The Mystic River, formerly one of the most industrially polluted in America, flows by the Boston working class neighborhood where Mystic River, Clint Eastwood's 2003 film, portrays a contemporary tragedy that evolves from events of 3 decades before. In this story, the flow of time does not heal old wounds; the scarred characters remain so, their attempts to do the right thing fail. Even social institutions that should be protecting and guiding us (church, law enforcement, conventional mores) are so contaminated that innocence and guilt, Good and Evil become impossible to fathom. As the symbols and unconscious references of this film run very deep, I'll begin by unpacking some of its submerged roots.
Historically, the Catholic Church has not treated mystics very kindly. The mystical belief in the possibility of direct union of man with God is dangerously contrary to the teachings (and to the power) of an institution that portrays itself as the indispensable intermediary between man and the divine. But a mystic's perceptions tend to alienate him from mundane society as well as the established Church. In the mystical view, the illusory appearances of the mundane world are like ripples on water's surface. Surface phenomena -- people, events, even the passage of time -- are just the manifestations of an incomprehensible, invisible unity. Events that ordinary men experience as Good or Evil may be far more ambiguous in the mystical view; Good vs. Evil may be seen as subjective abstractions. Alienated from the institutions and values of mundane society, the mystic's transcendant perspective usually sets him apart from its politics and affairs.
The Hero figure in mythology, even as he rises above social mediocrity, normally has a far more mundane focus and task than the mystic. His archetypal task is to subdue Evil forces through forceful action. He may incidentally have extraordinary strength or other special, even semi-divine, qualities; but what makes him/her Heroic is a willingness to face danger and sacrifice himself for a greater Good of mankind, or at least for the good of his tribe. His role is thus totally embedded in mundane issues of survival and political dominance; the "will to power."
In the legends and myths of traditional cultures, from the Sumerians to the Inuit, we find an array of variations on this theme of the extraordinary man or woman -- a spectrum of heroic narratives. In some, Homeric epics or the Mahabarata, for instance, the intertwining of mundane and divine power struggles gives a complex, ambiguous view of Good vs. Evil. Both Arjuna and Achilles, like all humans, face corruption and paradox within their own field of action and, indeed, within their own character. In other variations, Redeemer myths, for instance, we find a hybrid of classical Hero and Mystic: here a society is seen as corrupted, all its customs, authorities, and beliefs "fallen from grace." In response, a distinct kind of divinely inspired Hero is called forth -- a Moses, Christ, Buddha, or Mohammed -- bringing a fresh mandate from a higher source, devoting his own life to the revolutionary message.
The Hollywood heroes of early cowboy Westerns, action films, or even Star Wars, mostly represent the mudane sort of Heroic figure. Typically, in these stories, the people needing rescue are threatened by some extrinsic evil, or laziness and corruption from within the society, so the hero has to fix things, even at great personal cost and risk. If luck is with him, his mission succeeds, he wins fame and glory, and "gets the girl" too. But sometimes he dies in the attempt.
Many films before and since 1960, of course, still told stories in simplistic terms of "us vs. them," "good vs. bad," John Wayne vs. the Bad Guys. But films reflecting more subtle values began to appear in the 1960's -- films showing a complex interplay of individuals and cohorts with mixed motives working through the realm of power and the vicissitudes of chance. Though some of these themes appeared in 1940's and subsequent "noir" mysteries, after 1960, more and more films showed their central characters as flawed amalgams of individual selfishness, stupidity, and good motivations that could go astray. There's more awareness that people can be driven by their own poorly known and controlled unconscious minds.
Even in Clint Eastwood's early 1960's "spaghetti Westerns," he portrayed these more complex, anti-heroic "heroes," whose charm mixed all-too-human flaws with Heroic invulnerability and detachment. In this way they played ironically off the contrast with their simplistic prototypes of earlier Westerns and childhood stories.
Harry Callahan -- you don't assign him to a case, you just turn him loose... He's not prejudiced, he hates everybody equally.
-- Dirty Harry, 1971
With Dirty Harry, Eastwood played a damaged, justifiably rageful maverick, thrashing about in a nasty, corrupt society that was impotent to deal with the evil lurking within itself. But, as time moved on, so did Eastwood's thematic complexity. In Unforgiven, everyone and every issue are complex, multilayered, morally ambiguous. Nonetheless, the impure "hero" does what he must, struggling to do the right thing in the midst of a terribly messy earthly situation. Still, the core values from the early Eastwood films persist, progressively elaborated and refined:
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you can't trust anybody
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you especially can't trust authorities, the guys society has put in power to protect it (e.g. policemen), because they're usually either too corrupt or too weak to do their job
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therefore, the moral man of action must sometimes take a stand against a corrupt world and its authority figures
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power rules the world, so the Good Guy must sometimes (often, in fact) use force to fix things
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but power corrupts those who exercise it, obviously those in positions of authority, but also even the heroic individual who sets out to do Good
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... so things are likely to get pretty mucked up, regardless!
