Carolina Rocha
Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville
When addressing
representations of
violence in films, one immediately thinks of the excessive and often
outrageous
mayhem that is customary fare in Hollywood
cinematic productions. Graphic violence and ultraviolence have been the
axis of
numerous popular American movies since the 1960s—Bonnie and Clyde (1967),
A Clockwork Orange (1971), The Godfather (1972), to
name only a
few—that have enjoyed global audiences and have thus influenced foreign
filmmakers, both in subject matter as well as in the techniques
deployed to
depict violence. Some of the most popular Argentine films of the 1990s
portray
and dwell on the causes of violence. The depiction of violence,
however, is
carried out through minimal graphic scenes. The absence of takes
showing
gruesome mutilations, car-chases and spectacular explosions may
indicate that
what I will be addressing is a question of scale: scarce murders and
less
bloodshed probably do not disturb audiences as much as graphic scenes
of
violence do. While this may be true with regard to international
audiences, for
Argentine viewers many domestic films of the 1990s are shocking as well
as
revealing. Indeed, both commercial films and those created by directors
grouped
together under the umbrella of the New Argentine Cinema, capture
aspects of
contemporary Argentine society and the impact of post 1989 structural
economic
changes.
The mise-en-scène
of many of
these films grounded in a diegetic present exposes power struggles, but
not as
the result of diverging political views as was the case in the cinema
of
previous decades. Rather, these power struggles posit tensions that
derive from
the pursuit of economic profit at the expense of legality. Within this
context,
violence is largely perpetrated to eliminate those who stand for moral
values
and respect for the law. These victims are seen as obstacles by
criminal
characters who are unable and/or unwilling to restrain themselves in
their
search for financial gain. In depicting a society where profit-seeking
prevails
at the expense of the rule of law, many Argentine films showcase the
implications of rule-breaking as a form of violence that not only
targets
individuals, but also and more importantly, affects the public sphere
and the
nation as a civilized space. Therefore, what many of these films
present is the
disintegration of the social fabric and the severance of ties among
different
members of the national community.
In this regard, the
centrality of
the representation of violence in Argentine society in the films of the
1990s
is particularly disturbing, for it problematizes the validity of the
State not
only as a guarantor of certain basic rights for its members, but also
as an
entity that embodies and disseminates civilization. (1)
While the
civilization-versus-barbarism dichotomy has been present in the
Argentine
cultural and political imagination since the nineteenth century, I am
not
referring here to Domingo F. Sarmiento’s concepts.(2)
I am, however,
interested in the tension of individual and society outlined by Sigmund
Freud
in Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920) and Civilization
and Its
Discontents (1929), and the conceptualization of
civilization by Norbert
Elias in The Civilizing Process (1939). These works are
complementary in theorizing individual and social causes of violence in
modern
societies and are particularly relevant to my discussion of violence in
Argentine cinema of the 1990s. In what follows, I briefly present
Freud’s and
Elias’ concepts.
In Beyond the
Pleasure Principle,
Freud explained the tension between individual and society, death and
Eros, as
well as the motivation for human aggression and the ways in which
societies
have sought to curtail the eruption and production of violence. In this
work,
Freud first contended that men are propelled into action by drives.
Among
these, the “death instinct,” present in all human beings, makes them
prone to
aggression and destruction. In certain individuals, the death instinct
lures
and prevails over the desire to live and let others live. This instinct
also
evinces the frail foundation on which human communities are built. If
men carry
the propensity to generate violence, how can the development and
existence of
societies be ensured? Freud answered this question in Civilization
and Its
Discontents. For him, civilization not only makes possible the
enjoyment of
fundamental rights, but also helps curb human’s tendency to resort to
brute
force. Nonetheless, for rights to be effective, the foundation of
civilized
societies needs to rest upon the penalization of criminality, or in
Freud’s
words: “The first requisite of civilization, therefore, is that of
justice”
(41). Freud recognized that failure to impart justice both threatens
individual
and social life and also endangers the viability of civilized nations.
