After reading the comments for this movie, I had a strong urge to see it. To be honest, it seemed like a bit of a pot boiler, though I was surprised when I found out it was penned by the same writer that gave us Syriana and Traffic.
What I really liked about this film was what lied beneath its surface, even if that seed wasn't brought to fruition for a number of reasons. What I thought the film truly attempted to explore was the membrane between cultures that has become permeable in today's media-saturated environment, or more specifically, the access granted to those with the means to appropriate what has become a stylized version of ghetto culture. It is one of the more fascinating reversals in contemporary culture made possible only by the media explosion : the cultural performance of a sort of "ghetto aesthetic" by white suburban youth, whose participation in that aesthetic is one of choice, rather than of necessity, as it could possibly be said is true of those who must actually navigate the ghetto. I appreciate the effort on the part of Gaghan to explore this cultural phenomenon, but unfortunately, he and his collaborators fell short of their endeavor in more than one area.
For one, and I imagine many would agree, the choice of Anne Hathaway as the lead was particularly disastrous, and not because of her association to more wholesome films, but because she simply did not have the capacity as an actress to perform this role. Secondly, the performance of the PLC actors was fairly laughable, though the blame must be placed on the scriptwriters for this one. The characters switched too freely from their "thug" personae to their "authentic" (if that word is appropriate) suburban personae. The filmmakers truly cut their own feet out from under them and missed the point: white teenagers immersed in this sort of cultural performance are usually far more invested in their own individual performances, and thus, would not be likely to slip so freely between identities. That they were able to do so betrayed the fact that the teenagers were aware that they were in fact performing, rendering the characters unbelievable and blunting the point of the film.
But the film's true failure was in its mind-boggling refusal to prioritize the subject matter above the personal struggle of the protagonist, which comes off as pretty flimsy. If the filmmakers really wanted to explore the interplay between cultures and the consequences of that interaction as the result of our media-saturated environment, there really should not have relied on such an antiquated notion of a central protagonist. It's just not that kind of movie (or shouldn't have been). Gaghan did a stunning job of elevating his subject-matter in Traffic and Syriana, which leaves me with the sinking sensation that there might have been some studio intervention on this one.
In the end, Havoc is stifled by the centrality of Allison's moral dilemma. What is far more interesting is the implications of this threshold - both figurative and literal - that has been opened in contemporary American society. Havoc's endeavor is a bold one in exploring a sojourn between cultures not just in a circumscribed sense wherein suburban teens take part in a cultural performance within the confines of their own environment mediated by digital medium, but in a real world scenario. The most poignant moments occur within this awkward zone of interaction, and much of the praise can be placed on Johnny Vasquez: the scene where he explains that East Los Angeles is a place where "people live," rather than a vacuum of nightly news reported crime. Perhaps the most searing line occurs after the contentious "rape" scene in which Manuel asks Allison, "What did you want?", alerting her that this experience is not within the locus of control usually allotted her as the result of her white privilege. An "authentic" experience is inherently alien to her, and experiencing the alien is rarely comforting. Such interaction carries the weight of victimization for both parties - Allison and Emily for whom the sexual taboos are too great a hurtle to jump, and Manuel, who suffers the consequences of Emily's attempt to grasp at some sense of control and to cover up the shame that she feels following the sexual interlude. This double victimization is something that is overlooked in the was-it or was-it-not arguments over the sex scene, which is unfortunate, because the point of the film, although poorly articulated, can be found in the aftermath of that scene.
What I really liked about this film was what lied beneath its surface, even if that seed wasn't brought to fruition for a number of reasons. What I thought the film truly attempted to explore was the membrane between cultures that has become permeable in today's media-saturated environment, or more specifically, the access granted to those with the means to appropriate what has become a stylized version of ghetto culture. It is one of the more fascinating reversals in contemporary culture made possible only by the media explosion : the cultural performance of a sort of "ghetto aesthetic" by white suburban youth, whose participation in that aesthetic is one of choice, rather than of necessity, as it could possibly be said is true of those who must actually navigate the ghetto. I appreciate the effort on the part of Gaghan to explore this cultural phenomenon, but unfortunately, he and his collaborators fell short of their endeavor in more than one area.
For one, and I imagine many would agree, the choice of Anne Hathaway as the lead was particularly disastrous, and not because of her association to more wholesome films, but because she simply did not have the capacity as an actress to perform this role. Secondly, the performance of the PLC actors was fairly laughable, though the blame must be placed on the scriptwriters for this one. The characters switched too freely from their "thug" personae to their "authentic" (if that word is appropriate) suburban personae. The filmmakers truly cut their own feet out from under them and missed the point: white teenagers immersed in this sort of cultural performance are usually far more invested in their own individual performances, and thus, would not be likely to slip so freely between identities. That they were able to do so betrayed the fact that the teenagers were aware that they were in fact performing, rendering the characters unbelievable and blunting the point of the film.
But the film's true failure was in its mind-boggling refusal to prioritize the subject matter above the personal struggle of the protagonist, which comes off as pretty flimsy. If the filmmakers really wanted to explore the interplay between cultures and the consequences of that interaction as the result of our media-saturated environment, there really should not have relied on such an antiquated notion of a central protagonist. It's just not that kind of movie (or shouldn't have been). Gaghan did a stunning job of elevating his subject-matter in Traffic and Syriana, which leaves me with the sinking sensation that there might have been some studio intervention on this one.
In the end, Havoc is stifled by the centrality of Allison's moral dilemma. What is far more interesting is the implications of this threshold - both figurative and literal - that has been opened in contemporary American society. Havoc's endeavor is a bold one in exploring a sojourn between cultures not just in a circumscribed sense wherein suburban teens take part in a cultural performance within the confines of their own environment mediated by digital medium, but in a real world scenario. The most poignant moments occur within this awkward zone of interaction, and much of the praise can be placed on Johnny Vasquez: the scene where he explains that East Los Angeles is a place where "people live," rather than a vacuum of nightly news reported crime. Perhaps the most searing line occurs after the contentious "rape" scene in which Manuel asks Allison, "What did you want?", alerting her that this experience is not within the locus of control usually allotted her as the result of her white privilege. An "authentic" experience is inherently alien to her, and experiencing the alien is rarely comforting. Such interaction carries the weight of victimization for both parties - Allison and Emily for whom the sexual taboos are too great a hurtle to jump, and Manuel, who suffers the consequences of Emily's attempt to grasp at some sense of control and to cover up the shame that she feels following the sexual interlude. This double victimization is something that is overlooked in the was-it or was-it-not arguments over the sex scene, which is unfortunate, because the point of the film, although poorly articulated, can be found in the aftermath of that scene.