Henry was definitely not the first serial
killer movie. For that, you need to go back to Fritz Lang’s
M (1930), maybe further. But it came out
early in the most recent cycle of these films; after
Manhunter, (based on the novel
Red Dragon, later re-made as
Red Dragon) but before Silence of the Lambs. Are you with me so
far? Recently, the TV show
Criminal Minds has been a big success, with its
serial killer of the week, and large numbers of reruns
shown.
It’s a good show. You can feel the agony
of the good guys, members of the FBI’s BAU team, as they
try to feel inside the minds of the murderers they track down.
Yet, good as the show is, watching serial killers hunted
over and over on TV does take some of the newness, the shock,
away. Watching this movie, I wished for a time machine to
take me back to the pre-Criminal Minds days.
Henry is not the most violent
or scariest of these movies (although it is right up near
the top). But the movie tells its story with great power.
You watch the killers, feeling constant tension, wondering
when they will snap and start the violence again.
Because so much of the time, they are on the
edge…walking time bombs.
Yet still you feel empathy for Henry, hearing him
matter-of-factly describe his brutal childhood. His mother
was a prostitute who forced Henry to watch her have sex, making
him wear a dress while he watched. And he was likely
sexually abused himself. Not much else you need to know.
Even more, you find yourself rooting
for Henry; for him to find love (as we all want to) and to find
some way to stop killing. Do you feel guilty for this?
Of course. Anyone in their right mind would. Yet
you hear him recount his childhood memories, and watch his
tentative moves at kindness and you stop feeling as guilty as
before.
The plot is fairly simple. Henry and
Otis, who met in prison, are both on parole now, sharing a grimy
apartment in Chicago. Henry is quiet and respectful most of
the time, but at random moments will suddenly kill, with no
remorse. Then Becky, Otis’ sister, comes north to stay with
them, find work and save up some money. She misses her
little girl, but is glad to get away from her
abusive husband.
She likes Henry right away, and he is
flattered by her kindness. Her feelings seem to bring out
the best in him. Meanwhile, Otis’ fury, repressed up till
then by drinking and crude, mean humor, begins to break the
surface. Otis dreams of finding the nerve to kill for
pleasure.
Henry actually encourages him. For
awhile, they are ideal partners, killing together with great
satisfaction, including one devastating home invasion.
But Becky’s feelings for Henry make the situation more
difficult. For the first time, you feel serious tension
between Henry and Otis.
What gives Henry its power,
besides the gore, and the two men’s blindness to the lives they
snuff out so easily? First, the empathy for Henry the movie
generates.
Thomas Harris, novelist, and creator of
Hannibal Lecter, does make you understand Lecter’s
motivations, and those of Francis Dolarhyde
(Red Dragon). You taste the
horrors that made them who they are.
For example, the novel
Red Dragon shows you Dolarhyde’s doomed struggle
to take another road. A blind woman at his job comes on to
him, and is more than satisfied by his first experience with
making love.
Dolarhyde is obsessed with a piece of art by
the great engraver/poet William Blake, titled The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun.
The dragon becomes a lifeforce for him; it has brought
Dolarhyde his first-ever sense of personal fulfillment, personal
strength. But it is an insanely jealous, furious totem, one
that inspires him to multiple killings. Dolarhyde has found
a cautious sense of happiness with Reba, a woman who feels
something comforting in him. Something he had never guessed
about himself.
Dolarhyde starts to cover the dragon’s image
in his house. He tries to steal an original Blake print from
a museum. When he succeeds, he eats the entire
print. One agent chasing the serial killer figures this
could be the same man.
The agent’s comment is devastatingly simple.
“Maybe he’s trying to stop.”
Why am I telling this? The point is,
neither movie version of Red Dragon was able to
translate this part of the killer’s struggle. Both show the
sex, but how it changes Dolarhyde is never made clear.
Possibly the directors worried about the time this would
have required.