Drawing on Freud’s
ideas,
sociologist Norbert Elias examined the emergence of civilization in the
Western
world. For Elias, the civilized ways of pre-World War II Europe could
be best
understood by examining the development of certain customs since the
Middle
Ages. For example, Elias posited that the constitution of a central
authority
came about to mediate among feuding parties and this led to the
formation of a
monopoly of physical power in which,
not every strong man
can afford the
pleasure of physical attack. This is now reserved to those few
legitimized by
the central authority (e.g., the police against the criminal), and to
larger
numbers only in exceptional times of war or revolution, in the socially
legitimated struggle against internal or external enemies. (202)
Monopolies of physical
power are,
then, seen as a resource for groups to establish their own brand of
leadership
in a given society. What is particularly pertinent to my analysis is
the fact
that even within these monopolies of physical power that represent a
civilized
stage in the development of societies, those who resort to physical
violence
either have the support of authorities, or have to be punished for
their acts. Consequently, if
central authorities exercising the monopoly of physical force cannot
fully
eradicate acts of violence, they have to maintain their legitimacy by
rejecting
those acts that defy the rule of law.
Interestingly, the
inability to
sanction those who employ violence presents a serious challenge to the
development and continuity of a civilized nation. Law-breaking without
sanctions proves to be particularly damaging for those who monopolize
physical
force in the sense that their very raison d’être as arbiters of
civilization is interrogated. Indeed, the fictions that help bind the
different
groups or members of a given society around the recognition of
authorities who
monopolize the use of force lose their efficacy. This, in turn, leads
citizens to
question the efficiency of those who exercise the monopoly of physical
force to
use Elias’ terms, or their capacity to lead the State. As the State
faces the
interrogation of its own legitimacy by its citizens, another
implication of the
failure to penalize undue violence surfaces.
Lack of
justice and due process crucially disavows male hegemony in
society. The breakdown of social order is inextricably linked to
changes in
gender roles. When “man is a wolf to man” to borrow the expression used
by Freud (58),
some men are more powerful than others. And, if some men are able to
use force
or violence without any moral or legal constraints, others feel weak
and
defenseless, and thus, need institutions to protect them and mediate in
social
life. But, what happens when institutions are unable to effectively
impart
rewards and punishments? In this case,
lack of justice comes to stand as a kind of violence that civilized
society
deliberately inflicts upon its members—particularly men—, if we follow Freud literally. The unequal status of
men, in turn, exposes a moment of crisis in which masculinity, as a
social
construct, is diminished, assailed and challenged. Thus, the crisis of
masculinity is engendered by the inability on the part of some men to
abide by
society’s laws in order to resolve their conflicts. The disregard that
some men
show for society’s laws also influences the masculine role of those who
abide
by them. In the absence of clear punishment for those who carry out
criminal
acts, law-abiding men also stand to lose, for their adherence to
principles is
ignored by authorities, giving way to the emergence of barbarism, or
the law of
the strongest.
In Argentina
during the 1990s,
important transformations took place as the State sought to
occupy a
less prominent role and let the forces of the market regulate public
life. Argentine
sociologists Alejandro Grimson and Gabriel Kessler offered an
explanation of these changes when they stated that, “The former
monopoly over
violence within national boundaries has been replaced by a monopoly
over tax
revenue that characterizes any and all states” (54). Parallel to
changes at the
state level, citizens were also affected by the neoliberal zeitgeist
and
came to be viewed primarily as consumers and owners in detriment to
their former
role of citizens (García Canclini). For Maristela Svampa the process of
decollectivization represented by a less crucial function of unions
impinges on
“the destruction of individual and social identities, affecting
particularly
the traditional shaping of the masculine world” (48). Political and
socioeconomic factors had a lasting influence on the roles performed by
men,
particularly for middle- and lower-class men. In this article, I will
explore
the erosion of masculine middle-class roles or the crisis of
masculinity as a
result of the unleashing of violence by analyzing two of the most
popular
Argentine films of the 1990s.
These films depict
violence against
Argentine men by other Argentine men. The repetition of the adjective
“Argentine” may seem superfluous, but I want to emphasize the
competition and
unresolved conflicts between groups within the same society. Unlike
American
war or science fiction movies, where the presence of foreign/nonhuman
enemies
legitimizes the use of violence, the movies that I have chosen La
furia
(The Fury, 1997) and Cenizas del
paraíso (Ashes from Paradise, 1997) show the unpunished
victimization of
innocent men perpetrated by their fellow citizens. Violence is possible
as a
result of a weakened State that appears ineffectual in sanctioning
unlawful
acts of violence, and thus, unable to maintain the monopoly of physical
force
given its inability to reprimand criminal acts and ensure justice. As a
consequence of the diminished power of the State, not only are citizens
targets
of violence, but also the representatives of the State succumb to
violence.
