V for Vendetta
(2006)
review by Died With Boots On

"Remember, remember the fifth of November, / The gunpowder treason and plot. / I see no reason why gunpowder treason / Should ever be forgot." Adapted from Alan Moore's graphic novel – R-rated comic book – of the same name, "V for Vendetta" is a mesmerizing impetus of vignettes as only Andy and Larry Wachowski could bring us. Everything from the Guy Fawkes mask to Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture is symptomatic and thematically resonant, exploiting masterful imagery that might ordinarily leave the audience yawning, but because executed with an assertive freshness, is like watching an imaginative artist create before his palette.

In the wake of a third world war, the country formerly known as the United States has divided against itself, fascism has cataclysmically eradicated socialism and democracy throughout Europe, and the rest of the world is fighting post-apocalyptic climates steeped in pandemics, pathogens, nuclear winters, and civil wars. England has become the breeding ground for an oppressive totalitarian atmosphere spearheaded by the tyrannical Adam Sutler (Hurt, who ironically played "1984's" rebellious Winston Smith), a name in itself reminiscent of "Adolf Hitler." The film opens with a diachronic chapter out of a history book as Guy Fawkes (anti-) heroically freights several barrels of gunpowder through an underground network of tunnels with Parliament as their destination. As the faint barking of a dog echoes throughout the tunnel, Guy's barrow comes to a screeching halt. Entourages of soldiers swarm the narrow channel and brutally apprehend Guy, a ravenous hound gnawing on his throat. In the next sequence, we witness the public execution of Mr. Guy Fawkes, a man with whom the narrator sympathizes.

The mild-mannered Evey Hammond (Portman) rounds an unlit street corner as the bullhorn of a public-address system wails in her ear, announcing the dawn of the curfew. With that, a small mercenary army – equivalent to that of the Yudenrat – begins roaming the streets. Evey ducks into the shadows of an alley where two ruffians begin harassing our protagonist with sexual catcalls. Evey clasps a cartridge of pepper spray between her fingers, and draws it on the two. The sadists meet her self-defense with hysteria as they reveal their stonemason-like party badges that designate their rank as Adam Sutler's "finger-men." Bracing herself for the incurring wrath of the two as they wield their nightsticks, our masquerading marauder soars down from one of the adjacent fire-escapes and in a trademark choreographed Wachowski Brother "one versus many" fight, "V" (Weaving) is the only man left standing. Then, justifying his cause to Evey, he speaks in a "Peter-Piper" styled tongue twister that capitalizes on its alliterative use of the letter "v." Grabbing Evey's arm and asking if she likes music, V takes her to a rooftop that looks out on the city of London. He asks her what day it is, to which she responds, "November the Fourth." Big Ben chimes, and V counters, "Not anymore!" With that, he begins conducting an invisible orchestra that slowly becomes audible. Within seconds, Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture blares from every street corner through the government's public-address system. With the crescendo of the piece comes the explosion of "The Old Bailey," a symbolic victory for our freedom fighter.

Several government espionage cameras stationed at just about every right angle in the city of London caught Evey's face on film. Later that day, as five of the most pronounced party leaders sit before a rear-projection monitor the likes of the LG media screen in Times Square, Adam Sutler's hair falls over his eyes as he screams bloody murder about the calamity of the twilight hours that morning. Resolving to apprehend Evey and torture her into revealing the identity of V, the meeting adjourned. Meanwhile, V has hijacked the government emergency station and is broadcasting a message to the people of England. Exactly one year from this day, on the anniversary of November the Fifth, V is requesting that the commonwealth – the proletariat – be eviscerated by standing hand-in-hand before the Parliament, explaining that it is not he who is the terrorist, but the government. "The people should not be afraid of their government, the government should be afraid of their people." While fleeing the Television Broadcasting installation, he is cornered by a member of the Scotland Yard. Evie, coincidentally – or not, because as we learn from this film, there is no such thing as a coincidence – holding a lowly position at the state-run conglomerate building, happens to be hiding just below the metropolitan policeman under a cattycorner counter. In a subconscious effort to rescue V, she blinds the policeman with her pepper spray. He begins flailing around threateningly with the snout of his gun in hand, and pistol-whips Evey, who falls unconscious to the floor. In a split second decision, V throws her limp body over his shoulder and takes her to his hideout, the Shadow Gallery, a place full of contraband materials – paintings, works of literature, music, film reels – where she wakes up. Because she can now identify the whereabouts of V, she isn't permitted to leave, but instead becomes V's unlikely ally in his vigilante struggle in chiseling away at the architecture of the bourgeoisie.

