The RW Fassbinder Chronicles - The Marriage of Maria Braun (1979)

You are Maria Braun. The proto-feminist of the BRD. You marry Hermann Braun in the middle of the war. THE War. Bombs and air raids. Nazis and Hitler. Life goes on, even during the darkest hour. Except Hermann returns to fight the Soviets after one-half of one day and a whole night of marriage. You’re alone; life during wartime.  You wait, you trade items on the black market. You walk up and down the train station with a sign: Does anyone know Hermann Braun? The war ends. American GIs are everywhere. Still no Hermann. You take a job in a bar. You’re young, blonde, tall, shapely, feminine. You are a symbol. You’re worth fighting for. You kept the boys fighting for you. Dreams of coming home to you. You know your role and play it well. You meet men at the bar. American big band music plays under American flags. You get confirmation that Hermann is dead. Life during wartime. You allow yourself to be with Bill, the black American GI. You’ll never marry him, but he helps with the pain. You get pregnant. You allow yourself to be happy again. Only to be ripped apart when Hermann returns. Shocked, you have no choice but to kill Bill. Having just left a Russian prison, Hermann has no problem taking the wrap. You were fond of Bill, but you loved Hermann.  You lose Hermann once again, and then you lose the baby. The poor creature wouldn’t have had it easy in life. Life during wartime. So you catch a train out of town and spy a lonely Frenchman in first class. Mr. Oswald. Post-war survival of the fittest. Your charm, wits, and toughness land a cushy position at Oswald’s company. Post-War German boom. Das Kapital. You are the first Post-War feminist. Your time is just beginning. You know a lot about the future. You’re a specialist in that. It’s the new Twentieth Century. The new German half. And you, Maria Braun, are the grease in the wheels. After surviving the war, you’re showing everyone how to survive the peace. You prefer to make miracles rather than wait for them to happen. “Ich bin ich bin,” you say. People don’t have affairs with you – YOU have affairs with them. You’re a master of disguises: a tool of capitalism by day; an agent of the working classes by night. The Mata Hari of the economic miracle. But things don’t work out as planned. Your husband Hermann doesn’t know who he is, won’t wait, can’t understand, doesn’t fit in. Not everyone recovers from the War. Not everyone shared in the miracle. He’s released and flees the country. But he sends you one red rose every month. You buy a house, rise in wealth and stature. Sleep with who you want, when you want. Until. Mr. Oswald, your boss and lover, your concubine, your mentor and captor and worshiper – Mr. Oswald dies in his sleep. And then Mr. Braun comes home. You’re still Maria Braun. This time for good. Husband and wife reunited. Total married time together: two days. You’re nervous, he’s nervous. Maybe you should get to know each other first. Or maybe it’s not meant to be. Fate exploded on the scene and kept you apart. Fate tears love apart. Love endures.

    The Marriage of Maria Braun is long on plot, expertly crafted with characters, conflicts and drama. Maria’s journey from 1945 to 1954 is full of the ups and downs of human existence. That’s not to say other Fassbinder films aren’t plot heavy, but here it’s different. More like a Hollywood movie produced by Warner Brothers at any point in the 20^th Century.

The film is a spectacle with period setting, detailed costumes, and on-location filming complete with hundreds of extras. It’s an epic, and a new phase for Fassbinder. The type of film Michael Cimino would have loved to make in 1979. It’s the kind Scorsese went on to make.

One of the best opening scenes ever, the movie explodes with a wedding during the end of WWII. Even the credits explode on the screen. Maria and Hermann Braun are united for a brief moment in time. Happiness is a freeze frame during the opening titles. They then spend the rest of the movie apart.

    The film’s first act pivots on a reverse Fear Eats the Soul moment, where young Maria dances with Bill, the black American. They begin a love affair where people look and think twice, but Fassbinder is not concerned with that story here.

The scene where Hermann returns is devastating. Talk about love being colder than death. Hermann (Klaus Löwitsch) watches voyeuristically from the doorway as Maria declares her love for Bill – while stripping the middle-aged man naked. The heartbreak is arrested with a surprising burst of violence – not from where the audience is expecting.