Because they stand in the way of groups seeking an unfettered road to
wealth,
they suffer physical aggression and mental abuse. (3)
In these films,
therefore, violence is employed to eliminate middle-class men imbued
with moral
values and ethic principles. As a result of the brutality depicted in
these
films, representatives of the judiciary who embody legality, order and
due
process are also defeated by their violent adversaries. As fathers,
their
absence not only affects the dynamic of family life, but also
emphasizes the
erosion of contemporary society as a civilized entity. Violence also
affects
their sons who experience it first-hand, and have to witness the
destruction of
their families. The death instinct prevails in those who inflict
violence and
who pose a challenge to civilized communal life.
La
furia and Cenizas
del paraíso
Both released in 1997, La
furia
and Cenizas del paraíso (4) quickly established
themselves as the most popular films of the year in Argentina.
In addition to their
shared box office success, both films come from the same thriller/drama
genre.
Far from being documentaries, both movies present fictional plots that,
nonetheless, deploy verisimilitude to represent contemporary Argentine
society.
They also bear striking similiarities in their depiction of a society
at the
brink of implosion. In his review of La furia Fernando López
proposed a
reading linking this film to current affairs in Argentina:
It is a daily thing in
this painful
present of Argentines. Mafias have left their marks in events that no
one can
clarify; state officials and guardians of the law are involved in all
types of
crimes; judges are either separated from their cases, linked to
numerous
suspicious, or directly impeached; the shadow of corruption is
everywhere as is
the disturbing feeling that impunity reigns. (5)
Thus, in both films
violence is
deployed to highlight a crisis of masculinity stemming from the failure
of the
State to provide justice and penalize criminal acts. What these films
have in
common, therefore, is the victimization of middle-class men who adhere
to the
rule of law and the ensuing success of criminals who are involved in
corrupt
dealings.
La furia begins
with the
investigation of a crime: a plane carrying a hefty drug shipment is
seized by
authorities in Buenos Aires.
The following scenes are set in Misiones, somewhere close to the
Paraguayan-Argentine border. The first part of the film focuses on
Marcos
Lombardi, a young, idealistic middle-class man who wants to make a
difference
by working as a volunteer among the poor. One evening, Marcos announces
to his
girlfriend Paula his intention to help one of his friends by driving
him across
the border. Paula opposes the idea, as if she knows that the trip will
have
dire consequences for Marcos and their future together. Indeed, when
crossing
the border, custom agents find drugs in Marcos’ car, and without
allowing any
explanations, arrest Marcos in a way that recalls the disappearances of
the
most recent dictatorship (1976-1983): his head is covered, he is led to
a
prison, and he is denied access to a public lawyer. Thus, the way
Marcos is
apprehended signals to the audience the prevalence of a certain
disorder in society
where men with more means—money, power and weapons—arbitrarily decide
the fate
of other men who do not enjoy these same means.
Marcos’ arrest at the
border, a
space that represents the jurisdictional limits of the national state,
indicates a departure from civilized society and the realm of national
laws.
Indeed, the thriller will follow this character—whose innocence is cued
to the
audience—through his descent into hell and his encounter with police
brutality
and judiciary corruption. What appears more distressing is that the
corruption
that acts as a breeding ground for physical violence in this film is
not only
confined to the margins of the nation, but also stretches to the center
of the
national state. As news of Marcos’ arrest reaches his father, a stern
judge in
Buenos Aires, the thriller—will justice be carried out and how?—
overlaps with
a drama in which the strained father-son relationship is presented.
Also using the
thriller/drama
combination, Cenizas del
paraíso explores the pervasiveness of violence as a result of some
individuals’ disregard of legality and self-restraint. The opening
scenes show
Judge Makantasis falling from the roof of a courthouse. In the
following
sequences, the audience witnesses a young man attempting to dispose of
a bloody
female corpse. The plot of Cenizas del
paraíso is organized around the clarification of these two deaths.
