Quentin Tarantino and Philosophy (9 page)

If the Dogs are completely immoral psychopaths then they are
always
working an angle, using moral language as a way to manipulate others to achieve their own goals and to fool others about their true nature. But this isn’t the least bit plausible. The Dogs pass judgment on one another’s character, they explain actions that need explaining, and justify actions when we expect someone to justify an action. Importantly, much of the moral discussion occurs
within
the gang, and in circumstances where nothing is at stake.

In a sense, the description of the Dogs as amoral manipulative sociopaths gives them too much credit. It makes them into ideal, purely autonomous, purely rational creatures who just happen to disregard conventional morality. Human psychology is more complex than that and all human beings work hard to make their ideals, beliefs, actions, and moral identity cohere. Even Mr. Blonde endures imprisonment rather than becoming a rat. It is only on a thin, false view of human psychology that a person could subtract their perceived moral evaluations of a situation and calculate solely according to the tangible effects to self interest. Most of us do not, and perhaps could not, think this way, even if we tried. I would not know how to begin if someone were to ask me to consider the possibility of selling my mother for a million dollars, reflecting on only the practical aspects of the question.

I think the points discussed in this paper count against both the idea that the universe is amoral and to a lesser extent that there are universal moral rules. I’m not sure there is any way to completely rule out this second possibility, but I think the discussion
here provides some reason to be skeptical. First, the Dogs seem to understand a lot about morality—responsibility, fairness, and desert, and so on. They appeal to these concepts and use them correctly. So it’s unclear where their mistake is, except that we disapprove of their behavior and they violate widely shared norms. Second, the traditional view has nothing to say about the phenomena I have discussed in this paper. It can incorporate the psychological facts about human beings once they are discovered—as the truths of human psychology are learned, the theory will find a way to accommodate them. But it flattens the moral and psychological world of the Reservoir Dogs. It has nothing interesting to say about the points I have mentioned above and is hardly a fertile ground for predictions about human behavior. It also has a practical problem. The Dogs are not all that different from us, and a false confidence that we are moral may allow us to become more like them.

Readers of this essay may be inclined to conclude that my argument is directed towards excusing the behavior of the Dogs. That is to miss the point entirely. Reflection on the behavior and attitudes of the Dogs helps us better understand the nature of morality. It may simplify our lives to boil everything down to rules and rule-breakers, good ordinary people and the morally deficient minority. Unfortunately, this misleads us into thinking that morality itself is a simple thing, consisting of only rules that any ordinary person can understand and act upon. The point, rather, is that our preoccupation with
individual
wrongdoing, rather than the psychological and social conditions that foster such behavior, may contribute to making the world a worse place.

We’re now in a better position to understand why, if this view is correct, the gang should not be considered amoral. If Hume is correct, they have much of what it takes to be moral. They have sympathies for others, they have conventions regarding appropriate behavior, and they use moral language and reasoning. Perhaps most difficult for this view is explaining the authority of morality. If morality is nothing more than feelings and agreements, why bother? I think Hume’s response is appropriate here. We cannot help but take our moral judgments seriously. You, the reader, believe it is important to be treated fairly and to be thought of as someone who treats others fairly. Your
conscience tugs at you. You use moral language, and other people understand what you are saying. You want others to think highly of you. You want to be thought a professional, not a rotten bastard.
³⁰

DAVID KYLE JOHNSON

You read the bible, Brett? Well, there’s this passage I got memo rized, sort of fits the occasion. Ezekiel 25:17: “The path of the right eous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furi ous anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord, when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”

—Jules Winnfield,
Pulp Fiction

 

As it appears in
Pulp Fiction
, “Ezekiel 25:17” is not an actual biblical quote; no English translation of any portion of Ezekiel (or any other book for that matter) is worded quite like the “cold blooded shit” Jules says to “a motherfucker” before he “pops a cap in his ass.” But the lesson that Jules eventually derives from the “verse” is quite biblical: one ought to show mercy. In fact, Tarantino’s films abound with acts of mercy—acts of mercy that we are meant to admire.

