Layerings by Mehnaz Choudhury
What Salvador highlights is the importance of memory to our historical identity. What is most problematic about the film is its ameri-centric vision of the civil unrest—not only is the movie told from the viewpoint of a rogue news reporter, the narrative seems haunted by what Walter Lafeber calls the “specter of Vietnam.” One of the problems in making the story of Salvador an indictment of American involvement is that the memory of the civil war becomes more an American memory, and when Oliver Stone directs a movie about the revolution in El Salvador, the film becomes colored by his memories of Vietnam, creating an even more ameri-centric view of events. In a particular scene in the film, Richard Boyle and John Cassidy, another photojournalist are attempting to photograph an attack on a peasant village and a fighter plane guns down Cassidy. In a scene that is reminiscent of several Vietnam movies and foretelling several of the moments in Stone’s Platoon, Boyle mourns while holding the bleeding body of his friend. Cassidy hands him the film from his camera reminding the audience that hope can exist, mainly in the hands of artists—men like Stone. In many ways, the American involvement in El Salvador was a repeat of the bloody events in Vietnam—however, Stone’s movie seems to hold a mirror up to the director’s and the American nation’s memories of Vietnam in order to articulate the atrocities in El Salvador. If we are to criticize American news-viewers for not caring about certain issues of foreign policy, should we not also criticize the fact that we only understand and discuss moments in other nation’s histories when they are relevant to our own history or our own people?
6/26/03
As Nathan writes in his review, while Stone does more with the role of the U.S. in the Central American situation, he uses this as a ploy to also play up our sympathies in an ameri-centric way. The film does show brutal rape-murders, but only those of four white American nuns (1:16:55). The character of Cathy Moore, a catholic lay worker references one of four nuns who were dragged out of their car, raped, shot at close range and then buried in a large grave. The scene is horrific, and we see Cathy cross herself while a gunman aims his weapon at her head. The scene dissolves to their deteriorating bodies being pulled out of the mass grave as villagers and news reporters look on. The attack is horrific; however it is interesting that Stone chooses to depict the deaths of these particular innocents in graphic clarity. We see a nun’s crisp white shirt ripped exposing her breasts, and her skin and shirt are in sharp contrast to the darkness of the woods and the brown skin of her attackers. The camera pans over the faces of the attackers and lingers over a particular man, whose dark hair is tied back in a ponytail, and whose features are similar to the faces of the native population of El Salvador. We see him literally foaming at the mouth, dribbling spit onto the body of the woman he is raping, while her face remains offscreen, screaming and crying. Cathy does not cry out; she is held by down by one man, while another rapes her, but her face remains stoic as they beat her and remove her glasses. This scene reminds us of cultural fear of white women being violated by brown men, and the film in its americentric vision reminds us that El Salvador is a place where nuns, even American nuns are at the mercy of savage brutality. It should be obvious that the rapists' actions are also oppressive, however the film does not attempt to connect their actions to the brutality of their situation but instead connects it to the inherent savageness of El Salvador. Even when Boyle and Cassady are at a mass burial ground, they are surrounded by bodies that are not decomposing or particularly disgusting to look at, but even the few glimpses we see of the nun’s bodies show us decomposition and some mutilation. The hesitancy on Stone’s part to show these bodies in full view, after we are shown an entire mass burial ground, should remind the viewer the price of creating a movie that attempts to indict American involvement in El Salvador, from an American perspective. We are never shown the mutilated bodies of the countless Salvadoran women who were brutally raped, mutilated, and murdered -- instead, we see the typical over-sexualization of Latin women through the various hooker figures and Richard’s young love interest, Maria. We move from Stone expunging American guilt over Vietnam by creating a Vietnam-like narrative in Salvador, but also garnering sympathy for the Salvadorians by highlighting their victimhood and their otherness.
6/26/03
Nathan raises many important issues here. His approach to reading the movie stems from the belief that film has a responsibility to fill in the gaps in our knowledge about history. However, it is surprising that he considers one of the weaknesses of the film to be its focus on Romero’s life instead of focusing on U.S. involvement in the region. Although I understand Nathan’s complaint, I would assert that this would be an americentric view of history, since by focusing on American involvement more than the figure of Romero, the film would only attempt to acknowledge American history, versus a history that acknowledges El Salvador’s national identity as well. Even though showing American involvement would be a critique of American foreign policy, it would also assert that until the Americans entered El Salvador “there weren’t larger and more important issues” already in the nation.
6/26/03
I would argue that this is subjective, as I did find the movie entertaining. Romero’s closest counterpart, Salvador by director Oliver Stone, also did poorly at the box office until it received Oscar nominations and awards. One could argue that Romero doesn’t reach American viewers not because it isn’t entertaining, but because Americans aren’t really interested in issues of foreign policy that they do not have a personal/national stake in, or aren’t invested in positive portrayals of leaders of other countries. Unlike the positive portrayal of Salvadorian culture and people in Romero, Stone’s Salvador caters to traditional views of the (Latin) other as drunkards, overly sexualized, uncivilized, dirty and chaotic.
6/26/03
Again, this points to the problem of americentrism. On the Reel American History homepage, the manifesto reminds us “If we are to guard ourselves against the guardians of memory, we must challenge reel American history,” and, even more importantly, “it matters who tells our stories, what they tell, and why.” Nathan’s argument suggests it doesn’t really matter if the story we are told or the memories we guard attempt to point out several sides of historical issues -- instead, Americans need stories and memories that are somehow directly connected to them and their people, even if those memories relate to the fact that we were responsible for several atrocities in other nations. It matters that the story told is about a Salvadorian priest because if it is the responsibility of Reel History to challenge history, we must challenge our americentrism and care about issues that do not directly concern us.
6/26/03
I do not agree with Nathan’s argument that the film “dwell[s] on Christianity to the exclusion of any other influence.” The central dilemma that Romero seems to face is the separation he sees between the church and politics. When accepting his position as archbishop, Romero tells his audience that the church must remain in the “center,” suggesting that by doing so the church does not take sides with right wing or left wing forces. However, over the course of the film Romero realizes there is no “center" -- his original politics place him in many ways on the side of the wealthy bourgeoisie that he is speaking to, and he realizes that any decision the church makes is a “political” one that is inseparable from religious doctrine.
However, Nathan’s point that the filmmakers paint the church as the hero is extremely interesting—the church and Romero are depicted in glowing terms, however, as El Salvadorian history reveals the introduction of Catholic dogma to the native population of the country was not always smooth and mirrored the violence with which the wealthy population in the 70’s would arrange death squads to kill numerous peasants. This paradox is not confronted in the film since it would make the church look bad, but there are hints of similar unrest. Arista Zelada, a wealthy wife of a slain government official requests a private baptism for her child away, so she will not have to share a public ceremony with “Indians” (1:08:10). Romero could have explored the roots of the Civil War if it had explored this racial dimension of the unrest.
6/26/03