The next brilliant scene is all about Hanna Schygulla’s amazing, dominant performance as Maria. As the second act unfolds, Maria (and Hanna Schygulla) delivers an impressive English turn as she takes down another American soldier on a train. Maria Braun 2, American Soldiers 0. This moment is a precursor to Christoph Waltz’s multi-lingual feats in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds, a film that shares a color palette and visual style to Maria Braun.

A third beautiful moment, uniquely Fassbinder, occurs at Maria’s mother’s birthday party. Maria walks across the room and briefly slow-dances with all the partygoers. It’s a smooth tracking shot, timed perfectly to capture Maria’s mind as she pirouettes from man to man to woman to man. She eventually lands on her lover Oswald. They too decide to dance, and the camera tracks back across the room landing on Maria’s sad friend Gerti – standing alone with her back to the crowd. It’s a poignant, touching moment that encapsulates the entire film in one camera move.

There is no American equivalent of Maria Braun. An American version of this story would have had Maria Braun played by Diane Keaton where she has a baby then moves to the country to raise a child under hilarious circumstances. Or Meg Ryan’s Maria Braun would have quickly succumbed to Tom Hanks’s charm. Even in the 2020s, Hollywood filmmakers are still struggling to depict authentic female characters that are complex and independent of men. Today’s Hollywood would give Maria Braun actual superpowers and send her off with other guardians of the galaxy.

    This is Fassbinder’s most complete film. Many consider it his best for the “Hollywood-ness” of it. But it fires on all cylinders – unlike his or anyone else’s films. Not just the plot or acting or cinematography (by Michael Ballhaus), but also sound design and lighting and wardrobe and production design. All the key creative departments. Oscars didn’t happen for Maria Braun, but it could have easily swept all categories. It’s a real MOVIE-movie. With scope and heart, tangibles and history as we see the modern nation of (West) Germany created before our eyes.  

The film is dedicated to Peter Zadek, the German theatre director.

The RW Fassbinder Chronicles - Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974)

Fear eats the soul. Many things eat your soul. Soul mates and lost souls. Eternal souls are the center of all religion, organized and wild. No one’s ever seen a soul. Science won’t touch it. But fear eats it. 

When we talk of fear we refer to the unknown. The beyond. Death and the undiscovered country. Other countries have other customs. Foreigners. Strangers. Fear of people from a little town in Morocco. We fear others until we meet. Forced to speak or die from loneliness. Kindness to strangers, kindness to us. Suddenly there’s no fear. No fear only love. Love is a tough cookie. A survivor on an island of refuse. Fear and hate are the weeds that spring eternal. Ali knows both. Ali moved to Germany looking for work. It was only a few decades after Hitler. A lot of Germans went to that party. Many of them still around in 1974 while Ali fixes their cars. “Kif-kif,” Ali says. “Who cares?” But he cares. He knows he’s hated. Especially after the Munich Olympics in 1972. Arabs in Germany are treated like animals, according to Ali. He also admits to thinking too much. We can relate to Ali. Alone with our thoughts. Fearing the worst, as people look at us in the street. Fear and happiness go hand-in-hand. Fear not good, according to Ali. Neither is shame. There’s an old world: shame. Some people would die of shame. Shame and love go hand in hand. Lust and shame. Sex and shame. We fall in love with everything wrong. The wrong people. The wrong ideals. We love ugly sweaters and silly songs. Love and fear. All you need is fear. Fear is colder than death. Fear and marriage. Fear and fighting. Fighting and war. Fear eats your identity. If everyone’s afraid, then what about you? Does lack of fear make you an outsider, and thus: one to be feared? Fear the person you once were. Happiness is not always fun. Time heals all wounds. In business, money trumps all. Simple slogans to explain fear. Star-crossed lovers know all about fear. Munich in the 1970s is no different from Verona in the 15th Century. Or New York City in 1959. I am black, you are white. I am young, you are old. I am Muslim, you are Christian. I am foreigner, you are resident. I am poor, you are not. Cruelty doesn’t discriminate. Cruelty transcends all ages, gender, race, religion. Cruelty is timeless. Yesterday’s fear becomes tomorrow’s cruelty. Forgiveness is the better way; the path to righteousness. Forgiveness heals the soul. Forgiveness circles back to love. Love conquers fear. Love heals the soul. Love is the soul. 