Mystic River develops these themes with even greater richness and ambiguity. From the opening street scene where we see the 3 young boys' ball fall into the depths of the sewer, never to be recovered, we are introduced to the notion that beneath the surface there's an unseen shadow world that things fall into. Dark, bad things start to happen immediately, as one of the boys, Dave, is carried off by an alleged police detective and his companion who wears an ominously large gold crucifix ring. While Dave's sister is receiving First Communion in the glowing light of the cathedral, in some dark cellar, little Dave is being initiated into aspects of Grecian culture that he would rather not know about. He escapes from his tutors, manages to get home, but as the shades are drawn in his house, we know he'll never be the same. But neither will his 2 stick ball companions, Jimmy and Sean. The consequences, in fact, will flow on, into the boys' lives 30 years forward when the main action of the story occurs. In that 30 years, much has changed, but much has not -- the riverside Boston neighborhood, where all three boys still live, looks the same.
Not "Good, Bad, and Ugly" exactly, but another Unholy Trinity ...
Jimmy, to play the vengeful Father role in this Trinity, has grown up to be an ex-con tough-boy, now more or less going straight -- a corner store owner and father to 3 daughters. Dave, the sacrificial Son figure, still bears the trauma of his boyhood initiation on his stooped shoulders. While trying to be a husband and a father to his own son, he still daydreams of vampires and their blood-bourne inescapable legacy; he and his life are stunted. Sean has become a cop, ostensibly filling the good (holy) role society expects and needs; but Sean is a ghost-like figure himself. His wife has mysteriously left him. She calls daily, but doesn't speak; and so he lives a paled, shadowy existence, out of touch, trying to figure out what has gone wrong, why his female half has deserted him.
Jimmy's eldest girl Katie is found murdered; Sean and his black detective partner, Whitey, get on the case. Dave, coming home cut and bloodied late the night of the murder, becomes a suspect. Jimmy and Sean both seek the killer -- one seeking personal blood vengeance, the other doing his job, carrying out society's mandate (i.e. one of the authorities you can't really trust). Dave wrestles with his old demons. As in an ancient Greek tragedy, the three arms of this Trinity inexorably carry out the roles fate has assigned them. Old injuries, crimes, and betrayals gradually surface; as in Classic drama, we see Fate shaping man and events, as if a powerful current from which we can't escape. In a quasimystical pulling off of veils, it's suggested that all things connect beneath the surface, working beneath and within the flow of time; and like the mystic, we see the deceptive nature of appearances, and the paradoxical, intertwined interplay of what we call Good and Evil.
The themes from Eastwood's past continue to inform the action of Mystic River. No one can be trusted, especially authority figures like policemen and churchmen. Other than the fake policeman pedophile at the beginning, the police are not shown as morally corrupt or badly motivated, they're just fallible humans. So they make bungling errors -- they resort to using illegal means to gather evidence (stealing Dave's car), and end up corrupting the evidence that might incriminate him. But in this story, the would be Heroes, individuals trying to do the right thing, only cause further catastrophic damage in the attempt! Jimmy and Dave, neither trusting "the law" to do its job right, both end up with bloody hands. Dave's wife Celeste, ignorant about his old, buried injury, but fearful of his strange behavior, gives false damning evidence about him to Jimmy, thereby facilitating, maybe causing, his death.
As with all of Eastwood's films, Mystic River focuses on male issues, here the pain and unfolding struggles of the male trinity we've discussed. But all three men have wives who play complementary and essential roles in the narrative. Each of these females reflects and counterbalances the role in the trinity being carried by their male half, in complex ways that become clearer as you see this film a second and third time.
