What "Barry" and "John Wick" tell us about American violence
Editor's note: This article contains key spoilers for "John Wick: Chapter 4" and the final season of HBO's "Barry."
After the release of “John Wick: Chapter 4,” Politico ran an editorial by Emily St. James wondering whether the Keanu Reeves film was “desensitizing” our country to gun violence. I was a bit skeptical.
My initial thoughts revolved around the role movies play in America’s debate on guns and how the glorification of guns is something we’ve had in American culture since, well, its very beginning. At least since the advent of film culture. Go back to the iconic 1903 silent film “The Great Train Robbery” that ends with a main character unloading a revolver point-blank into the camera.
Alas, the Politico piece coincided with the Nashville school shooting and I put a response aside because my mere thoughts seemed inconsequential to that real-world horror.
But I came back around to the idea as I watched the recent series finale of “Barry." The HBO series, also about a hitman, made me think not just about the all-too-common gunplay in American entertainment but about the characters holding those guns.
How the hitman, the gunslinger, the outlaw is lionized serves as an interesting exploration of modern art’s interpretation of violence while, in turn, trying to understanding the audience’s acceptance of it.
More: These summer flicks can tell us something about the future of movies
It's important to go back to the beginning of the “John Wick” series in 2014. Reeves played a retired hitman whose tranquil life is snuffed out by the (natural) death of his wife. Some of his old cohort show up one night and — as a message to Wick that no one can really leave their world — kill his dog. Keanu doesn’t take this lying down.
The original film played as a cheeky, well-choreographed story of revenge and redemption for the titular character and a great vehicle for Reeves’ posture as a Zen action star.
Over three more films, the series suffered from diminishing returns. Less about Wick’s reluctance to reign chaos on those who wish to offer him no peace, they became about “cool” world-building.
Yes, the gunplay is immaculately staged, some set pieces downright amusing in their construction. But there’s a weariness to the whole thing. I don’t agree with St. James that it’s a “desensitization.” But the rhythm of each gun fight becomes a superhuman elevation of these characters.
Thousands of bullets fly through a scene. Sometimes so close even a terrible shot couldn’t miss. These relentless forces of violence hound our poor hero until serendipity rules and the morally superior Wick can walk way to fight another day.
That is, until the very end of “Chapter 4” when Wick meets his match. His death is portrayed as a victory: the close of a punishing journey, freeing him to rest with his wife in eternity. An ending befitting a hero. A reward for a life well-lived. A life committed to killing every person in his path.
Even still, there’s talk of another entry with one film critic on Twitter speculating the story would focus on Wick shooting his way through hell to get to his wife in heaven. I respectfully disagree, as the creative forces see Wick as nothing less than an ammo-spewing saint.
Leading us back to “Barry,” Bill Hader’s very dark and precise comedy. For my money, it’s the most cinematically thrilling TV show of the past five years. Hader proves not only ideal as a leading man, but also as a director who skewers the very bloodlust most forms of entertainment luxuriate.
You might know Hader from his time on “Saturday Night Live.” A period of time for the comedian beset with panic attacks and psychological duress. He is open about detesting live performances despite his clear ease and grace. Which is how “Barry” starts. The titular character is a skilled hitman who hates his job, hates what the military turned him into and what his handler Fuches (Stephen Root) has cultivated.
Barry follows a mark into an acting class led by the pompous has-been Gene Cousineau (Henry Winkler) and finds it a natural fit. His desire to be someone he’s not is alluring. But despite his efforts to turn away from crime, Barry cannot help but kill anyone who gets in his way. Or exacerbate a turf dispute between foreign interests for maximum profit.
Every time Barry commits a consequential act of violence, he promises himself this will be the last time “starting … now.”
More: Six satisfying reads for a cool literary summer
But redemption never waits for your last bad act. Barry simply cannot escape this irredeemable nature. Over the course of four seasons, the show makes its main character worse, signaling to the audience there should be no expectation for improvement. Whether he’s trying to be an actor or a good boyfriend, it’s a front to someone who is a monster.
Which is why the series ending is so perfectly ironic. Barry finally meets the consequences of his actions, but the reality of his story becomes distorted when it goes public. A movie about his life depicts Barry as a heroic veteran fighting corruption. When the credits roll, we learn this cold-blooded murderer was buried with military honors at Arlington National Cemetery.
Because that is the fate American pop culture prefers. As a country created by puritans who took our freedom through the barrel of a muzzle rifle, our art sees The Man With a Gun as a moral arbiter, using that strength and force for benevolent purposes. This is the theme of most mainstream Western films, using guns to enact our Manifest Destiny.
Even a revisionist film like Clint Eastwood's “Unforgiven” still sees our anti-hero cleanse the frontier using a rifle and quick trigger finger. Even films about robbers and mobsters show sympathetic streaks. Remember, Bonnie and Clyde only wanted the bank’s insured money. Never your money.
The hitman is just another iteration. Sure, there’s lots of movies where such a character is less complicated, more cold-blooded. But they are also dispatching with worse people. Or they are simply doing their job. Just working stiffs like you or me. Almost all American versions of these characters show a reckoning of justice and centering of equality.
Something that reflects the audience rather than vice versa. The proliferation of guns. The idea that the only thing to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun. The Second Amendment — pretty high up on that Bill of Rights — was determined to give individuals a right to bear arms, according to five Supreme Court justices, and will continue to do so even if gun control measures pass.
Perhaps the most darkly funny moment in the last season of “Barry,” which includes a substantive time leap, is when he goes to a retail store to buy automatic weapons; the store has a policy showing pictures of bullet wounds before they will sell you a gun. That’s the future of “gun control.”
Probably not too far off. This is the society we have perpetuated and will continue to endorse. I mean, a lot of gun-hating liberals dig John Wick. Such a mentality is deeply ingrained. While “John Wick” is solemn in how this plays out, “Barry” delivers a satire of violence that cuts to the bone.
More: With its CoMo Famous series, Ragtag Film Society harnesses power of local celebrity
Do either of these depictions desensitize violence? That’s hard to say because Americans seem born desensitized. The question is how do we unlearn this bad habit?
Untangling violence from our sense of morality is a good start. Using art to minimize violence rather than celebrating it might also open our eyes a bit. I'll take Barry Berkman over John Wick simply because the former is truer to our human nature.
But before we start blaming movies and TV shows for violent acts, we should look at that human nature a bit closer.
James Owen is the Tribune’s film columnist. In real life, he is a lawyer and executive director of energy policy group Renew Missouri. A graduate of Drury University and the University of Kansas, he created Filmsnobs.com, where he co-hosts a podcast. He enjoyed an extended stint as an on-air film critic for KY3, the NBC affiliate in Springfield, and now regularly guests on Columbia radio station KFRU.
This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: What "Barry" and "John Wick" tell us about American violence