This film can be analyzed in one of two ways. The first of which, diachronic process analysis, involves looking at the movie's social satire, political caricatures, and allusion. The film, despite the sputtering of swashbuckling critics and pundits, does not glorify terrorism. V is dubbed a terrorist by a terrorist government. The audience feels no guilt in cheering for him as he dismantles the Fourth Reich. As the old adage goes, one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter. Any resemblance to our own security-obsessed, homophobic, nationalistic American society is far from coincidental, although Alan Moore's 1981 novel was geared toward the criticism of then-Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher's conservative government. That's not even mentioning the historic inspiration of Guy Fawkes, a man who pit himself against the repressive King James I and the House of Lords. Proving omni-relevant not only over the course of many generations, but also to many different governments and regimes, James McTeigue's "V for Vendetta" is a densely packed amalgam of literary references, from, inevitably, George Orwell's "1984" to Alexandre Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo." The film is also chock-full of culture as Deitrich (Fry), an atheist, makes a point of addressing the beautiful imagery and poetic meter of the Quran.

Another allusion to Nazi, Germany, apart from the mannerisms and name of the fascist chancellor, was the Larkhill Resettlement Camp that V escaped, reminiscent of the T4 Operations under the infamous war criminal, Dr. Mengele, the Angel of Death.

Something that will hit home with an American audience especially is the conservative arrogance of the blowhard "Voice of London" Lewis Prothero (Roger Allam), a Bill O'Reilly or Rush Limbaugh stand-in, spouting off patriotic filth and self-righteous bigotry, blaming foreigners and gypsies and homosexuals for past inadequacies, signing off with "England prevails," while rallying behind the oppressive nature of the government, spinning news, and making sickeningly bravado statements that hide their angst and lack of content with jingoistic, flowery language, making the audience nauseous.

The second manner in which "V for Vendetta" can be dissected is through synchronic process analysis, a method that remains blissfully ignorant of anything that isn't "V for Vendetta." The first thing that must be considered is V's face, and the lack thereof. V isn't given a name, or a face, or an identity. He is a silhouette that was born out of a dystopian inferno, a man covered from head to toe in black, adorning a Guy Fawkes mask. "He is my father, and my mother, and my brother. And he is me, and he is you, and he is everyone suffering from oppression." V isn't so much a person as he is an idea. "People can die, but ideas cannot." This is a cogitative point reflectively communicated by Evey, speaking as the narrator.

McTeigue's Orwellian vision of London will undoubtedly relate better to American audiences, not to mention V's "Phantom of the Opera" appearance and Shakespeare-soliloquy dialogue. Which brings me to another point. Natalie Portman made unquestionable sacrifices for this role, most notable her hair, without which she resembles Sinead O'Connor , and delivered a plush British accent. But the real genius casting comes in the form of Hugo Weaving as V, who is able to create a baroquely three-dimensional character solely with the use of his florid vocal cords. Also excellently cast are John Hurt and Stephen Fry. Hurt embodies the propensity to play such a vibrantly nefarious character, while Fry is overly qualified to provide the welcomed comic relief in the form of social satire, which also provides insight into the "late-night talk show" world .

Audiences who are incapable of distinguishing political allegory from social realism, and who percieve V as a literal ideal will be frustrated by the superficiality of it all. The movie is rich in figurative symbolism, imagery, and political commentary, and should be discussed. It should not be misunderstood. Misconception of the film is fatal, and on some plateau, inevitable. However, "V for Vendetta" is a thoroughly deep, provocative film that prepares a lavish feast of ideas and philosophies, and remains entertaining even if they are overlooked. The Wachowskis and James McTeigue work well together, as Andy and Larry loftily philosophize about political sciences, while McTeigue shines the spotlight squarely on the movie's developing characters and their intertwined destinies. This film is a fresh breath of air juxtaposed with and independent of the recent tide of overworked premises and tired characters, meanwhile boasting seamless continuity. It delivers on so many levels and doesn't fall short of a timeless masterpiece.