“Happiness is not always fun.” The subtitle reads at the start of this fable. A lesson in love and hate. Fear and forgiveness. Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is a poetic examination of love in 1970s Germany. Both Hitler ’39 and Munich ’72 cast a long shadow over this film. It’s Romeo and Juliet with more distinct battle lines. A middle-aged German woman falls in love with a younger, black Muslim from Morocco. Prejudices reveal themselves in friends, relatives, and neighbors. This is not only Germany, but the whole world. Everywhere is Germany, and it’s always 1939. 

Much has been written about this movie. BFI Film Classics published a beautiful, thoughtful study by Laura Cottingham in 2005. The Criterion Collection released a restored Blu-ray with several poignant essays. Most compare it to Douglas Sirk’s All that Heaven Allows (1955). Both movies expose the hypocrisy of post-war Western capitalism. Materialism eats the soul. That’s OK, as long as everyone has a house, a car, and looks nice in church. The real question is what has changed in the decades since? Could Emmi marry Ali in 2023 America? The answer, of course, is yes, but what will people think? The United States deals with fear differently. As I write this, innocent Americans were shot this year when they 1) mistakenly went to the wrong house and rang the doorbell, and 2) drove down the wrong street and turned around in a stranger’s driveway. Shot by guns in 2023. Fear eats the soul alright. 

In 2002, Todd Haynes made Far From Heaven – an updated take on Sirk’s 1955 film. Haynes added the element of race by casting Dennis Haysbert in the Rock Hudson role. Yet the movie is still set in the 1950s, making it more allegorical than real in 21st Century America. An easier pill to swallow, especially when taken by the choir at the art house church. The same thing happened in 2021 when Steven Spielberg remade West Side Story. Rather than updating the tale of Puerto Ricans versus native New Yorkers, he kept it in the Eisenhower era. Another missed chance to critique the world of today. 

Fassbinder never shied away from that. He wanted to ruffle feathers and point fingers. “This is us,” his films exclaimed. That’s a brave artist.

Aristotle and Independent Film

The groupthink regarding the demise of theatrical moviegoing reveals a shortsightedness of recent history, and lack of understanding of the cinematic art form. People see all types of movies in a theater. Neither Hollywood, nor pop culture, is defined by the blockbuster. Many enduring franchises such as “Star Wars” and “The Fast and the Furious” were once singular, original, and risky ideas. More importantly they were movies: a complete two hour-long story with a beginning, middle and end. 

The general consensus believes that Hollywood is panicking because all major movies are following the model of Disney+ and HBO Max by releasing straight to streaming. Americans, however, go to the movies to see more than just effects-driven epics. When theaters reopen in the post-pandemic world, seats will be filled despite the choice to stay home and watch the same blockbusters. Mass-marketed tentpoles are not exclusively what stand the test of time, nor are they true success stories. Many of the films that cross over into permanent cultural literacy – the ones that permeate our consciousness and reach a societal shorthand – are often independent, low-budget, and targeted to an adult demographic. 

Over the years many genres have dominated the box office. In the late-90s and early-2000s I worked at USA Films and New Line Cinema on 100 independent film's marketing and advertising campaigns. Although I never landed a #1 Box Office Hit, several are now considered classic and influential. This includes Steven Soderbergh's "Traffic" which won four Oscars and grossed over $200 million worldwide, and Spike Jonze's "Being John Malkovich" which became an inventive, cultural touchstone. I also had the privilege to promote the American release of Wong Kar-Wai's "In the Mood for Love" - a seminal work taught in film schools and widely regarded as one of the best films of the 21st Century. 

At the same time, multiple non-franchise pictures were connecting with wide audiences. In 1998, two of the highest grossing films were “Good Will Hunting” and “Saving Private Ryan.” In the early 2000s such independent low-budget films as “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” and “Slumdog Millionaire” were global hits. Even Mel Gibson’s “Passion of the Christ” was an unconventional success. In 2010 both “The King’s Speech” and “Black Swan” made over $100 million domestically and $300 million worldwide. Breaking ground for African-American artists in 2017, Jordan Peele's "Get Out" was a beacon for new voices. With its small budget and direct critique of racism, "Get Out" overcame conventional wisdom as an international sensation. In 2019, two non-franchise films “Parasite” and “Knives Out” were huge, maintaining a popularity that will outlast many of that year’s sequels and remakes. These and other examples demonstrate the desire to attend a variety of movies in the theater. This is not going away. 