To
complicate the plot line, all three Makantasis brothers confess to
killing Ana,
the young woman, whose bloody corpse is shown. Therefore, Cenizas del paraíso
aims at
restaging the events leading to the deaths of Judge Makantasis and Ana
by
reconstructing the past from a plurality of perspectives. As the title
indicates, these deaths, whatever their explanation, reflect the
impossibility
of restoring the order, harmony and happiness that has abruptly come to
an end.
The supportive and close-knit life of the Makantasis family is
irreversibly
changed, just as the lives of Judge Makantasis and Ana were cut short
by
violence. Therefore, the whodunit that informs the thriller is
complemented by the drama lived, albeit in different ways, by the
families of
the two victims.
Fallen Men/ Broken Families
Both La furia
and Cenizas del
paraíso stage
the fall from grace of innocent middle-class men. This fall from grace
is shown and provoked by the eruption of physical violence towards
these
defenseless men. If violence first affects men, the effects of
uncontrolled
violence are also felt within the family, disturbing the roles that men
performed in it, both as fathers and sons. In La furia, Marcos’
ordeal
deprives him not only of his freedom, but also of his job and his
girlfriend
for an indefinite period of time as the workings of justice, or better
said,
the workings of those who framed him are played out. Marcos’
victimization at
the hands of violent and corrupt men also extends to his father and
makes
evident the harsh and pervasive consequences of a society where men are
wolves
to men.
When Judge Lombardi
finds out that
his only son has been arrested for drug possession, he fails to perform
his
role as a father. Although he travels to visit Marcos in prison, he is
so
convinced that Marcos is guilty that he acts more as a judge than as a
caring
and concerned father. This fact does not go unnoticed by Marcos, who
admonishes
his father saying, “Do not interrogate me. Ask me questions as a father
would
do, not as a judge.” Judge Lombardi, however, appears unmoved by his
son’s plea
for support and compassion. Lombardi’s failure to perform as a father
is further
illustrated when he visits his colleague, the judge who oversees his
son’s case
and makes it clear that he does not expect any kind of privileges for
Marcos.
Quite the contrary, he states his confidence that justice will be
carried out
to the fullest. Judge Lombardi’s actions not only reveal his naiveté
regarding
the way justice is enforced in remote areas, but also signal a terrible
blow to the viability of the family unit.
In the
first part of La furia, the physical distance between father
and son
alludes to their ideological differences as well as to a familial
tension
between them. When Marcos reproaches his father for his professional
demeanor
and detachment in view of his plight, he also mentions something that
belongs
to the pre-history of the film. He blames his father for his mother’s
suicide
and hints that it may have been caused by his father’s inability to
listen and
empathize with others. This accusation allows us to consider two
complementary
insights. First, it shows that Lombardi’s dedication to this profession
was
carried out at the expense of his family life and his roles of husband
and
father. Lombardi’s failure to be a supportive partner triggered his
wife’s
self-inflicted violence in the realm of his family when she committed
suicide.
Therefore, while working outside the familial space to ostensibly
maintain law
and order in his country, Lombardi could not maintain peace and harmony
in his
own household. The second insight is related to Lombardi’s lack of
empathy
towards others. Lombardi’s
lacks of feelings suggest a type of masculinity in crisis that is
stressed by his
dysfunctional family life.
The failure to
satisfactorily
perform his role within the family is further highlighted by his
overconfidence
in the way that justice is enforced. By failing to connect the dots of
Marcos’
crime to his own role as a judge, Lombardi seems unaware that the
violence that
has reached his son is ultimately intended for him. In this regard,
Lombardi’s
character appears as one who fails to grasp the changing coordinates of
the
society in which he lives, a fact that further stresses the problematic
performance of his masculinity,
both in the private and public realms.
Judge Lombardi’s crisis
of
masculinity is emphasized by the fact that the younger Lombardi’s
arrest has
been meticulously planned by a group, that the judge is investigating.
Indeed,
the group’s illegal political and economic interests have been
jeopardized by
the judge’s strict probity and integrity. When Paula discloses the
connections
between a drug operation that has been assigned to Lombardi’s office
and
Marcos’ kidnapping, it is apparent that Marcos is an innocent victim of
both
his father’s short-sightedness and the physical and mental abuse
perpetrated by
his father’s enemies while in prison. This last development further
emphasizes
Lombardi’s diminished influence within his family. Although he
eventually
attempts to save Marcos, his help comes almost too late, after Marcos
has
suffered from physical and sexual abuse in prison. If we consider Pierre Bourdieu’s
ideas about
the relation between sexuality and power when he states that “the worst
humiliation for a man is to be turned into a woman” (22), we can
interpret
Marcos’ off screen rape as an action intended to inscribe violence in
his flesh
as well as to mark his father’s lack of power and authority. Thus, as a
father,
who cannot fully protect his son, Judge Lombardi bears the stigma of a
diminished masculinity. I will return to the implications of this kind
of
masculinity within the nation after I analyze Cenizas del paraíso.
Similar to La furia,
Cenizas
del
paraíso
also centers around the ending of a period of plenitude perceived as
such by
those who later become victims of physical violence. In Cenizas del paraíso, it
is
Judge Makantasis, the patriarch of a family of three sons, who falls
from a
courthouse. Because of the way the camera depicts his falling, viewers
first
interpret it as a suicide. However, as the film progresses, it becomes
evident
that Judge Makantasis was pushed by a pair of hit-men hired by
Francisco Muro.
Muro, a wealthy entrepreneur, is involved in illicit business deals
that were
being investigated by Judge Makantasis. Cornered by Makantasis’ legal
scrutiny
of his businesses and unable to restrain himself from committing
violence, Muro
orchestrates the elimination of the judge in an act that clearly
illustrates
the “man is a wolf to man” dictum. Nonetheless, Muro’s actions trigger
an
unforeseen event that challenges not only his masculinity in the public
arena,
but also his authority within his family.
Judge Makantasis’ murder
is
witnessed by Muro’s daughter, Ana. Minutes before Makantasis’ murder,
Ana
learns that her caring and doting father was involved in illegal
transactions
and was responsible for a series of murders among fellow businessmen.
Unable to
betray her father even when all evidence points to his culpability, Ana
remains
silent, only to be the witness of yet another act triggered by her
father’s
greed and criminality. After this, Ana rebels against her father’s use
of
violence by accusing him publicly and calling him a murderer. She
herself
contributes to the bloodshed caused by her father by committing suicide.
Ana’s rebellion
highlights Muro’s
inadequacy as a male, one who fails to perform his assigned role in his
family.
Instead of protecting his family and serving as a respectable role
model, Muro
repeatedly violates the laws of coexistence and civilized life, as he
pursues
financial gain and power—no matter the costs. Nonetheless, the fact
that his
crimes go unpunished by the legal system strengthens his hegemonic role
in a
society where rules are easily discarded. As the perpetrator of
violence
against an innocent man, Muro also poses a challenge to Makantasis’
ability to
perform his own roles as both husband and father. Muro first appears as
an
affectionate father until both his daughter and the viewers discover
his
controlling personality, his manipulation of information, and the
possessive
nature of his love for Ana. Thus, Muro’s performance as a father is
guided by
his desire for power. The fact that Ana seeks to distance herself from
her
domineering father by moving out of his house points to a certain
degree of
disfunctionality in their relationship, and emphasizes Muro’s
less–than–satisfactory role as a father. Muro’s violence against
Makantasis can
be read both as a failure to curb his own possessive drive as well as
his
inability to establish a healthy relationship with his only daughter.
For his part, Makantasis
is loved
and respected by his three sons. Although he does not share the same
house with
them, he strives to stay involved in their familial and professional
lives.
Because of his common professional interest with Pablo, Makantasis
seems closer
to this son and appears lenient and benevolent towards his other sons.
When Ana
arrives at their home, however, the normalcy of the family life is
disrupted. As Ana moves in, she slowly sets in motion the breaking of
certain
rules under the permissive stance of the father. Aware that Ana is
the daughter of the man he is investigating, the judge prefers to
believe in
coincidences, allowing her to remain in his home instead of foreseeing
a
possible conflict of interests.
