Early one morning at the loading dock, a fierce young woman (Vera) aims a gun at a blindfolded security guard. “Don't move,” she demands, but the guard remains unfazed. “My foot's asleep,” he replies, unclear if he is just being ready to surrender or if he is so detached that the fear doesn't register with him. In the background, a man (Frank) in shallow focus loads a truck with boxes. A robbery is in progress. Such is the opening shot of Hal Hartley’s Simple Men, where deadpan humor intertwines with troublesome desire. The protagonist Bill, in love with Vera, appears from the foreground taking charge of the guard when Vera and Frank board the truck. Bill is the gang's leader, yet unaware that Vera and Frank have plotted to betray him. Hidden desire has taken shape, but what interests Bill is the medallion that the guard wears: it bears the image of the Virgin Mary. “She’s good-looking, huh?” Bill asks the guard if he can have it, and only when Bill assures that the guard is not in danger does the guard agree to let it go. “Be good to her and she’ll be good to you,” the guard says. But what does “good” mean, whether to the people in the intimate circle or to the larger society? Bill, double-crossed by his partners, is on the lam for the crime, and morality is the last he would consider. Therefore, his following journey with his younger brother Dennis to find their father, himself on the run from the feds for an alleged bombing, is not so much to understand another person, but to piece together his destabilized character against the backdrop of good and evil.
Virgin Mary. Flickr, by iProzac (2009).
Such an attempt takes place on the first night of the quest, in an abandoned cafe, chairs tilted and collapsed, graffiti scattering the walls. The two brothers sit side by side sipping a bottle of scotch, their figures visible only with the few beams of light slicing through the windows at their backs. The darkness and chaos, along with the alcohol, foreshadow this failed attempt to become a better person. Bill insists, “The difference between Dad and me is that I just fuck with the law. He fucked with the government.” Bill feels no remorse for his criminal deeds, believing that as long as he does not get caught, it is fine to break the law. Dennis not wanting to argue with the unreasonable Bill shuts himself in a telephone booth, but Bill takes pride in his distorted philosophy, even hoping to lecture their father on criminality if they find him. “The old man’s a fool,” Bill says. Apart from his lack of guilt, Bill remains an immature child blaming his parent for familial neglect, refusing to acknowledge his own accountability. Dennis gives the final remark, “Nobody’s perfect,” leaving Bill at a loss of words. Instead of projecting anger and shame on the father, Dennis reminds Bill to first think of his own defect.
Bill then laments his “broken heart,” slouched in his chair, like a child acting out for attention. Walking out of the booth, Dennis tells Bill that he will get over it. Bill then transforms this despair into hatred as he says, “Women don’t want you to love them.” Again, Dennis is tired of Bill’s childish talk, takes off his glasses, and lies on the sofa. Bill faces the window, his figure completely in shadow, plotting to seduce “the first good-looking blonde woman” he sees tomorrow but not falling in love with her. He turns away from the window and walks closer to the camera, gradually entering the dimly lit space, with his reflection slowly manifesting in the window—a new persona starts to take shape. “Mysterious. Thoughtful. Deep. But modest.” This is what women are drawn to, and Bill intends to conform to this mold. Instead of seeking revenge on Vera or Frank, Bill goes further astray, harboring hatred for all women. Ironically, the next morning when Bill acquires a motorcycle from Ned, the cafe’s owner, to continue the journey, Bill gives Ned the medallion as a present and repeats what the guard tells him, “Be good to her and she’ll be good to you.” Bill has decided to distance himself from human goodness, but the guard’s teaching at least leaves an impression. And the displacement of the medallion does not indicate the ultimate failure of the quest, as a real Virgin-Mary-like figure—Kate—is about to enter the film and offer redemption to the morally troubled Bill.
The Pieta by Michelangelo. Flickr, by Dennis Jarvis (2011).
Bill meets Kate at a small town where the motorcycle breaks down on the way. Kate, the matriarch of the community, sent her ex-husband to jail because she stuck to the principle that she didn’t lie for anybody. Steadfast in her moral principles, well-loved by the men, Kate embodies virtues and beauty, akin to the Virgin Mary. Even the misogynistic Bill falls in love with Kate when she reiterates the four qualities that Bill mentions in his speech last night to describe her impression of Bill at a burnt-down house that the father’s address leads to. Embarrassed, Bill does not expect his scheming to be articulated in such a forthright manner, denying all the characters that Kate puts forth and suggesting leaving. Kate, however, wants to dig up and transplant a tree before returning, which further aligns her with the Virgin Mary as they both are givers of life. At night, Bill confesses to Kate. “Be good to her and she’ll be good to you,” Bill says to Kate after she laments, “All of those men have gone out of my life.” Now that he has found his love, Bill promises that he will be different from other men and will make Kate happy. To Dennis, Bill even expresses his wish to settle down and run a tree farm for Kate. “Crime isn’t a way of life for me,” he concludes.
However, Bill has to pay the price for what he did. The next morning, the police arrive, and Dennis encourages Bill to run away with their father. The father and the son meet at the dock. They stand afar. Neither attempts to bridge the physical gap, choosing to remain silent. Bill comes to his epiphany. He envisions the life he wants, unlike his father's fugitive existence, so he returns to Kate and embraces his imminent arrest. The quest of the father ends with Bill taking up his responsibility, mending the troubled past so as to welcome a better future. In the final shot, Bill leans on Kate’s chest when an off-screen officer says, “Don’t move,” mirroring the opening, only that we don’t feel any unsettlement. Kate is peaceful, like Mary in Michelangelo’s Pietà, as she understands all the trouble that passion and desire have to bring.
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