Americans will not simply forget or abandon a pastime they have loved for over a hundred years. And the reason for that passion runs deeper than the quality of content or social habits. Nothing will replace the need to hear a story entirely in one sitting – from beginning, middle and end. This unity of time and space was outlined by Aristotle and practiced across cultures for centuries. It is a fundamental aspect of human nature. 

Movies follow this format. The art is the ability to tell a concise story in approximately two hours. The three act structure has endured because it is the central foundation of all stories. Get the hero up a tree, throw rocks, bring the hero home. Movies are a global phenomenon because they embrace this universal structure. It is not going away. 

Yes, streaming may give rise to longer narratives that can be told over many hours and seasons. This can produce more shows that will co-exist with movies, not replace. As new diverse voices are breaking-through into historically underrepresented roles, unique stories are emerging on film. Inclusive stories from personal perspectives will bring a broader audience to the cinema. It is an exciting opportunity. 

The logic that people sign up for a new streaming service in order to see a new movie is therefore the same logic that keeps them attending the multiplex. Exclusivity has its advantages. This is why mass audiences fought to see “Hamilton” live on stage, or lined up to buy the “Harry Potter” books. 

The same will be true of movies. All types, big and small.

The Innovation and Influence of Sam Peckinpah

Sam Peckinpah (1925-1984) was a Hollywood writer and director who lived a glamorous and traumatic life. He grew up in in the shadow of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, served in World War II, and started his entertainment career as a writer in the first Golden Age of Television. Transitioning from the studio era to the New Hollywood of the 1960s and '70s, Peckinpah often battled with producers and executives who didn't understand his non-conformist vision. A hard drinker and womanizer, Peckinpah had a combative reputation as legendary as his films. His creative output, however, still lingers in our cultural archive. He was the director of 14 feature films, all of which display cinematic innovation and insight into human struggles and moral dilemmas. His films are American stories about American characters. They uncover truths about our identities and failures, and reward the audience upon repeat viewings.

His exquisitely composed shots were edited with crashing speed to create a new cinematic language that remains influential to this day. He was a new Hitchcock for the new generation, crafting suspenseful thrillers that portrayed sex and violence with all its disgusting consequences. All his films feature intriguing characters with deep backstories. All his films feature layered performances on top of audio complexity. He was a man who burned out as hard as the 1960s idealism; both were obsolete by the dawn of the 1980s.

Sam Peckinpah's most recognized film is 1969's "The Wild Bunch." That film's themes of loyalty and redemption are repeated and re-examined in all his movies. His best are more artistically ambitious than almost every feature released today.

He made mature films for grown-up audiences, featuring deep dark themes examining human nature. How many filmmakers can say this today? His characters are real people, not super heroes or space travelers.  He aimed high and sometimes missed. He angered many audiences and reviewers. But he kept exploring, pushing, provoking. His movies are not for the faint of heart, yet they are mesmerizing.

Here is a closer look at some of his greatest:

Ride the High Country (1962)

A story of two aging outlaws who don't adapt to the not-so-wild west,  "Ride the High Country" is a quintessential Sam Peckinpah movie about the death of the American West. In the late 19th Century, after the Gold Rush, California was a tame frontier. The Railroad, Capitalism, law and order, and people continued to arrive in bunches. For some outliers, this was not welcome. "Ride the High Country" is a tale of two such partners - played by two aging Hollywood stars: Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott.
 
Having grown up in the High Sierras of Northern California, Sam Peckinpah witnessed the end of the West firsthand. His ancestors lived free in the great wide open. He saw ranches sold, nature tamed, and tough men struggling to change to a more civilized world. All these themes come to light as the plot follows former outlaw Steve Judd (McCrea) seeking redemption by accepting a "day job" from a bank to transport gold. He recruits his friend  (the aptly named Gil Westrum, played by Scott) on a journey that tests their friendship and challenges their values of old west versus new.