It seems, according to Tarantino’s films, that
mercy
should be common practice. And yet
justified revenge
—the seeming opposite of mercy—is a common theme, as well as a common motivating factor, for characters in Tarantino’s films—and it seems that applause is intended for them. For example, the Bride’s “Roaring Rampage of Revenge” in the
Kill Bill
saga is not portrayed as morally heinous, but as justified; in the end, “The
lioness has been reunited with her cub, and all is right in the jungle.” It seems that, according to Tarantino’s films, if we were ever wronged as they were,
we would be morally justified in taking revenge on our enemies like they did
.

Now whether or not Tarantino uses his movies to communicate the specifics of his own moral views is unclear. (Art, sometimes, is just art and not intended to communicate anything.) But what is clear is that watching Tarantino’s movies (and taking them at face value) leaves one with the impression that, although mercy should be common practice, revenge is justified. For simplicity’s sake we will call this “Tarantino’s view.” (Although—and I must be clear on this point—this is only a name; I am not ascribing any particular view to Tarantino himself.)

Tarantino’s view is quite common—his movies wouldn’t be enjoyable for so many if it wasn’t—but one is forced to wonder whether sense can be made of it. Are not these two claims—that
mercy ought to be shown
and that
revenge is morally justified
—inconsistent? How can one be morally justified in enacting revenge if one should be merciful? In this chapter, I’ll show that, contrary to appearances,
Tarantino’s view
is consistent.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

—Old Klingon Proverb

 

We must define both mercy and revenge if we are to maintain clarity in our discussion. Although we will say more about specific definitions of mercy later, a broad definition of mercy will do for now. We will say that
mercy is considerate treatment of others, especially those under one’s power
. Revenge, however, is not as easily defined and, to do so, we must distinguish it from something with which it is often confused: retribution.

What is retribution? Take some person who wrongs another; call that person the
offender
. An action that is carried out on the offender accomplishes retribution when the action is negative (one can’t accomplish retribution with a foot massage), the action is intended as punishment for the offense, is proportionate to the offense, and the offender is aware that it is intended as punishment. So, in short, we might say that retribution is accomplished when “a penalty is inflicted for a reason (a wrong
or injury) with the desire that the [offender] know why this is occurring and know that he was intended to know.”
³¹

Revenge has these qualities as well, and in fact is a type of retribution; but revenge has additional qualities that set it apart. Retributive punishment can be administered by anyone; revenge, on the other hand, is personal and, thus, only those who are wronged by the offender can get revenge on the offender. Revenge is fueled by emotion and desire to
see
the offender suffer—not simply a desire to ensure that the appropriate price is paid. Revenge sets no limit on what harm can be inflicted and, in fact, the amount of punishment that is doled out is dependent solely on what the person who seeks revenge deems appropriate.

Examples from Tarantino can help us clarify the notions of retribution and revenge. Consider the alternate ending to
Natural Born Killers
,
³²
where—after leading the serial killers Mickey and Mallory out of prison—Owen Taft (their “guardian angel”) kills both of them with a shot gun at point blank range. Many would suggest that Mickey and Mallory deserved to die for their crimes, but even if that is so, Owen killing them accomplishes neither revenge (he was never personally wronged by them) nor retribution (he was not intending to punish them for their crimes, nor did they view his action as such).

For an example of retribution, we can look to the movie
True Romance
where Clarence kills Drexl, his new wife Alabama’s pimp. He specifically acknowledges that he is haunted by the fact that someone as morally repugnant as Drexl is “breathin’ the same air as [him] . . . getting’ away with it every day” and admits that Drexl doesn’t “deserve to live” and thus wants to kill him . . . and does so. Clarence wants to punish Drexl for his immoral behavior—and even wants to ensure that he knows that is why he is being punished (that is why Clarence
makes Drexl open his eyes and look at him before he kills him). Since Clarence has never been personally wronged by Drexl, we can’t call this an act of revenge. But we can call it an act of retribution.