Maybe Henry’s life is less complicated, his
conflicts easier to read. As a result, the scenes with him
and Becky have great power, even though you have already seen him
kill many times. Becky, much damaged herself (sexually
abused by her father and by Otis) gives Henry a different
view of a woman. A woman harder to distance himself from,
not a blank unknown he looks at behind car windows.
Becky—unexpected innocence despite an abusive past
You may see Becky as hopelessly naïve, even
stupid. I see her in another light.
Maybe I’m naïve, but Becky seems to me an individual
who has suffered abuse, yet has survived it partially intact.
People can argue that her taste in men is horrible. That is
hard to argue. Her husband is in jail, charged with murder.
She tells Henry she loves him. Enough.
Yet Becky somehow has held onto her faith in
people, though the movie never explains how. Maybe she had
childhood friends who were good to her, and she spent enough time
in their homes to get an idea how healthier families function.
Possibly a minister or schoolteacher cared about her.
Whatever happened, Becky held onto her faith
in people. For a painfully short time, she can reach Henry.
You get a glimpse at what Henry could have been, had he gotten any
love, years before. Those few seconds when Becky is ready to
make love…you can read many possibilities in Henry’s eyes.
One is pure fear—he’s never associated sex
before with anything but pain. Second: him not
understanding; he’s trying to get the faintest idea what
it’s like to be intimate with a woman….one who’s never been
unkind, never hurt him. Third, saddest, a glimmer of hope
that he might experience closeness without getting hurt.
Seeing Henry’s vulnerability might make you
care about him more than Dolarhyde or Lecter (and no knock on the
great actors who played them).
Michael Rooker (Henry), was an unknown
then, except to people who had seen him onstage in Chicago.
He has done excellent work ever since (Sea of Love, Rosewood,
Music Box, many others) but his performance here
equals any of those.
Michael Rooker as Henry
A scene much earlier hints too that Henry is
more than just pure killing machine. You can’t tell what it
proves. But it may cause you to pray for Henry’s redemption.
In Silence, FBI agent
Starling describes the killer this way: “…he’s getting a
real taste for it.” This could describe Otis as well. All he
needs is a few small pushes from Henry to join him in
killing.
Otis (Tom Towles)—a mean, sleazy outer shell…masking even
worse
Henry is happy to explain how he has avoided
being caught. He takes for granted that Otis shares his
value for human life—just slightly more than zero.
The two men break into a comfortable suburban
home. A husband and wife present; they tie the husband up,
leaving him lying on the floor; he can’t look away.
Henry has usually done his killings quickly.
Now he watches as Otis, in no hurry, roughs up the wife,
tearing off her blouse and bra…enjoying it. Their son comes
home, interrupting them for a second before Henry simply snaps his
neck. Another quick, cold kill. The husband manages to
kick Henry; Henry stabs him repeatedly.
You know for sure, Otis wants to rape the
wife. Henry makes it clear to Otis, absolutely not. Otis is
not about to confront him.
This scene may remind you of a similar one in
A Clockwork Orange.
The film styles look incredibly different…no
big surprise. What the scenes have in common are home
invaders with no sense of human life…these families are no more
than fleas to them. You don’t want to watch what
Otis does to this woman. You knew it would be ugly.
Some therapists who work with hardened
criminals say they look for a point where the criminals draw a
line. Some say they will not molest a child, for example,
or kill an elderly person. An attitude like this may
indicate that they can eventually reach this person, hard as
that may be.
Maybe this is why you may cling to hope for
Henry, even as you call yourself a fool for feeling that
way. Rape is probably something he suffered himself.
Knowing this makes his actions that much more powerful.
You don’t want to remind yourself it’s already
too late for Henry. He has taken so many lives already.
For the record, I would never want a real
Henry out walking the streets. He is simply existing in
another place from most of us—Killing is a non-issue.
Still. Perhaps this is why we find
ourselves praying for him, even while we feel self-contempt for
our prayers. The more we search for signs of good in Henry, the
more we do it for ourselves.