Badlands By Dave McCoy
Still one of American cinema's most powerful, daring filmmaking debuts,
Terrence Malick's Badlands is a quirky, visionary psychological and
social enigma masquerading as a simple lovers-on-the-lam flick. Inspired
by the 1958 murders in the cold, stark badlands of South Dakota by Charles
Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate, the film's plot, on the surface, is
similar to that of other killing-couple films, like Bonnie and Clyde
and Gun Crazy. Martin Sheen, in an understated, sophisticated
performance, plays the strange James Dean-like social outcast who falls in
love with the naïve Sissy Spacek--and then kills her father when he comes
between them. The two flee like animals to the wilderness, until the
police arrive and the killing spree begins.
What sets the film apart from others of its genre is Malick's
complicated approach. Gorgeous, impenetrable images contrast sharply with
Spacek's nostalgically artless narration, serving as ironic counterpoints,
blurring concrete meaning, and stressing that nothing this horrific is
simple. Malick observes, rather than analyzes, the couple in a manner as
detached and apathetic as the couple's shocking actions. No judgment or
definitive motivations are offered, though Malick's empathy often leans
toward his senseless protagonists, rather than the star-struck society
that makes killers famous. Compared with the interchangeable uniform cops
who hunt them and the film's other nameless characters stuck in suburban
banality, the couple are presented like tarnished, warped and frustrated
results of squelched individuality.
Badlands, on one level, views America's suffocating homogeneity
and, conversely, its continued obsession with celebrities (individuals
considered different but adored) as hypocritical. Ambiguous and bold, the
movie hints that society may be as guilty as the killers.
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