The judge’s mistaken
assumption
about Ana’s innocence and her presence within his family points to
Makantasis’
failure as a father. He fails to realize that Ana slowly seduces all of
his
sons, pitting brother against brother and undermining the unity and
well-being
of his family. As Ana’s seduction progresses and feels more comfortable
in
the Makantasis home, she gains influence over the brothers while the
father’s
authority recedes to a secondary position. This reversal of influence
within
the family shows a strain in the performance of the judge’s
masculine role as a father, and also reveals a
weakening of family ties among the sons and brothers.
Failing Fathers and Lost Laws
So far I have been
addressing the
consequences of the crisis of masculinity that the fathers exhibit in La
furia and Cenizas del
paraíso.
There is yet another dimension that merits consideration: both the
fathers who are victimized by violence are judges and are outwardly
committed
to instilling the rule of law. Hence, I will be referring here to the
implications that the crisis of masculinity has in the public sphere
and how it
poses a risk to the continuation of civilization.
In the final part of La
furia,
Judge Lombardi’s masculinity experiences a series of blows. First, he
is told
that he is no longer in charge of the investigation of drug smuggling.
Although
he is not given concrete reasons for his separation from the case, it
is clear
that his probity and desire to enforce laws have made his superiors
uncomfortable. This challenge to his professional judgment underscores
a
masculinity in crisis, now in the realm of his professional life.
Curiously, it
also makes him more receptive to reconsider his son’s plight. It is in
these
circumstances that Lombardi, with the help of Marcos’ girlfriend,
confronts the
true causes of his son’s imprisonment and sets out to free him. He
realizes
that his investigation of drug routes prompted those in charge of
illegal
trafficking to retaliate against Marcos as a means to pressure him to
collaborate.
Lombardi’s second trip to the border, then, is the reverse of his
first: he
travels with the mission of rescuing his son and making amends for the
suffering he has indirectly inflicted on him—even if that means
tampering with
the law.
By finally assuming his
role as a
father, Lombardi attempts to restore his diminished masculinity only to
face
the fact that justice is not the panacea he thought it was; if he wants
to be
effective in freeing Marcos, he has to engage in the same illegal
dealings as
his opponents. Thus, while asserting his role as a concerned father, he
uses
his authority to violate the laws that he is supposed to defend and
uphold. As
he stages Marcos’ rescue, he has to cross the divide between the legal
and the
illegal, symbolically shown when he orders the prison guard to escape
by
breaking the prison’s gate. The momentary success that he attains while
managing to take Marcos to meet his girlfriend is jeopardized by the
fiery
persecution of police, who are both corrupt and unaware of the plot
that had
put Marcos in jail. This chase forces Lombardi to realize that in order
to
ensure Marcos’ survival there has to be a scapegoat to take his place.
It is at
this moment that he decides to surrender himself to save his son.
The final images of La
furia
stress Lombardi’s diminished masculinity as a result of violence and
the
ensuing rule of barbarism in the nation. Marcos and his girlfriend flee
to a
neighboring country and are able to elude the chase. The bird’s-eye
shot of
Lombardi standing alone on the Argentine side of the border is a
powerful scene
as it encapsulates his helplessness next to the criminal thugs. This
scene
allows viewers to infer the terrible fate that the powerless judge will
find at
his enemy’s hands. Lombardi’s defeat is not only personal; rather, it
stands as
a setback to the civilization that was supposed to prevail in the
nation as a
result of the rule of law. When the legal side that Lombardi represents
is
overwhelmed by those who are violent, civilization recedes in the
nation while
barbarism takes over. The failure of the legal system unleashes basic
instincts
of aggression between men. This impacts society as family bonds are
severed,
and justice, the bedrock upon which civilization is built, disappears.
The ending of Cenizas
del
paraiso also
provides a pessimistic reading in relation to the father’s murder and
the
failure of the legal system to identify and bring his killers to
justice.
Indeed, Judge Makantasis did not heed his son’s advice to take care of
himself.
He felt that as a representative of the State, he would somehow be
spared a
violent death, the common modus operandi of Muro’s hit men.
Makantasis
not only underestimated his opponent’s capacity for violence and
corruption,
but also failed to take adequate measures to guarantee his sons’
well-being.
