John Hillcoat’s 2009 interpretation of Cormac McCarthy’s seminal, Pulwitzer Prize winning novel The Road, follows in the wake of a contemporary cinematic trend for ‘Post Apocalyptic’ epics set in the traumatised heartland of a decimated USA. Where as similar Hollywood blockbusters such as 2012 and The Book of Eli concern themselves with dramatic depictions of crisis or a mythical path to salvation respectively, The Road chooses to play on the weight of impossible moral quandaries and the value of life itself when the very notion of ‘value’ has lost all significance. Depicting the brutal and terrifying aftermath of an unknown catastrophe it is more a study of human desperation and paternal love than a linear journey towards a tangible destination.
Charting the progress of two unnamed protagonists, referred to simply as ‘Man’ and ‘Boy’, McCarthy’s tale charts the progress of two helpless survivors, crossing the vast, deadened landscape of America’s Eastern seaboard, with the fragile aim of reaching the coast and thus confirming the futility of their continued existence. From the very outset of the film both characters have come to accept their place in this eternal nightmare, and thus the central theme revolves around the viability of life in a world that has renounced it’s metaphysical meaning forever.
Pushing a pathetic trolley filled with warming rags and a meagre supply of tinned food both father and son make slow progress through a haunted landscape devoid of life. At night they cower in fear, as the deafening boom of hundreds of dead trees collapsing after years of decline reverberates around the wilderness. The sheer terror located in the sound of entire forests disintegrating is a central metaphor for Hillcoat’s portrait of the Apocalypse, as he engages both visual and audio senses to illustrate the horror of their situation with intuitive aplomb.
As the two companions continue push through the bleak emptiness they encounter the final, sorry remnants of humanity; in the form of disparate cannibals and hidden cellars containing horrifically maimed victims. There are elements of classic horror here, interlinked with the tension of pursuit, as the Man; expertly played by Viggo Mortenson finds himself hiding from a band of would be rapists and fleeing the house of deranged, cannibalistic hillbillies.
The insinuation of predicament, as well as the fear of being eaten or raped is perhaps too obvious in Mortenson’s voiceover, nevertheless Hillcoat holds the audiences’ focus and disgust. Set pieces retain elements of subtlety and conviction without lapsing into pure physical gore or slick violence, whilst the constant, unseen threat of ensuing disaster retains palpable cinematic tension.
The subsequent meetings with Robet Duval’s Old Man, as well as Michael K. Williams’ Thief, revel in the diametric opposition between conventional morality and ultimate survival. Kodi Smit-McPhee who plays the Boy, is at first enamoured with the concept of a benign fellow human being. Mortenson reminisces with Duval, recalling painful memories of the world they have left behind. Equally, upon catching the Thief; who has made off with their trolley of food and clothes, Mortenson reveals the insidious temptations afforded by revenge; forcing his victim to strip naked and flee in front of his tearful son. It is a tough lesson for the Boy, essentially ‘Kill or Be Killed,’ a motto that has defined humanity for many thousands of years and one that forms the crux of Hillcoat’s hellish reflection on the mutual cruelties of mankind.
Of course the vista that greets our protagonists upon reaching the coast is one of depressing familiarity. Cold and grey, a deadened sea swirls against the rusting hulks of decrepit cargo ships that have washed to shore. Injured and dying Mortenson considers using the final bullet on his son, refusing to leave him at the mercy of unknown evil. In the end however, he resigns himself to a painful death, unable to pull the trigger, perhaps a final crime that he cannot bring himself to commit, even in the name of love.
When Guy Pierce’s Survivor arrives moments later, with a slightly worn but nevertheless resolutely nuclear family in tow, there is a sense of aesthetic disappointment, in that it appears Hillcoat has reverted to convention. Yet, there is a focus to the belated happy ending, the sense that struggle, endeavour and most importantly hope, even in the face of inevitable failure, are always better tools than outright surrender.
Hillcoat’s film draws the viewer into a vivid nightmare and just as he did with The Propostion, the heavy concepts of extreme violence and inevitable death are wrought heavily upon the very landscape itself. The Road is both a starkly cynical snapshot of society and a beautiful affirmation of fatherhood, but it is the final message that imprints itself on the viewer, rendering the film more a celebration of endurance and love than a defeatist response to complete emotional and physical devastation.
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