Confessions of a Liberal Puritan

Continued from yesterday's entry:

'And, of course, afterwards, I couldn't help but note all the cultural and religious symbolism involved in Ivy's role in the village and her "hero's journey". . . .

'Okay, I have some more thoughts on boundaries, religion, and anthropology, and focusing fear on external threats (even if they must be invented) and the role of the 'differently abled' persons as boundary-crossers, etc., but it's getting late, and I had no lunch, so they'll have to wait for tomorrow.'

As promised, I'll try to fill in a few of those gaps. [spoilers for "The Village" follow]

First, I have to get this off my chest: just how seriously and psychologically damaged are these village elders supposed to be from their encounters with violent crime in New York City, that they would think that scaring the bejeezus out of their kids with live-action bogeymen and forbidding them the color red (presumably because that's the color of blood?) seemed like the most compassionate course of action?

Once the secret of "those we do not speak of" (by the way, shouldn't that be, 'those of whom we do not speak'?) was revealed, I couldn't help but think that the elaborate lengths the elders had gone to in order to ensure that their children would never, ever wish to enter the woods and discover the limits of their world were somewhat cruel. (I'm suddenly thinking of the classic Star Trek episode, "For the World is Hollow, and I Have Touched the Sky.")

But then, I've never lost anyone close to me to the kind of soul-searing violent crime the elders are all said to have experienced. So, maybe I shouldn't be so hasty to call them 'cruel.' I mean, I can understand (I guess) that in order for a prohibition to be absolutely maintained, especially by young children and rebellious teens, the level of terror would have to be maintained by those drills, and the daily reminder in the lack of anything red, and by an incursion -- once every decade or so -- of the creatures the drills and prohibitions are supposed to protect them all against.

Even so, William Hurt simply telling his daughter, "Try not to scream", rather than even attempting to describe what she'd encounter in that shed, seemed to be more effective in terms of perpetuating the audience's tension than in preparing Ivy for the journey she would make. Okay, enough said.

Meanwhile, early in the film, the first thing I noticed was the idea of the woods and the village in its little valley being two different and preferably inviolate domains: "we do not go into their woods, and they do not come into our valley." I kept thinking about the Yanomamo distinction between "things of the shabono" (or "things of the village" -- meaning all that is civilized, human, and comparatively safe) and "things of the forest" (meaning all that is wild, uncontrolled, animal, and extremely dangerous).

The Yanomamo are simply the first and most salient example (from the introductory Anthropology courses I've worked on) of that distinction which many cultures around the world make. As it usually works out, that village-wilderness dichotomy corresponds to a human-animal and male-female dichotomy, as well (women being more wild and uncivilized than men, and therefore somewhat suspect and dangerous -- especially when they're menstruating or doing other uniquely 'female' things).

So, even though the village elders seem to include about as many women as men, I have to wonder a bit about the subtle (or not so subtle) distinctions between the status and value of men versus that of women which might have crept in along with that village/woods dichotomy in Shyamalan's imagined village. If the 'bad color' was known to attract 'the others' -- so much so that it was forbidden and any flower or berry of that shade must be instantly buried, lest it bring death and destruction to them all -- then what must their mythology have to say about menstruating women? How many taboos and extra cautions must have become attached to that simple biological function over the years they've been in that village?

We know that there were some extra prohibitions associated with being female in that village, from the information that Ivy (who seems to have a bit more freedom, through being 'differently abled') wishes sometimes that she could do male stuff, including the game (which only the boys of the village play) of seeing how long one can stand at the edge of the forest before fear gets the better of them.

And, of course, in the end it is only Ivy who is able to muster the courage (based on her love for Lucius and boosted only somewhat by learning that the creatures are supposedly fake, after all) to journey through the wilderness of the forest, after the young men who are supposed to be her escort turn back in fear. So, somehow, she is seen as being less alien and therefore less in danger in that wilderness -- at least, in the eyes of the guys.

Plus, once she makes it to the other 'impenetrable' boundary/barrier between civilization and wilderness -- the fence protecting the "Walker Wildlife Preserve" from the larger human world -- the young guard, Nick, who encounters Ivy and gets her the emergency medicines needed, seems to begin to realize that Ivy is one of the "wild animals" the preserve is supposed to be for.

So, that's one thing I couldn't help but think about afterwards.

Another thing is the identification (in many tribal cultures) of the 'different' person as the obvious choice to serve as shaman, as the person on the periphery of the group who is therefore more able to cross the boundaries between "us" and "not us" and between human and animal or this world and the spirit world. So, of course Ivy has a kind of special sight, perceiving the auras of certain exceptional people, and of course she is the peacemaker and intercessor and the 'tomboy', and eventually the obvious choice (along with Lucius, according to her father) to lead the village in the future.

Along those same lines, the developmentally disabled Noah -- who is too wild for anyone but Ivy to handle, when he gets all worked up -- turns out to have been wandering through the woods at will for some time now, and also turns out to have taken on the role of fantasy monster (originated by his elders) with way too much verisimilitude and gusto. The final verdict from the William Hurt character, at the end, is that Noah's 'sacrifice' (presumably only they know that it was Noah who attacked Ivy in the woods, and whom she then had to kill) has made their lies real, enabling the village to survive into the future with their sense of boundaries intact.

Noah's death allows the elders to continue to live with and perpetuate their illusions about the sanctity of the village vs. the evils of what lies beyond their perimeter for a while longer.

Which brings me to what will have to be my final point: the displacement of everything that is evil or violent or monstrous away from the people in the village and onto the "other" -- onto the locked boxes in each home, representing the 'evil of the towns' which the elders had left behind, and onto 'those we do not speak of' in the woods, and finally, secretly, onto Noah.

I seem to recall that when Lucius confronted his mother (Sigourney Weaver) about the secrets that filled every corner of the village (revealing, of course, that like Ivy he had the ability to see what everyone else missed), including that locked box in the corner of their own house, his mother gave him some practiced reply about the need to keep that reminder of evil around, "lest it return in some other form."

That suggested to me pretty strongly that the elders were somehow conscious that their distinction between the goodness and safety of the village and the evil and danger of the world beyond their boundary was vulnerable and artificial -- that they couldn't leave human nature behind, however hard they tried, and that only the constant reminder of outside danger ("them" against "us") would enable the village to continue in obedience, cooperation, and good will.

(Okay, now I'm thinking of that classic Outer Limits episode, where Robert Culp is transformed into a bona fide alien monster by his fellow scientists, in the belief that only a really terrifying off-world threat would allow the people of earth to make peace with one another and work together for the common good.)

The reality of course, revealed by Noah, was that the "evils of the towns" -- evils like deliberate murder and mutilation -- were there in their midst, all along, rather than kept at bay in the outside world (where the only person Ivy met turned out to be a very kind and decent person) or in the mythical monsters of the woods.

They're turning out the lights in the library now, so I guess it's time to leave!