American History X
“This isn’t our fuckin’ neighborhood. It’s a battlefield. We’re on a battlefield tonight. Make a decision: Are we gonna stand on the sidelines, quietly standing there while our country gets raped? Or are we gonna ante up and do something about it?” —Derek Vinyard, American History X
“We will never be able to win in the clash of civilizations if we don’t know who we are. If Western civilization succumbs to the siren song of multiculturalism, I believe we are finished.” —former U.S. congressman and presidential candidate Tom Tancredo
Early in his tenure as attorney general, Eric Holder got into hot water for a Black History Month speech in which he referred to America as “a nation of cowards” when it comes to racial issues. The way he was blasted for his comments in some corners—a task made much easier by removing the quote from context—ironically underlined his point: We could bicker over Holder’s perceived lapse in patriotism while continuing to dodge the difficult conversation he wants us to have. In truth, race comes up in the culture all the time—and by Holder’s admission, in political discussion—but in language that’s more coded than frank, and that doesn’t necessarily cut to the heart of the matter. It’s the third rail of American discourse.
For all its flaws—and they are legion—Tony Kaye’s 1998 firecracker American History X could never be condemned for its lack of candor on racial matters. Until looking at it again for this column, I hadn’t seen the film since its brief theatrical run, which was short-circuited in part due to the public battles between Kaye, his star Edward Norton, and New Line Cinema over the final cut. (Kaye famously took out a full-page ad in Variety decrying the Norton-supervised cut that New Line favored, and tried to have his name removed from the credits and replaced with the “Alan Smithee” pseudonym. When that failed, he suggested “Humpty Dumpty.”) In the years since, I’ve tried to account for why American History X took off in the culture, and made a few assumptions: that Edward Norton’s performance as reformed skinhead Derek Vinyard was too magnetic to deny; that the existence of a neo-Nazi group in a modern American city had a pulpy appeal, like the gangs in The Warriors or the anarchists in Fight Club; or that its most sensationalistic scene—the “curb-stomp”—was one of those you-must-see-this moments that lead people to pass around DVDs and videotapes.
No doubt all those elements were contributing factors, but I think the cult of American History X, for better or worse, has to do with its frankness. This is not a subtle film. This is not a film of great depth or psychological complexity. This is not a film with any discernible subtext; it’s all text. But it does engage, albeit in the bluntest possible terms, in the kind of open conversation that Holder seems to be endorsing. Derek’s path from scared kid to charismatic neo-Nazi leader to changed man follows such a clear cause-and-effect pattern that the audience in the theater next door can follow it, but there’s a power to that, too. The racial discussion isn’t couched in code words or other niceties of language, but stated so plainly that we can’t wriggle out from under it. And it happens around the dinner table—sometimes literally, as in this scene where Derek aggressively confronts his mother’s liberal new boyfriend (Elliott Gould) over the rioting and looting after the Rodney King trial. Note how closely Derek’s argument dovetails with those of mainstream critics who condemned looting in the aftermath of Katrina or the fall of Baghdad: