“Blue Velvet” and “Shane:" Cinematic Cousins

Tropic Sprockets by Ian Brockway

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As a film reviewer, two classic films impress me with an indelible impact. They are “Blue Velvet”(1984) and “Shane” (1953). Both deal with Good and Evil and in a broader sense, voyeurism. The first mentioned film takes place in the small town of Lumberton. The introverted Jeffery (Kyle McLachlan) finds a severed ear on a walk and becomes drawn into a realm of unbound aggression and percussive profanity.

Jeffery is smitten with Sandy (Laura Dern) who initially encourages him to pursue the mystery of the detached human ear.

In playing detective, the adolescent teen catches sight of the tormented siren Dorothy (Isabella Rossellini). Dorothy is sexually assaulted by the extremely violent gangster, Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper). Booth has a leathery appearance and looks very much like a reptile that happens to breathe through a mask. Is it for recreation or respiration? There is no way of knowing for certain. Booth has to be one of the most frightening villains in cinema I have ever seen, and he was certainly one of the most affecting. Booth’s very voice with his angry red profanity hit my ears like a vile punch. I had never seen such shocking immediacy on screen before, but what affected me most was the mixture of realms: a technicolor suburban paradise that merges with a night-world of vile insects, darkness and unfathomable anger.

“Shane” came to me much later, just six years ago. I have never been a fan of Westerns, but this film affects me almost as much as “Blue Velvet”.

At the start of “Shane” (like Blue Velvet’s Lumberton) we are in paradise. Mellow gray mountains stand against a perfect blue sky. Eden comes to mind. A stranger is on the horizon: the handsome Shane (Alan Ladd). Young Joey (Brandon deWilde) is drawn into Shane’s gun-slinging ways and he becomes obsessed by the fatherly but strange and passive man. Joey is very much like Jeffery. Both characters are seen watching combat through doorways and become literally transfixed. Both films also have two of the most recognizable evils in cinema: Booth and Wilson.

Wilson (Jack Palance) is almost ethereal in his evil. He is long and lean and looks like a psychotic puppet in his black hat and his one black glove. At the moment of his entrance, he fades abruptly only to appear across the floor midway, like a menacing wraith or demon. Frank Booth has a similar moment in “Blue Velvet.” During a party scene, he suddenly vanishes after swearing offensively. What is the purpose of the vanishings in these films? Whether intentional or not, who knows, but I am thrilled by the sight. They give the films an air of the supernatural.

Both of these evil men look similar: Frank screws up his face in rage while Wilson blinks his eyes as if he is a spaced-out alien. Both are wooden and have no remorse. The two villains also have textile fetishes. Frank likes the feel of velvet, Wilson loves his single leather glove. Here are two sadistic fashionistas.

Joey and Jeffery are led by their voyeurism into a criminal world of guns and psychosis. Shane is the blonde Christ that sets Joey free. He no longer has to worry about guns. Shane’s line at the end of the film is “Tell your mom there are no more guns in the valley.”

But what of “Blue Velvet”? There is no martyr here. Jeffery kills Frank with Shane’s gun, waking up from the guignol dream into a 1950’s American Heaven, one of brilliant blue sky and birds -— once again the setting of “Shane”.

Jeffery (dressed in black and white in the manner of a 1920s Surrealist) wakes up from a Dalinian dream into a Shane like Paradise, while Joey falls asleep and goes into a “Blue Velvet” realm of Wilson’s dark laughter and murder.

One film mirrors the other. “Shane” begins with a magnificent and colorful idealism that transitions into a dim nightmare, while “Blue Velvet” starts with an ant-laden suburban hell-scape that progresses into blissful technicolors.

At first glance these films are very different, but they are in fact, cousins. Both feature worlds of sudden violence and define the role of spectator. Both share perspectives observed through doors, along floors or slats of wood. Finally, the two films highlight the theater. In “Shane” a Wyoming tableau is set in motion, while in “Blue Velvet” a velvet curtain rises and falls on the macabre action.

The directors George Stevens and David Lynch do employ different vocabularies but the parallels are striking. The auteurs have highlighted what is most precious in cinema: the ability to transport and to make us think.

Write Ian at ianfree11@yahoo.com