Another striking detail resonates with a deeper symbolism linked to female archetypes. The body of Jimmy's daughter Katie was eventually found in the abandoned, dilapidated bear's pit in city park, long since overgrown by vegetation. In prehistoric times, the bear was an important totem animal, known for its ferociously protective mothering behavior; and, for this and maybe other reasons, is believed to be linked to the Great Mother goddess. Because of its annual hibernation / reawakening cycle, the bear was a symbol of death and regeneration. The bear reminds us of a primordial belief stratum from long before the Judeo-Christian view that man was exiled from paradise for his sinful behavior. But now, of course, the bear is gone, her pit/cage long abandoned. Mothers no longer protect their children: Katie's mother is dead; and in this film other mothers' neglected children become random killers. So, not only "Goddess is dead," God is also notably missing in this world; both gone underground, underwater, out to sea?[1]
God may have gone missing, but Christian imagery is splashed in your face repeatedly. Why? Is it just that Catholicism deeply informs these characters and their world? Or is it illustrating how society is dominated by corrupt institutions and authority figures? Supporting this latter notion: every (visually imposing) occurance of the crucifix is accompanied by a parallel ironic evil. I've already mentioned the coincident Communion and below-ground rape at the film's outset. Near the end of the film, we see for the first time, a massive sword-like cross tattooed on Jimmy's back, symbolizing both his burden of guilt at having killed his childhood pal, and his manly seizing of power to cut to the heart of things. Jimmy is conflicted, and so are we. It's not clear if he's done right or wrong. Killing Dave, he has made a mistake of sorts. But Jimmy's wife thinks he's acted like real hero and let's him know with sweet words and even sweeter actions to back them up right then and there!
Does this pervasively ironic use of Christian imagery signify that institutional religion, specifically the Catholic Church, is an agent of Evil? That pedophilic sexual abuse by priests (as has come to light in Boston and other places) typifies the special Evil that this dominant Christian sect is heir to?
In the context of Eastwood's entire work, it's conceivable that the Catholic Church stands for all those social constructions that men depend on, but which are ultimately untrustworthy -- untrustworthy, because, as holders of power, they constellate their own agenda for survival and maintenance of their power, to which the "service to mankind" may become secondary. In Eastwood's "big picture" there are evil, destructive elements at large in the world, in people, in institutions. In this picture, much of humanity is weak and vulnerable, whether from youth and innocence, or ignorance, low social status, and all that follows. Actions, accidents, and the hidden workings of Fate carry us along, so that we seldom see the real causes or effects of what we do. And somehow, this murky flow is all One, so that as power and chance work through the world, their effects propagate in unseen ways.
But the picture is yet more richly paradoxical; for, standing opposed philosophically and emotionally to this Gnostic / mystical current is what I see as the key theme that unites Mystic River with the corpus of Eastwood's work -- an ethic of radical individualism which says: "Since society and religion are equally impotent even when not corrupt, the ultimate moral agent must be the lone individual, taking the burden of responsibility for right action, the execution of power, the risk of failure, and being wrong upon himself. Though he's subject to the inevitable corrupting effect of power, and all manner of character flaws, the moral man of action has no other choice but to act this way." And, as an added bonus, it turns out that women are really turned on by men who act like this! The distinctly modern "heroes" (if that word can be stretched to include characters like Jimmy) of Eastwood's later films move in a Godless (and Godessless) world, a morally corrupt, fallen world.[2] Their values seem to have no extrinsic foundation outside their own character -- neither religious teachings nor humanist social contracts carry any weight here. In the unlikely event that Jimmy (or Eastwood?) would read Nietzsche, each would find total validation.
From the simplistic action heroes and narratives that Eastwood played as a young actor to the moral bogginess of the later Eastwood pictures, it's been fascinating to see the evolution of his perspective, possibly unique in the cinema. He has steadily transmuted and refined the ancient heroic theme of man struggling with values and right action in a corrupt world. God(s) and religiously inculcated values are not potent elements any longer, but in their absence, morally driven modern man has an equally difficult struggle. Whereas Eastwood's early roles showed us prototypical, albeit ironic, even comical "heroes," his later films (Unforgiven, Mystic River, Million Dollar Baby, Gran Torino), show us all-too-human, complex characters, struggling with believable, painful, morally ambiguous situations. Like the ancient Greek dramas that aimed to move their audience at their moral/spiritual core, these later films of Eastwood's tread into some very deep waters.
Notes:
[1] The devil is here though -- he's in the details. E.g. the first few seconds of the film give us a vital clue as to Katie's killer, but we don't recognize it until much later!
[2] If you're seriously interested in the ideas here, I'd strongly recommend Geoffrey O'Brien's review Fallen World, 12/18/03. He brilliantly analyses Mystic River in the context of Eastwood's body of work as actor and director up to 2003. If that link becomes inaccessible you can email me for copy of the text.
[3] Another very fine overview of Eastwood's evolution up to 2010 came from David Denby: Out of the West, New Yorker, 3/08/10 -- (if inaccessible, email me for copy of text).
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