In the fall of 1950, when playwright Tennessee Williams, director Elia Kazan and producer Charles Feldman contracted with Warner Bros. to bring Williams' "A Streetcar Named Desire" to the screen, a question of rape almost derailed the entire project.
In those days, the major studios all abided by the Production Code, a list of do's and don'ts enforced by Joseph Breen, and Section II, Subsection 3 on "Seduction or Rape" stated clearly that "they should never be more than suggested, and only when essential for the plot, and even then never shown by explicit method."
In Williams' play, Blanche DuBois' rape by Stanley Kowalski is the critical dramatic moment, but Breen found it especially objectionable. The filmmakers, for their part, said it was not possible to do the picture without it. As Williams wrote to Breen in an impassioned letter, "the rape of Blanche by Stanley is a pivotal, integral truth in the play, without which the play loses its meaning, which is the ravishment of the tender, the sensitive, the delicate, by the savage and brutal forces of modern society."
Surprisingly, it was Breen who blinked. The rape would be allowed if, among other things, it was "done by suggestion and delicacy." That turned out to involve a shattered mirror, a swinging light bulb and Marlon Brando's Stanley roughly grabbing Vivien Leigh's Blanche by the shoulders before things discreetly faded out.
Despite all the fuss that scene caused 45 years ago, by the standards of today's post-Production Code environment "Streetcar" is so restrained and genteel that it was rated PG when it was released in an expanded version in 1993.
Because anyone who's been to the movies lately knows that the level of explicitness and violence that is allowed in current depictions of rape has escalated to a level that is both depressing and dehumanizing. While the "Streetcar" rape scene was considered a victory against censorship that free expression partisans could applaud, whether the scenes from the following recent or about-to-be-released pictures are a cause for any kind of celebration is another question.
* "Rob Roy": An icy sociopath takes an especially sadistic pleasure in graphically raping the hero's wife.
* "Showgirls": The heroine's best friend is beaten to the point of unconsciousness and viciously gang-raped by a singer she idolizes and his two bodyguards.
* "Strange Days": A prostitute in the year 1999 is stalked, humiliated, raped and murdered, all with a particularly sick futuristic twist--a mechanism amplifies her terror and feeds it back into her brain.
* "Leaving Las Vegas": The film's prostitute heroine is beaten and anally gang-raped by a group of thuggish college students.
These descriptions, unpleasant though they may be, only detail a few of the recent on-screen rapes and can barely hint at how wrenching these scenes are. Leaving aside the question of why three out of the four are rated R and not NC-17 (though it would be interesting to hear the ratings board's thoughts on that one), the questions are why such a sadistic level of explicitness has become the norm, what it does to audiences and how it can be contained.
This is not, it should be clearly said, a call to return to the old Production Code days. Rape, as "Streetcar" demonstrated and Akira Kurosawa's classic "Rashomon" made even clearer, is as capable of being used in a meaningful and artistically dramatic way as murder or even romance, and our movies would be weaker than they already are if incendiary topics were once again made taboo.
The problem with the current spate of rape scenes is several fold. First, these sequences occur so frequently they increasingly feel like a pathetic kind of "me-tooism," the way topless-ness became all the rage on screen for a while. Worse than that, the filmmakers seem to be trying to outdo each other in how forcefully they can grind our faces in the disturbing specifics of the event.
If the writers and directors could talk about why they've included these scenes, they'd probably echo Williams about needing to depict the savage forces of society, but this is disingenuous at best. Overdoing the violence and explicitness does not make a dramatic point stronger--it can in fact have the opposite effect. These nightmare moments call up a kind of visceral get-me-out-of-here revulsion that make the story nominally being told the least important thing in a viewer's mind.
Why, then, do filmmakers indulge in this kind of nastiness? Probably because we live in an age of excess, when lazy creators are happy to use overkill as a cheap way to get any kind of emotional response out of a jaded audience. Why take the time to think up intriguing plots, provocative characters or potent dialogue when you can abuse a woman and get the audience to cringe on cue? Truly, the worst of the manipulators have taken over the asylum.