But, for a perfect example of an act of revenge, we can look to O-Ren Ishii, in
Kill Bill
. As she pushes a samurai sword into the chest of her father’s murderer, Boss Matsumoto, she says to him “Look at me, Matsumoto . . . take a good look at my face. Look at my eyes. Look at my mouth. Do I look familiar? Do I look like somebody you murdered?” Clearly, in this case, a victim of the offender—fueled by emotion—is punishing the offender, for his offense—with the punishment that she deems necessary—and is ensuring that he knows he is being punished for that offense. This, we might say, is a
textbook case
of revenge.

So revenge, unlike retribution, is personal, emotional, includes a desire to see the offender suffer, and sets no limit on punishment. Retribution is simply the accomplishment of appropriate punishment of a wrongdoer by anyone. It is revenge, not retribution, that is the main focus of this article and of many of Tarantino’s films. And it is the “Tarantinian” suggestion that revenge is justified that shall be evaluated.

Examples of revenge abound in Tarantino’s films. In
Pulp Fiction
, Marsellus exercises revenge on Zed—for anally raping him—by blowing off his genitals with a shot gun and then promising to get “medieval on his ass” with a pair of pliers and a blow torch before he finally kills him. At the end of
Reservoir Dogs
we have the perfect “revenge” circle. Joe Cabot wants revenge on Mr. Orange because he set them up and shot Mr. Blonde to whom Joe owed a debt of gratitude. Mr. White—on the assumption that Orange is not a cop (but a good kid and his friend)—threatens immediate revenge on Joe if Joe shoots Orange. Nice Guy Eddie threatens revenge on White if White shoots Joe (his dad), and—after Joe does shoot Orange, White shoots Joe, and Eddie shoots White—White shoots Eddie for shooting him. And when Orange—as an act of loyalty—reveals to White that he is a cop, White—quite distraught—shoots Orange in the head as a final act of revenge before the credits roll. These films are silent about the justification
of these particular acts of revenge, but some other films don’t follow suit.

It is hard to watch
Death Proof
without concluding that the girl’s act of revenge on Stunt Man Mike is meant to be applauded—I know I did the first time I saw it! (Embarrassingly, I saw it for the first time in a theater.) However, for a clear portrayal of revenge as morally justified, one need look no further than
Kill Bill
. The “roaring rampage” of the Bride (Beatrix Kiddo) in
Kill Bill
is motivated solely by desire for revenge. Bill and the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (or “D.iV.A.S.”—the acronym Tarantino coined for the group consisting of O-Ren Ishii, Verntia Green, Elle Driver, and Budd in the original script) attempted to kill her and her unborn child—at her wedding rehearsal no less—for simply wanting to quit her life as a hit man, “jetting around the world, killing human beings, and being paid vast sums of money” (
Kill Bill Volume 2
). After she awakes from her coma—inflicted upon her by Bill shooting her in the head—she finds her unborn child gone, presumes the child to be dead, and then sets out to individually kill each D.iV.A.S. member, Bill himself, and anyone who gets in her way. She is fueled by emotion to punish those who wronged her and the appropriate punishment is set by her standards: that is, she seeks revenge!

My friend Jason Southworth pointed out to me that the entire
Kill Bill
saga can be interpreted as a symbolic story of Bruce Lee getting revenge for the Americanization of Asian culture
.
Beatrix’s outfit in
Volume 1
is Lee’s from
Game of Death
; the Crazy 88s resemble Lee’s portrayal of Kato, The Green Hornet’s sidekick [a role that he found demeaned him and the martial arts]; the music played before that scene is the Green Hornet’s theme; and David Carradine, who plays Bill, got the lead role in
Kung Fu
over Lee. Of course, it could also be that Tarantino just likes throwing in Bruce Lee references—but I love viewing the movies this way.