I Spit on Your Grave (1978) 98m
It was one thing to have films like this playing in cinemas back in the late 70s, but another to have them on hand for home viewing in the years soon to follow. I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE became one of the 'video nasties' that many self-appointed watchdog organizations condemned without really having being aware of its previous existence as a 'cinema nasty'. It's unpleasant viewing, but not unwatchable. Plotwise, it's as basic as you can get: a magazine writer (Camille Keaton) rents a house in the woods so that she may work on a novel. She attracts the attention of a group of men who brutally assault her. After recovering, she seeks them out for revenge. It's the primal nature of the film that repels many viewers (it was banned in several countries), the inference being that a story this simple cannot have any redeeming subtext. As if to flout this point, the rape sequence that caused most of the controversy is protracted unflinchingly. It isn't helped by the murkiness of director Meir Zarchi's motives - is this scene out-and-out exploitation or is he trying to present the nature of rape in all its ugliness? At least he can't be accused of making it arousing, exciting or titillating. Keaton's attackers are a reprehensible bunch and you won't care what happens to them, but perversely the film-maker's dehumanizing of the men is just as bad as their dehumanizing of Keaton. Two wrongs don't make a right, whether in a story a basic as this or as fluffed up as 1998's courtroom drama A TIME TO KILL.
I'm not suggesting that Zarchi included themes in his film so that it could be viewed on levels other than its obvious exploitation, but some strands do become noticeable. It's a straightforward enough ploy to necessitate a character's isolation by making her a novelist, but it's interesting that the first thing we see Keaton do after recovering from her ordeal is write (anybody else would have contacted the police). She creates her own scenario of revenge, playacting with the men and turning their own egos and machismo against them, while also using weapons and tools unwittingly supplied to her by the men themselves - the kind of thing that would appeal to any scenarist's inclinations of poetic justice. She also arranges confrontations to take place in or near water, as if her writing sensibilities require any cleansing on her part to be represented symbolically. It would be easier to give these notions more credence if Keaton didn't keep stripping off her clothes during these scenes. In some ways the use of her body as a lure is in line with her sense of irony but it also comes across as just another cheap thrill from the director. What finally deflates any serious intent of the film is the way that Keaton's vengeance falls apart at the conclusion: without a plan she simply becomes randomly murderous. Is this any improvement on calculatingly murderous? That in itself is an idea worth developing, but you won't find any answers in this picture: the film's title change from the original DAY OF THE WOMAN pretty much established where the film-makers were standing on this one.
sburridge@hotmail.com
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