"All I want is to enter my house justified." So says Judd near the end of his journey. Westrum, on the other hand, knows how and when to bend the rules. Unlike Judd, he has no illusions of redemption. In a physical, mental, and ethical battle, the two men face their fate in a last chance effort to find value in a valueless world. The final gunfight is exquisitely framed, shot and edited in a rapid, unconventional approach that Sam Peckinpah would perfect in later films.

After several years writing and directing Westerns for television, Peckinpah transitioned to feature films in the early 1960s. "Ride the High Country" is his second feature, and was recognized for its unique, philosophical perspective in a genre that was slowly growing stale. The gorgeous on-location cinematography by Lucien Ballard showcases both the light and shadows of these characters' moral dilemmas. The film is loaded with outstanding supporting characters brought to life by frequent Peckinpah collaborators including the legendary Warren Oates and L.Q. Jones. All characters have the luxury of speaking authentic Western dialogue that was a hallmark of any Peckinpah production.  "Ride the High Country" is a perfect cinematic metaphor to transition from the safe, idealized Westerns of the 1950s into the brave new world of 1960s counterculture.

The Wild Bunch (1969)

"If they move, kill 'em." The opening line to Sam Peckinpah's signature film. It set the tone for this epic, and for the many cinematic innovations it was about to unleash. Released on June 18, 1969, "The Wild Bunch" remains one of the most influential films of all time. It is also one of the most controversial. This tale of morally ambiguous antiheroes engaged in stylized violence was not a success upon initial release. Yet it built a loyal following with critics and filmmakers. It improves with subsequent viewings and has aged very well over the past 50 years. I speak from my own experience that it took me multiple viewings over many years of my own maturity to appreciate the film's complex themes. Now, I don't just admire it - I would name it one of my all-time favorites.

The conventional wisdom of the Western is they are American allegories. But what makes "The Wild Bunch" so unique is that the story transcends the American West and becomes an insightful depiction of human nature. It is a timeless political fable of the consequences of war, and the loyalties and betrayals of men. All told with beautiful compositions and edited in a groundbreaking style. It is truly a work of art. Not surprisingly, "The Wild Bunch" is often called cinema's Moby-Dick.

The movie opens with a symbolic sequence of children gathered around a scorpion on top of an anthill. Audiences immediately realize this is not a typical John Wayne picture. Simultaneously, the gang of aging outlaws arrive in town, commit a robbery, and embark on a bloody shootout that was longer, louder and bloodier than any in cinematic history. Peckinpah's use of slow motion, alternate angles, and rapid cutting builds a brilliant sequence that directors have been imitating ever since.

The difference, however, is Peckinpah's deep dive into the characters. The Bunch are introduced and the viewer learns of their attempts at a moral code. The gang is led by Pike Bishop, played by William Holden in one of his last great performances. His world-weariness echoed the performer's real life struggles, whose Hollywood golden-boy days had abruptly passed. The Bunch's second in command is Dutch played by the inimitable Ernest Borgnine. Both actors were previous Oscar-winners, yet their work here is possibly their career pinnacle. Rounding out the Bunch are the film's tragic, sacrificial lamb character Angel, played by Jaime Sánchez, and the depraved and demented Gorch Brothers played by Ben Johnson and frequent Peckinpah collaborator Warren Oates. These characters are all faced with multiple decisions that question their values. Do they stay together and finish one last score? Do they help a friend who knowingly chose his own foolish fate? Do they take a stand for justice despite overwhelming odds?

The film covers many themes including the idea that "we all dream of being a child again. Even the worst of us." The recurring motif of children witnessing violence illustrates our collective history of murder, robbery and revenge. Similar to other Peckinpah films with religious overtones, this has the subtextual theme of "For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?" Pike Bishop wonders this; yet is it too late to change? This film explores the frailties of friendship. Not only is Pike's relationship with the bunch tested, but we learn of his past history to the bounty hunter Deke Thornton, played with equal weariness by the never-better Robert Ryan.

These are 19th Century Men at the dawn of the era of airplanes, automobiles, and machine guns. Rough, violent, scarred men who cannot be tamed by the 20th Century - yet struggling and failing to do the right thing. It's a parallel to Peckinpah's own life as well as his style of Hollywood filmmaking. The adult action movie with provocative themes, filmed on location with practical effects (actual bridges exploding!) would soon become as obsolete as the characters.

