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Last night, I attended a screening of Badland with my cousin. We were kind of excited to learn once we got there that the director/writer, the producer (his wife), and several cast members were also in attendance and that there would be a discussion and Q&A after the movie. But once the movie was over and the credits started rolling (and the film really was not edited well enough and is too long), my cousin and I, without consulting each other, immediately got up and left. We found out once we started talking outside that we were both feeling so angry that not only did we not want to stay for the discussion, we couldn't even look at the cast and crew who had been standing near the exit and who we walked right by as we left.
I have figured out that the roots of my anger were planted during the scene in which Jerry slices his daughter Celina's palm with a big knife so that her blood could be used to leave a fake trail. It was unavoidable to connect in my mind the physical pain he inflicted on her body with the emotional pain he inflicted on her spirit by murdering her mother and two brothers in her presence, sparing her, and taking her with him when he fled. I've sliced my palm before (accidentally); even a fairly superficial cut is incredibly painful because the palm is so sensitive, and it is very slow to heal if you don't keep it immobile because you just keep opening it up trying to go about your life. But after a very short time with only a narrow strip of cloth tied clumsily around her palm and one scene with a big band-aid, it was as if she'd never been cut. My anger reached its peak--I won't spoil this moment for you--in Celina's final scene.
I got angry because Celina is by far the most sympathetic character in the film (the actress portraying her is a good one); I wasand you can't tell me a good screenwriter wouldn't know thisimmersed in feeling both her physical and emotional pain; and the screenwriter, by treating Celina's emotional pain so cavalierly and with such disrespect, also treated me, the audience member, cavalierly and with utter disrespect.
Sure, the script has moments of tears for Celina, and some dialogue that tells us she's hurting, somewhere, somehow. But by this time, we the audience are feeling so manipulated that we've shut down. The manipulation starts very early on in this movie, when Jerry's family's dialogue spells out for the audience that Jerry had psychiatric problems. Rule one, screenwriters: give your audience some credit. Let them do a good bit of the creative work on their own. Tell the story; don't explain to us everything we're supposed to think and feel. We don't like it.
My cousin also knew she was having trouble with the movie early on, dialogue-wise, when Jerry and his wife had little to say to each other besides f*** this, f*** that, f*** you. Some couples do indeed find themselves in relationships so bad that the f-bomb ends up being every other word out of their mouths. But it's like watching comedians who curse a lot. Some of them are really funny; the cursing is ancillary. But some of them substitute cursing for humor, and this screenwriter, to carry the metaphor to its conclusion, is no Chris Rock.
This husband and wife team bravely chose to tackle an awfully complex story with awfully complex characters. But they seem not to have realized that the meaning of a story, especially a complex one, will vary for each member of the audience. Successful storytelling requires paying attention to important factual details, not working desperately to interpret the meaning of the story for the whole audience.
I worked with Vietnam veterans for five years, I've heard more stories than most, and I'm always happy to see films released that bring their stories to a broader audience. It's important, on all kinds of different levels, that we hear them. But I am less than thrilled that this storyteller decided before the film even began what Jerry's story meant and proceeded to spell it out for us with a very heavy hand. Next time, pay more attention to the details.


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