In
his lengthy introduction to Punishment Park,
recorded in 2004, Peter Watkins remains clearly bitter about the
way his film was received in America, quoting at length from savage
reviews and complaining about its minimal theatrical release.
He probably has a point – I doubt the political message
of the film went down well with the establishment. But in reality,
I suspect hat the main reason the film vanished from sight with
a very limited release is a far more prosaic one – Punishment
Park is a thoroughly uncommercial proposition, and it’s
entirely understandable that distributors, with an eye on the
box office, would not be interested (notably, Watkins tells us
that the film was pulled from it’s opening theatrical showing
after four days, but fails to inform us how many people had actually
gone to see the film in that time). It’s a pity, because
like all Watkins’ films, this has much to say. But like
it or not, most people don’t go to the cinema to be lectured
to, and moreso than any of his other pseudo-documentary films,
this does feel like hard work.
The film takes its theme from a then still legal piece of US legislation
(repealed shortly after the film was made) that allowed for ‘subversives’
to be rounded up and imprisoned in times of emergency. In the
film, the Nixon government are using these powers to arrest political
protestors, anti-war activists, folk singers, hippies and just
about anyone else who doesn’t fit with the status quo, and
subject them to McCarthyesque hearings where their guilt has already
been decided. They are then offered the choice between lengthy
prison sentences, or four days in ‘Punishment Park’.
This is an area of desert where prisoners are given three days
to reach an American flag 53 miles away, while being chased by
the police and army, for whom this is a training exercise. The
film then intercuts the hearings of Group 638 with the efforts
of the previous group - 637 - who have elected for Punishment
Park as they struggle against dehydration and internal bickering
as they attempt the impossible – all filmed by a European
documentary crew.
There’s
the potential for biting political satire in this idea –
and indeed, it’s been used to greater or lesser effect in
films like Battle Royale, The Running
Man and others – but unfortunately, Watkins isn’t
really interested in entertainment. That’s an entirely valid
approach to take, but it inevitably restricts the number of people
who will hear your message. Instead, his documentary style –
with improvised dialogue from non-professional actors –
certainly makes the points he wants, but does so in such a blunt,
relentless manner that it makes the film very hard work. If this
was a genuine documentary, such an approach might be valid, but
the viewer is constantly aware that this is a fiction,
however plausible and authentic, and that inevitably affects the
level of outrage you might feel at the injustice of it all. One
or two of the hippies are also incredibly annoying, which doesn’t
help.
With America still running a concentration camp in Guantanamo
Bay, and with anti-capitalist protests polarising opinion in US
politics, there’s no denying that Punishment Park
is as relevant today as it ever was. And if you can deal with
the unforgiving structure of the film, it is a fascinating, thought-provoking,
if polemical look at the political conflicts of the time, when
protest was a much riskier proposition than today, with activists
and demonstrators killed by the police more frequently than you
might think. But just as most of the film has opposing voices
shouting at each other without listening, so this film often feels
like someone screaming their opinion at you for ninety minutes.
And honestly, even if you agree with that opinion, after a while
the hysterical level of it all begins to wear you down. While
Watkins’ other work like The War Game,
Culloden, Privilege and even
Gladiators make their political points with a
varying degree of subtlety that allows the message to be heard
all the more effectively, Punishment Park pushes the envelope
too far.
All that said, the film should be seen, and this Masters of Cinema
release is the way to see it. For a 1971 16mm production, it looks
remarkably fresh, and alongside the aforementioned intro, there’s
a commentary from academic Joseph A. Gomez that is less dry than
similar efforts, and the usual high quality 40-page booklet.
In
his lengthy introduction to Punishment Park,
recorded in 2004, Peter Watkins remains clearly bitter about the
way his film was received in America, quoting at length from savage
reviews and complaining about its minimal theatrical release.
He probably has a point – I doubt the political message
of the film went down well with the establishment. But in reality,
I suspect hat the main reason the film vanished from sight with
a very limited release is a far more prosaic one – Punishment
Park is a thoroughly uncommercial proposition, and it’s
entirely understandable that distributors, with an eye on the
box office, would not be interested (notably, Watkins tells us
that the film was pulled from it’s opening theatrical showing
after four days, but fails to inform us how many people had actually
gone to see the film in that time). It’s a pity, because
like all Watkins’ films, this has much to say. But like
it or not, most people don’t go to the cinema to be lectured
to, and moreso than any of his other pseudo-documentary films,
this does feel like hard work.
There’s
the potential for biting political satire in this idea –
and indeed, it’s been used to greater or lesser effect in
films like Battle Royale, The Running
Man and others – but unfortunately, Watkins isn’t
really interested in entertainment. That’s an entirely valid
approach to take, but it inevitably restricts the number of people
who will hear your message. Instead, his documentary style –
with improvised dialogue from non-professional actors –
certainly makes the points he wants, but does so in such a blunt,
relentless manner that it makes the film very hard work. If this
was a genuine documentary, such an approach might be valid, but
the viewer is constantly aware that this is a fiction,
however plausible and authentic, and that inevitably affects the
level of outrage you might feel at the injustice of it all. One
or two of the hippies are also incredibly annoying, which doesn’t
help.