Very few films come close to this richness of psychological insight and creative filmmaking technique. The movie has influenced everything from the literature of Cormac McCarthy to the music of Jack White to the television series "Breaking Bad" to the films of Michael Mann, Edgar Wright, and Quentin Tarantino. In 1999 "The Wild Bunch's" place in history was secured when it was selected to the Library of Congress National Film Archive. 

The film ends with the quote "It ain't like it used to be, but it'll do." An optimistic elegy that reflects Peckinpah's view on America and Hollywood at the end of the 1960s.

The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970)

Released less than a year after "The Wild Bunch," this is Peckinpah's most complete work. It is a biblical allegory about a man finding his American Dream in the middle of the desert, just before progress brings an end to it all. It is very reminiscent of Paul Thomas Anderson's "There Will Be Blood," which no doubt took influence from this story about one man's discovery of water in the desert.

"I'm halfway to Hell and I'm looking for help," says Cable Hogue in an exceptional performance by Jason Robards. It is his story of redemption that carries the picture, with Robards's characterization fully-realized and tragically poignant. The story covers many of the essential Peckinpah themes: nature vs. commerce, the death of the west, religion, progress, and one man's search for salvation.  

Left for dead in the desert, Cable Hogue stumbles onto an oasis and builds a lucrative stop on the wagon trail heading West. When Cable meets the captivating Hildy (Stella Stevens) he must choose between his lonely, profitable life in the desert, or moving to the city with the woman he loves. A decision not as easy as it appears. Obsessed with vengeance and proving himself, Cable's journey as the American Adam is both unexpected and unavoidable. "Well I'm worth something, Ain't I?" Cable asks mid-way through the film, reflecting Peckinpah's belief in the indomitable human spirit.

This film is once again gorgeously photographed on-location by Lucien Ballard, and once again breaks convention with traditional westerns. This tone is comedic, romantic, and even musical - with the characters singing a love song in the midst of the story. Stella Stevens's Hildy is a vulnerable, moving portrait of feminine power. Cable's world cannot function without her; yet she alone is best equipped to handle the oncoming force of the Twentieth Century. 

Ultimately, "The Ballad of Cable Hogue" is a tale about the individual and the dissolution of the American Dream. It all comes to a poetic climax in the film's final scene, showing the convergence of progress, religion, nature and death in a very Peckinpah-esque comment on our culture and history. The final shot may be the only movie I've seen featuring a stagecoach and automobile in the same frame - the perfect symbol for a Peckinpah picture.  

This has always been an underrated film, and it's availability now on DVD, Blu-ray and streaming makes it essential viewing. 

Straw Dogs (1971)

"Straw Dogs" is Sam Peckinpah's most misunderstood movie. A tense, psychological picture about the consequences of violence, it is also the story of a failed marriage. Although the film is set in rural England, this disturbing, controversial film is a universal tale of human nature. Starring Dustin Hoffman in a brave, dark role, and the amazing Susan George as his traumatized wife, "Straw Dogs" continues to startle and provoke contemporary audiences and critics.

Hoffman plays David, an American intellectual who moves to a rural English farmhouse in his wife's home village. He's looking for peace and quiet to write a book on mathematics, but he also hints at escaping the social turmoil of late '60s America. His wife Amy has an equally mysterious backstory with the town, including a former love affair with the working-class Charlie Venner. The locals resent David's elitist arrogance, while simultaneously lusting after Amy.

Both tensions escalate when David is invited on a hunting expedition while Amy is left home alone. What follows is a brutal, shocking rape sequence that is every bit as controversial today as it was in 1971.

Peckinpah was often criticized as misogynist or even reactionary. He was actually a liberal Democratic supporter who despised Richard Nixon. Although his films are exclusively male-centric, it is the female characters that prove to be the shining lights, the role models, and even the adults. In "Straw Dogs" Amy is the protagonist, and all the men -- including Hoffman's David -- are the villains. Peckinpah said so himself in multiple letters in response to the film's negative criticism. 

We the audience feel Amy's suffering. The rape scene is filmed through Amy point-of-view; one of the few times that technique is employed in any Peckinpah film. The scene's blocking and compositions emphasize Amy's agony, showing her loss and devastation. The editing style, with flashes to her husband, link David as a co-accomplice in the attack. His neglect and emotional abuse are just as responsible as her actual assailant. 

