Tick…tock…tick…tock…tick…tock…
We have to talk about violence – physical violence, that is.
Punching, kicking, hitting, pushing, choking, slapping…Anything where two or more characters beat the proverbial out of each other in a well-choreographed fight scene on screen.
Television and cinema are full of violence, of course, and some of it might seem gratuitous, but most of it actually isn’t. Because underneath the surface of the text, where the punches fly, bottles are thrown and chairs are swung, there often lies a hidden, but rich layer of profound meaning: the subtext.
And in this subtext, violence often plays a very important role: Violence can be a metaphor; it can be a language of its own in a film’s or show’s undercurrent of symbolism and thematic tension, and it can tell you a subtextual story that you wouldn’t be able to see if you took said violence out of whatever scene the bloody noses and cracked ribs happen to be embedded in.
In short, violence on screen is often so much more than just violence.
Let me give you a quick example before we get to Wilhelm’s bloodied, pretty face and the ticking clock in episode one of ‘Young Royals’:
As a bit of a fight scene aficionado (understatement of the century), I happen to be quite fond of this particular fight scene from Netflix’s (now Disney Plus’s) 2015 ‘Daredevil’ adaptation:
(Before you click on the link, I should probably warn you that this is, indeed, a violent scene. Don’t worry; there is no blood or anything ‘icky’ in it – I’m not a huge fan of gore myself, to be honest – but there’s, of course, a lot of punching and kicking going on, the way you’d expect in a thrilling and enjoyable fight scene.)
Here’s the link. (The scene itself is only three minutes long, by the way.)
In a show such as ‘Daredevil’, that is already filled with brilliant fight scenes, this by now internet-famous and absolutely iconic ‘hallway fight’ from episode two of season one – which is itself an homage to that infamous fight scene from ‘Oldboy’ – still manages to awe any viewer with its gritty realism. As you can see, it was shot in one long, continuous take (although the filmmakers may have cheated by concealing a few cuts with some well-placed dolly-in shots à la Hitchcock). What’s even more unique about this fight scene, though, is the way in which it portrays the eponymous main hero of the show as a grounded, vulnerable and authentic human being: You can see how much this fight exhausts him, how he gets slower and slower and more and more out of breath the longer the fight drags on – something you rarely ever see in the less realistic and much more stylized Hollywood fight scenes we’re all accustomed to. All of this makes this epic ‘Daredevil’ fight scene a more immersive and intense experience for the audience.
It’s a brilliantly choreographed and shot scene, and yet there’s more to it than just the visuals, that have by now been lauded by all and sundry: There’s a whole layer of subtext hidden underneath said fight. It’s not just violence for violence’s sake.
This ‘Daredevil’ adaptation has attracted a huge following of fans (and you can count me in, at least where its first season is concerned – and I’m saying this as somebody who usually doesn’t even like the comic book genre all that much), but I have yet to come across an analysis of this ‘hallway fight’ scene that takes the subtext of that entire episode into consideration.
You see, the closed door at the end of the hallway, which we are shown again and again throughout the whole fight, that ominously lit, seemingly impenetrable door looming in the background like a silent observer, that door hides a hostage: a little boy.
On the surface of the text, this scene is all about Daredevil trying to free that hostage by beating up as many of the child’s kidnappers as humanly possible. So far, so easy, right?
But the subtext tells you a different story: If you watch the entire episode, which deals with the main protagonist’s childhood trauma and features a lot of flashbacks to his past when he was still a little boy, then you will, of course, realize that that hostage in the locked room is a mirror character for Daredevil himself.
As far as his psyche is concerned, or so we are told in this way, the main hero of the show is still a scared, little boy. And what’s more, he has erected metaphorical walls around himself that isolate him from the people around him; it’s as if he’s forever trapped in a locked room.
By fighting the bad guys in the scene, he is thus metaphorically trying to free himself: that frightened child that he still is deep down.
