When does violence in art become “ethically acceptable”? Has it ever been welcomed in cinema, in books, video games, paintings, or, most notably, in graphic novels? When it’s stylized, such as in the films of Quentin Tarantino, excessive violence can become highly pleasurable, even though people are viciously beheaded, cut into pieces, or have their faces chewed by a dog and then burned by a flamethrower. In Jay Baruchel’s second directorial effort, Random Acts of Violence, the aesthetics of violence are at the forefront of his adaptation from the graphic novel of the same name.
The film questions violence’s aesthetics through comic book writer and creator of the highly popular Slasherman series, Todd Walkley (Jesse Williams), is confronted with real-life murders based on imagery from his comics, as he travels from Toronto to New York on a press tour promoting Slasherman. By questioning the audience on whether it’s morally right to glorify a serial killer through a series of comics, while at the same time confronting them with vicious sequences of murder, Random Acts of Violence is a fascinating, albeit, superficial study on art’s glorification of murder.
The most interesting aspect of the film is the questions Baruchel, and co-writer Jesse Chabot, ask the audience: whether we should glorify the use of excessive violence in comic books as a form of pleasure. One way the political (and moral) discourse surrounding Slasherman is shown is through its depraved fanbase. When a fan shows up at a signing session with the model truck he built, along with a doll of Slasherman murdering innocent women, he cites that “Slasherman’s like…my life, my religion. I find it inspiring.” This moment showcases what type of individuals Slasherman panders to — those looking for a way to justify their desire to perform, or replicate, cruel, misogyny-driven acts of violence.
How do the murders of innocent women by a killer with no psyche or any form of emotional attachment become “inspiring” or “liberating”? Why do the film’s artists need to glorify violence through an emotionless killer who seems to be performing these murders out of pure pleasure? These are both valid questions Baruchel asks the viewer, then answers by glorifying violence through a senseless, emotionless killer, replicating the imagery of Slasherman.
The film’s violence is highly stylized through its stark use of neon colors and practical effects. Slow, methodic camera pans showcase the brutal cruelty exalting from a killer inspired by art. Baruchel also appropriates the striking imagery of past horror films, particularly from the 1970s and 1980s. Close-ups of intestines being ripped out of the victims’ bodies, a severed head found on a parking lot, and the brute force of a shape senselessly murdering people which harkens back to Michael Meyers in Halloween, or Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The climax in which Todd confronts the killer, surrounded by a table of dead bodies, is eerily similar to the dinner table scenes in Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and its second installment.
While the references in previous horror films and ideas he presents on violence can be exciting for some, Baruchel never once explores what he offers. He answers his own moral questions by showing aesthetically pleasant yet senseless violence: a form of criticism on our culture’s acceptance of violent images. By doing this, the film is just another hypocritical study on violence through violence, with no substance on what it’s examining. It doesn’t matter what political pundits or individuals think of the use of violence in art. If our mass culture enjoys it and craves more, it becomes widely accepted.
Violent movies are becoming more accepted and highly stylized. The popularization of the Deadpool and John Wick pictures over the past decade showcases our culture’s need and craving for violence, as every kill by the protagonist is excessively gratuitous and greatly felt by the viewer. Violent video games have now become “the norm”, with Rockstar being the prime developer for games that glorify a psychological release for the player by numbing themselves with random acts of violence through a virtual world. If Baruchel wants to go down the road of exposing our culture’s hypocritical attitude toward violence, fine, but his specific questions still need to be addressed for the viewer.
The only thing Baruchel does to contribute to the discourse surrounding violence in art is briefly showing two diverging sides. For example, Todd’s wife, Kathy (Jordana Brewster), believes his refusal to take a stance on violence and his comics are immoral. In her opinion, Todd glorifies a killer who doesn’t need to have his own series of comics while treating the victims as objects. Of course, Todd doesn’t believe it. All of the ideas that criticize violence through art are compelling and make for great discourse, but Baruchel never adequately exploits them. He shows diverging sides without delving into the relationship between Kathy and Todd and denounces how pop culture has glorified violence over the years by…glorifying it. There’s no explanation behind his critiques; he essentially has a bone with no meat.
The rest of the film is a highly clichéd, monotonous bore where the tropes of contemporary horror cinema are checked off a list and never once reinvented. The characters make foolish decisions while being confronted by the killer. Or when they see that the murders are similar to those in Slasherman and have the opportunity to go to the police and tell them about what’s going on, they don’t and, ultimately, cause more bloodshed.. Baruchel accepts the typical, paint-by-numbers structure of many poor contemporary horror films with badly developed, disposable characters that serve as a form of leverage for the protagonist to realize what he’s done.
None of the characters are remotely interesting, or well-performed. Jesse Williams is supposedly a man bathed in his artistic ego, trying to find the “perfect ending” for a story that celebrates violence. Still, his performance is incredibly tedious, and his line delivery wooden. Baruchel plays Todd’s manager, Ezra, and delivers an annoying routine of comedic antics with none of his lines being, in any way, funny. The killer, played by Simon Northwood, tries to have a form of motivation for his killings when he confronts Todd, yet his motives are empty and superficial.
Running at 76 minutes without credits, Random Acts of Violence is a mildly engaging film questioning violence’s visual excitement by showing senseless murders, terribly underdeveloped characters, and no deeper exploration of violent themes. If the film were longer, it would have benefited from fleshing out the characters’ arcs, and a more in-depth analysis of the use of violence through art to challenge its audience. It’s a shame because the themes that are unexamined in the film on the ethics of violence are quite timely, and would make for engaging discourse. Still, since none of the ideas are adequately explored, the viewer finishes the film with a sense of dissatisfaction and confusion, trying to figure out what Baruchel was trying to say on violence, which can be summed up in one word: nothing.