The movie belongs to Amy, as she quietly absorbs the trauma. For the remainder of the film, she is the character who dramatically changes. At first she is powerless, reflecting the role of many women at that time in history. Yet by the end, she grows into a character who is strong, fearless, defiant, and ultimately vengeful.

The movie's climax involves one of the most tense, stressful sequences in film history. After a series of events following the rape (which Amy never reveals to David), the townsfolk surround the farmhouse and begin an aggressive, violent siege. Many viewers focus on Hoffman's transformation from intellectual pacifist to homestead defender -- but is he?

David fights but he's fighting for his own selfish survival. It was always there from the beginning, and he is not responding to Amy's assault. He shows little concern for her safety; he even subjects her to greater risk by provoking the attackers. By the end, David never even shoots a gun. It is Amy who fires the final shot to end the siege.

"Straw Dogs" is a complex, unsettling film. It needs to be seen by a mature audience, more than once to be fully understood. Some will see it as a masterpiece, others will find it revolting, but it is truly a work of art.

The movie is filmed and edited with taut precision. Peckinpah was working at the top of his game, and every composition has multiple layers. The film is loaded with symbolic images, and the authentic dialogue adds depth to each characterization.  

It is available on a deluxe Criterion Collection Blu-ray or DVD loaded with bonus features, and an insightful audio commentary that discusses the themes and controversies. "Straw Dogs" is Sam Peckinpah's only movie thus far given that royal honor from Criterion. It is an important, significant film worth seeing and debating.

Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974)

With one of the best titles in cinema history, "Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia" is Sam Peckinpah's last great masterpiece. It is an examination of a wasted life, featuring the themes of grief, rage and revenge. This brutal vision of self-destruction eerily foreshadowed the director's own personal and creative demise. He went on to direct only four more feature films, and none were as daring or personal as this one.

The film stars Warren Oates, in an excellent, yet all-too-rare leading-man role. He plays Benny, a man whose quest for fortune leads him on a downward spiral to his own destruction. In many ways the protagonist is a surrogate for Peckinpah himself. Similar to Pike Bishop in "The Wild Bunch" - he even looks like the director. Once again the biblical quote casts a shadow over this story: "For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?"

The setting is a rare present-day world for a Peckinpah film, yet the ageless past looms in every corner. It's essentially a Western, played out in the disillusioned Watergate era of 1970s Mexico.  Benny is an expatriate that finally found love but wants more. When he hears of a chance to score big, he sets off on a journey where he must confront shady businessmen, honorable families, and corrupt Latin American politicians. He needs proof of "Al's" death so he must steal the head of the late Alfredo Garcia. 

When tragedy strikes, Benny's mission becomes more than money -- he wants revenge. This is not the typical action-hero revenge flick of the 1980s, where Sylvester Stallone or Arnold Schwarzenegger embark on an honorable, glorious revenge mission. It is Peckinpah's world, where revenge comes with a price; vengeance is dangerous and obsessive. The mission doesn't end with revenge; vengeance requires redemption. 

This is dark, philosophical material - ideas seldom conveyed in a Hollywood picture.  It's a tough film; at times not easy to watch. Not because of the violence or gore, but because we see Benny sliding down into a phantasmagoric nightmare. His rush to redemption becomes a hallucinatory journey into a wasted life. It's not pretty, but Warren Oates's characterization is incredibly compelling. His Bogart-esque vulnerability is a brilliant piece of screen acting. If you've ever admired his fantastic supporting turns, and longed for a meatier role, this is the film to watch.

As usual, several of the climactic scenes are expertly staged, shot and edited. Peckinpah's painterly compositions explode with kinetic editing that keeps the action shocking.  As Benny's crisp white suit gets blacker and filthier, the movie slides from romance to tragedy. Will Benny finally do what's right and get away clean? Can anyone? It's fascinating to see these ideas from post-1960s idealism and 1970s distrust presented in a major Hollywood release. This film is not escapism. It's a provocative challenge for the adventurous viewer.

It's easy to see the parallels in Peckinpah's own life. His uncompromising battles with producers and executives cost him professionally; his battles with alcohol cost him personally. "Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia" is a film about self-destruction. Where the road to good intentions leads straight through hell.