Hence, his lack of power that reflects a masculinity in crisis touches
that of
his sons. The three Makantasis brothers, although alive, are not only
deeply
traumatized by their father’s violent murder, but are also the only
suspects
apprehended to solve both Ana’s and the judge’s deaths. In this
context, their
father’s death comes to signify the overthrow of legality and justice
and the
subsequent triumph of violence triggered by those where the death
instinct
prevails over compliance to laws. The haunting last scene that shows
them
descending in an elevator symbolizes the moral defeat that they
suffered as a
result of impunity and corruption. This sense of defeat also impinges
on
Makantasis’ perception of their masculine roles. Although they all
claim a
false culpability in Ana’s death that is later clarified, their
inability to
have their father’s murderers prosecuted makes them victims of violence
in the
absence of justice. (6)
The death of Judge
Makantasis leaves
his sons fatherless and constitutes a terrible loss for the family: his
disappearance stands in stark contrast to his nemesis’ freedom. As
Judge Teller, the person in charge of the investigation
into Ana’s death gets closer to reaching the truth, threats and
warnings
curtail her freedom of action and remind her that she, too, could face
a
violent end. Consequently, Muro’s untouchable status signals that
impunity
reigns and justice cannot touch powerful men. Even though Muro suffers
a severe
loss when Ana commits suicide, his kind of masculinity based on power
and
control remains unchallenged by the institutions and officials that
represent
the State. With a limited scope of action to take to trial those
suspected,
civilization recedes. Hence, brute force prevails over the laws that
guarantee and regulate peaceful coexistence in Argentine society.
Concluding remarks
The depiction of
violence presented
in La furia and Cenizas del
paraíso reflects the implications of the State’s inability to
sanction acts
of violence. The absence of justice contributes to a shrinking of
civilized
coexistence and the subsequent supremacy of barbarism both in the
private sphere
and in the public space. The representation of violence in these two
Argentine
films avoids gruesome and graphic scenes to emphasize, instead, the
subtle
consequences of the triumph of barbarism and its impact on masculine
roles. La furia and Cenizas del
paraíso
present the negative effects derived from a society that fails to
punish physical aggression and criminality by exposing the ways in
which male
victims experience violence as a process of emasculation. In the realm
of the
family, fathers are eliminated; their absence deeply marks the
surviving sons
by weakening the family unit. The victimization of fathers also
decreases
society’s order and weakens the institutions that represent legality
and the
State.
Notes
(1). Laura Martins presents
an example of the
withdrawal of the State from public life in “Bodies at Risk: On the
State of
Exception. (Lucrecia Martel’s La Ciénaga
[The Swamp])” in Argentinian
Cultural Production during the
Neoliberal Years (1989-2001), ed. Hugo Hortiguera and Carolina
Rocha
(2007), p 205-215.
(2). I refer to Sarmiento’s
dichotomy when analyzing
Marcelo Piñyero’s Caballos Salvajes (Wild Horses 1995) in Riding
against the Wave? Caballos salvajes and its critique of neoliberal
cultural. (Rocha
2007)
(3). Grimson and
Kessler have described these tensions as follows: “One is the tension
between
the state (Argentina)
and society (Argentines) resulting from people’s increasing hostility
toward
the former’s ineptitude and degradation. Another is the tension
existing
between individuals (Argentines) and community (Argentina); in this
view
individual interests seeking egotistically to maximize benefits hurt
the
nation” (Grimson & Kessler, 2005: 66).
(4). For an analysis of Cenizas del paraíso as a detective story, see my
article
“Crímen/es irresuelto/s en Cenizas del paraiso
de
Marcelo Piñeyro” (Rocha 2007: 117-134).
(5). “Es
cosa de todos los días en esta penosa
actualidad de los argentinos. Mafias que han dejado su huella en
episodios que
nadie termina de esclarecer; funcionarios públicos y guardianes de la
ley
involucrados en toda clase de delitos; jueces separados de sus causas,
envueltos en una maraña de sospechas o directamente sometidos a juicio
político; la sombra de la corrupción por todas partes y la inquitante
sensación
de que reina la impunidad.”
Works Cited
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Butler, Judith. Precarious
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Elias,
Norbert. The Civilizing Process. The History of Manners.
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Freud, Sigmund. Beyond
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The Fury.. Dir Juan Bautista
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