Dark Endings

The following vaguely discusses the endings of THE 400 BLOWS, WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE, THE MIST, and DRAG ME TO HELL.

As usual, this weekend I found a lot to disagree with in my Twitter feed. Early in the weekend, one person (who regularly craps out useless one sentence turds deeming whatever latest bit of pop culture he has consumed, regurgitated and re-consumerd as good or bad) expressed anger in regards to the ending of Drag Me to Hell. He was furious about how a decent character suffers such a horrific demise. He felt the movie was bad natured and unenjoyable as a result. He went on to lament that only the ending of The Mist is worse. Someone else on Twitter then replied that within the strict morality play of Drag Me to Hell, the ending works. That last response goes over my head as I don’t see how that would alleviate the nature of the ending, but the exchange got me thinking about how I interpret the endings of these films versus how others apparently view them.

I love the endings of both of these movies. It’s not because I like to see decent characters suffer. I’m not a masochist, and I’m not turned on by blood and misery. In both cases, I feel as if the movie is still on the side of the main character. Both movies, in not backing down from their cynical and dark endings, grieve with the characters. They grieve for the characters. And they allow the audience to grieve with the characters in a way that does not require that the audience carry the weight of the world on its shoulders. I admit that I prefer horror movies with dark, tragic endings. A horror movie with a happy ending practically betrays the entire genre in its reaffirmation that good will always win out over evil. I am instantly attracted to a horror movie in which the evil wins. I don’t like these movies because I like to see evil win. But I do like to see movies ACKNOWLEDGE that evil wins. Not everyone in the world is destined for a happy ending. And horror movies are the perfect vessel for this idea. I can walk out of a tragic horror movie exhilarated. The visual excesses. The open allegories. The visceral suspense. My favorite horror movies use all these things to burrow under the viewer’s skin, to draw the audience into the plight of the characters, to allow the viewer to ache with the main characters, and then to release the audience in a rush of adrenaline. Unlike, say, a Holocaust film. A good Holocaust movie leaves the audience emotionally drained – burdened with the gravitas of human evil and the loss the world has incurred as a result. Yet, in a strange way, both horror movies and Holocaust movies serve similar purposes. They both examine human loss at the hands of unjust evil. One is meant to be fun and thrilling and for the masses. The other, weighty and scholarly and repetitive in its unrelenting loyalty to the lessons of history. As a result, one genre is disreputable, while the other is intimidatingly austere. I can easily spend 24 hours watching horror movies. My limit for Holocaust movies is one a quarter.

Later in the weekend, someone else mentioned how much they disliked Where the Wild Things Are. One of their many issues stemmed from the fact that the main character, Max, does not appear to apologize at the end of the movie. The person elaborated on her complaint by tying this lack of atonement with how she was raised – possibly implying that anyone who likes the movie was raised inadequately. She claimed that since the movie was too long already (at a whopping 94 minutes), another thirty seconds couldn’t hurt. I wholeheartedly disagree. If the movie had paraded out the character to make an apology to his mother, I would have no longer felt as if the movie were on Max’s side. After all, it would not have really been for the mother’s benefit. It would have been for the audience’s benefit. To force him to grovel in front of the audience would have subtley added an agenda to the movie that would have trumped the love for the characters that the movie had so beautifully cultivated up to that point. Where the Wild Things Are is not about good and bad or atonement. It was about the longings that consume its main character – a young boy. And yet, while I would have felt betrayed by the movie if Max had apologized, I would not have felt betrayed if the movie had actually given Max a more tragic fate. Of course, it could not be tacked on. A tragic ending has to be earned. It has to be woven into the very fabric of the story. The 400 Blows, for instance. A perfect example of a kid’s movie in which the movie is always, without a doubt, on the side of the main character – even when he messes up and does something wrong. That movie does not give excuses for Antione Doinel, but it longs to understand him, and the audience completely and utterly empathizes with Antione in that final shot. Nothing has been fair for him. His punishments have not been just. The movie is not taking on the role of punisher. It clearly lays out that enough people in Antione’s life have done that already. In that final shot, the movie evokes Antione’s sense of loss and loneliness and pain. It does not bask in his misery. It acknowledges his defeats, and it embraces him for it.

The difference between these two different kinds of endings is subtle. Part of it is a matter of genre. While Where the Wild Things Are contains melancholy and sadness and even a modicum of danger, it is not about evil. Or life and death, as horror is. It is a fantasy. It is about saying good-bye to childhood. One vital part of growing up is not apologizing for every choice you make. I’m not condoning Max’s behavior, but like the movie, I understand it. Many people like the morality in their movies cut and dry. They like people who do good things to get rewarded, and they like people who do bad things to get punished. I admit that I’m rarely happy unless I see something more complicated than this. I like not being sure exactly how I should feel about an ending. I like that a movie can empathize with a character without condoning what they do or rewarding them to outstanding family values. Movies are escapist, but that does not mean that they must all be wish fulfillment. Sometimes, it’s nice to have a movie commiserate with its audience.