The late 1960s was a time of great social and political upheaval in many parts of the world. Both Britain and the US experienced violent student demonstrations against the war in Vietnam and dissatisfaction with the ruling elites in general. This culminated in the ‘Kent State Massacre’ of 1970 when the National Guard opened fire and four students were killed as they protested the US invasion of Cambodia. The resentment of black Americans with the ingrained racism of US society would find expression in the riots of 1968, the year which also saw the assassination of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. The progress promised by the new wealth and technologies after World War 2 and the hippy ideal of peace and love seemed to be over. The times were changing, but few believed solely for the better any more.
As is often the case, the worst of times produced some of the finest art, in response to the anguish and confusion of the decade. Many people regard the mid ‘60s to the early ‘70s as the second ‘golden age’ of Hollywood. In Europe as well, a new wave of young film makers and popular artists broke the existing moulds as they struggled for means of expression to deal with the new uncertainties. Film and popular music particularly went through a fertile and revolutionary period.
One of the themes that dominated was the perceived corruption and failure of an old order that continued to wage wars against people in distant parts of the world, while subjugating their own citizens, particularly those of a different race from the elites, at home. Much of the anger and energy of the protest movements at the time focussed on the war in Vietnam, which the American government had waged in order to combat communism and which resulted in horrific civilian casualties. Also, it was noted, the war was being fought by the poorest and most underprivileged section of American society, that being black Americans.
Few film studios would risk tackling the subject head on, for fear of falling foul of the government and realising the difficulty of finding financial backers for such an incendiary theme. The new breed of maverick film makers that was emerging tackled the subject obliquely, commenting on it by making films about the the Second World War, or even more codedly, in other genres such as the Western Ulzana’s Raid. It would not be until the war was fading from memory and the old guard had reasserted itself, to a large extent, could the history be told in a form that was more palatable than the reality, in such films as The Deer Hunter. (Francis Ford Copolla would deliver a welcome blast of subversion with the nightmarish ‘Apocalypse Now’ in 1979). For the time being, however, film makers had to be content with critiquing their governments in a more coded way by making films in other genres, or referring back to another troubled period in American history, the 1930s.
‘Esquire’ journalist Robert Benton had long been interested in the legend of Clyde Chestnut Barrow and Bonnie Elizabeth Parker, two folk heroes from his home state of Texas. They had achieved fame in the Great Depression by robbing banks and petrol stations in a devil may care fashion that seemed to strike back against the economic system that had failed so many people in the American Midwest. Through carefully posed photos and other manipulations of the print media the couple also became the first celebrity outlaws. Their violent deaths, while still both in the twenties, at the hands of the law, cemented their place in popular mythology as ‘beautiful losers’.
Benton, the emerging star and producer Warren Beatty and director Arthur Penn all realised the potential resonance of the myth for the youth of the '60s, who were similarly disenchanted with their leaders and the economic system of the developed world. The film, released in 1967, was part of a new vanguard that depicted screen violence in a highly stylised and bloody fashion (see also the The Wild Bunch).
The old US censorship system (commonly known as The Hays Code) had been very strict on the portrayal of screen violence and the morality of films dealing with criminals. In brief, all films dramatising outlaws, real or imagined were to show, in no uncertain terms, that crime did not pay. Apart from the (then) shocking nature of its violence, the most subversive and alarming thing about Penn’s film was that it showed a life of crime as liberating, sexy and fun. The press on both sides of the Atlantic, as well as many critics, regarded the film as dishonest, ‘sleazy’ and potentially harmful in its effects on modern youth.
The film was popular with audiences, especially the young and, largely on the strength of word of mouth, became a box office success. Gusts of disapproval only fanned the flames and the film became a cultural event, polarising opinion and becoming a touchstone of where one stood in the latest generational conflict. Pop songs were written in the pair’s honour, children were reportedly named after them and petrol stations gave out free bullet-hole stickers for motorists to adorn their cars with. Men’s and women’s fashions both were influenced, albeit briefly, by 30s clothes and hairstyles.
To the older generations, who were concerned that society was descending into an anarchic and immoral state, such films could only exacerbate the situation. Writing in the Daily Mail Anne Scott James wrote “I’m depressed that the young are identifying so closely with a story, for the message is morbid punk” (sic). “To the young” she went on “it’s not only a film, it’s a manifesto. The trouble is that they don’t know rubbish when they see it.”
After taking a swipe at The Beatles (who had disappointed the older members of their audience by growing beards, embracing drugs, Eastern mysticism and becoming political) Scott James went on to conclude that the film was another example of popular culture peddling the message that self indulgence and pleasure was the ultimate goal in life and that criminals were made by society, rather than by choice. (It is a debate that it still with us, in one form or another).
Jack Bentley, writing in the Daily Mirror, made the same point and put it to the film’s star. “That” said Mr. Beatty “is a lot of XXXX. Why don’t grown ups realise that kids aren’t stupid. Otherwise they’d go round bashing each other up after seeing Mickey Mouse or Tom and Jerry doing the same thing. Now there’s violence for you.” Beatty also went on to state, with some pride, that the Soviet newspaper Pravda had written the film “strove to awaken the beast in man”.
By today’s standards the film’s violence looks unremarkable at the ‘15’ level (it was previously an ‘X’ and an ‘18’) including the bravura, final shoot out which, it was reported at the time, caused numerous audience members to faint. Its once subversive ideas are now all tropes of the gangster genre. It is a beautifully shot and artful film, however, interesting in its own right, as well as signpost in the ongoing debate on the effects of screen violence and moral panic.
