’s fall from Heaven and Ken’s fall from a bell tower. Furthermore, it is clear that Ken is Harry’s favorite hit man, as Satan was God’s favorite angel. The act of God essentially killing himself, would then lead to an idea that the medieval sense of punishment and that concept for God isn’t fit to survive in today’s world. Harry’s anger of creating a world for Ray, and him not being happy with it, is un-thinkable:

Harry: [about Ray] So he's having a really nice time?

Ken: Well, I'm having a really nice time. I'm not sure it's really his cup of tea.

Harry: [after a long pause] What?

Ken: You know, I'm not sure it's really his thing.

Harry: What do you mean it's not really his thing? What's that supposed to mean? It's not really his thing. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Ken: Nothing, Harry.

Harry: It's a fairytale town, isn't it? How's a fairytale town not somebody's fucking thing?

[Quote copied and pasted, IMDB.com]

If Harry and Ken truly are meant to represent God and Satan, then what it means is that God created a world full of pain and suffering for humans. When Ken tells Ray that Harry had meant to give him one last good memory in Bruges, Ray laughs and asks him why not the Bahamas? Ken replies that it would’ve been too expensive. This would imply that God didn’t want to take the time to make the world a better place - he is flawed in ways that a human might be.

            Many forces seem to play against Ray’s fate, it doesn’t seem as though life gives him many decision he can make for himself. Perhaps this was the reason why he became a hit man for money in the first place. He can’t even take his own life and when he comes close to it, he is stopped by Ken. When Ken says he can’t kill himself, Ray responds, “You’re allowed to but I’m not, how is that fair?” He is so hopeless in his path of life, but thanks to an angel like Ken, he is able to regain hope. As Ken explains, he may have killed the boy, but perhaps he can save the next one. He can do no good to mankind while he is dead. Ray’s decision to go on living, and the idea that he can even make decisions, is the path towards his redemption. Even when stopped while trying to leave Bruges, he makes a crucial decision to reach out towards the girl he comes to love. He begins to realize that he can make decisions within his sphere of influence, and is ruled by inward principles instead of outside forces.

            The movie is very quiet and sometimes slow, as is par for the course for a plotline that involves people waiting for something to happen. Yet in the scene where Harry chases after Ray, the slow movements throughout the film of the somber piano break forth like a dam. We see that Ray finally has a will to live. He is running from the gun instead of pointing one towards his own head. Of course, God’s judgment finally does come down on him, being shot multiple times. In the scene where Harry shoots the head off of Jimmy, we see that McDonagh borrowed from Hitchcock the idea of, “doubling.” The purpose of doubling scenes was adapted in this film is to show that this God-like force of nature that is Harry Waters is fallible. The forces of guilt, and of judgment, no longer hold sway over Ray. Harry’s murder of Ray is just as evil a deed as any murder.

            The final monologue in the film is perhaps one of the many places where critiques go wrong and call this film something of a black comedy. The irreverent style of what Ray has to say is shrugged off as being a joke, but in reality it is when we finally see light at the tunnel for this bleak film. Even as he finishes his monologue, the last scene we have, where the musical movements of string instruments and piano finally conclude, we see nothing but white light. Whether Ray has passed on, or whether he somehow manages to survive is irrelevant. He has made peace with what he must do, and with who he is as a living human being.

There's a Christmas tree somewhere in London with a bunch of presents underneath it that'll never be opened. And I thought, if I survive all of this, I'd go to that house, apologize to the mother there, and accept whatever punishment she chose for me. Prison... death... didn't matter. Because at least in prison and at least in death, you know, I wouldn't be in fuckin' Bruges. But then, like a flash, it came to me. And I realized, fuck man, maybe that's what hell is: the entire rest of eternity spent in fuckin' Bruges. And I really really hoped I wouldn't die. I really really hoped I wouldn't die.

[quote from IMDB.com]

Bruges could stand for any number of things, a mental location of crippling guilt, and a place to hide, purgatory, or Earth itself. Despite whatever location it may come to symbolize, the idea that someone who murders a child and a priest simultaneously could hope to go on living and make a positive difference is as human a concept as one can get.

The beauty of a good film is the variety of ways it could be interpreted. “In Bruges,” could be interpreted in higher religious contexts, as representing the murkiness of human morals, the issue of punishment, or whichever way one feels inclined. Since we all carry guilt for our actions, and much of the world believes in a higher power, or heaven and hell, or sees the world existentially, the effect of this film is therapeutic. It is a neo-noir which somehow creates a positive, real message despite a string of heart crushing events. Redemption is possible anywhere, even in Bruges.