A History of Violence

This review contains spoilers.

A History of Violence is the parable of the prodigal son with a twist on the homecoming feast. The runaway in a field feeding pigs, and brother Richie saying Joey smells like one. Only thing missing is the father waiting with compassionate embrace ‘cause, well, the celebration’s not the lesson here. 

More Coen Bros. than Cronenberg in its no loose ends retribution. Mutual focus on monsters in the shadows and generational cycles. Cycles you can’t break without superhuman strength. And even then, it’s still a bit of a crapshoot. 

Not every element works (ie, the device-y Jack Stall bully plot bit), and it’s not as tight as it could be. But Mortensen’s got presence with impeccable emotional fine-tuning. We have to believe him. And then when we have full proof that we were wrong to believe him, we have to believe him again. He pulls it off, folks. Masterful stroke. 

Currently got origin stories on the brain, so I took this as the story of a man who hates his powers ‘cause all they’re good for is being a killing machine. And why doesn’t he want to be a killing machine? Simple. The only reason anyone wants to ever change for anything. 

Love.