This makes the violence in the scene emblematic for what the whole show is all about: It tells you why the main protagonist does what he does throughout the entire show, why he protects the innocent and goes after the villains (both in his day job as a seemingly mild-mannered, blind lawyer and during his nighttime activities as a rage-fuelled vigilante). This fight scene tells you why he feels the compulsion to do what he does in this story, and (surprise, surprise), it’s not because he wants to save the world or likes fighting for justice or is keen on making a difference…No! Deep down, his motivation is very personal even though he’s probably not even fully aware of that: Deep in his subconscious (behind that metaphorically locked door), he is just a poor, trapped and incredibly frightened little child. Within his own mind, he is a little boy in need of salvation. In another scene in the very same episode (a scene which I’m not going to show you for gore-related reasons), he tortures a guy and then explicitly tells him he’s not just doing it to get information: He’s actually enjoying doing it. (That’s a very dark trait for a main protagonist who is otherwise presented as the ‘good guy’ in the story, the man who helps the poor and the downtrodden in that fictional universe, and the ‘hallway fight’ scene provides us with some context for said dark trait: Deep down, in the locked room of his mind, he is still a hurt little child.)
Is ‘Daredevil’ just visual ‘fast food’, so to speak, just a comic book adaptation, which can often be a bit cheesy and clichéd? Sure.
But I’m in favour of engaging with every film and show on its own terms. And specifically season one of Netflix’s ‘Daredevil’ is an example of a very good comic book adaptation. It has some well-written subtext, some really well-choreographed and executed fight scenes…and a lot of shirtless, half-naked Charlie Cox looking hot all beaten up and bloodied, sprawled out on sofas in poses reminiscent of swooning Victorian maidens, so who am I to complain, right?
(His best friend Foggy actually does keep complaining throughout the whole show, admonishing him to stop risking his life with that dangerous vigilante lifestyle of his. And while watching the show, yours truly felt a strong urge to strangle Foggy for that because…seriously, if Daredevil doesn’t get beaten up on a regular basis, delicious shots such as the one within the first couple of seconds of this video here won’t happen anymore. And that just won’t do, okay? That’d make tvmicroscope a very grumpy puppy, indeed…Also, when was the last time you saw a male body pose for the viewer like this, with the camera sensuously tracking along its entire length in this way? Exactly! You see, my interest in this show is purely scientific, and this little blog here is all about the art of cinematography. Obviously!…And now I’m definitely going to have to sleep on the couch tonight. Oops.)
In any case, the violence on ‘Daredevil’ doesn’t just exist for its own sake. (And yes, yes, of course, it’s a pretty violent show, and should you decide to venture into it, please be warned: The iconic ‘hallway fight’ might not be bloody, but the rest of the show is actually a bit of a gore fest. So, please keep that in mind.) And yet, and yet…it’s not just violence for violence’s sake. (And it’s not just there, so you and I can ogle Charlie Cox for a bit, although that’s certainly a nice side effect.) The violence always serves a narrative and often even a subtextual purpose, telling the viewers a story they wouldn’t otherwise be able to see.
So, what has all of this got to do with ‘Young Royals’, then? What about the violence on that show? And what about that ticking clock?
Well, when I started writing about ‘Young Royals’, one of the questions I kept getting periodically was the following one (and I’m obviously paraphrasing here): Why did Wilhelm even get into that fight at the club, at the beginning of episode one? It seems so out of character. After all, he is such an introverted kid. Why is he physically attacking this guy at the club? Why is he going in for that headbutt first? I mean, I get that this guy touched and grabbed Wilhelm and is possibly angry because of whatever happened on the stairs between Wilhelm and his girlfriend, but why did Wilhelm freak out so completely? Was that really necessary?
All of these questions have one thing in common: They are only touching the surface of the text here. They’re not discussing the subtext of this whole scene. They aren’t touching on the question of why the violence in that scene is subtextually necessary in the first place – necessary for the metaphor that this whole opening scene actually is.
Because, yes, yes! That whole opening scene is one huge metaphor, of course.
(And that brief, gorgeous, violent fight between Wilhelm and that stranger is the lavish centrepiece crowning an already perfect cake of a scene.)
I had been planning to write about this scene for the longest time, and yet, at the very beginning of this series of analysis posts on ‘Young Royals’, I couldn’t have possibly written about it. After all, the scene starts with Wilhelm staring into a mirror, and we hadn’t talked about the importance of mirrors on this show, what narrative function they all serve and what mirroring is as a storytelling device; there was just no way to write about this fight scene at the club early on on our journey.
Because, yes, of course! The mirror at the very beginning of this club scene, the mirror in the bathroom where Wilhelm is waiting to be picked up after his fight, that mirror tells you what this scene is all about.
What we notably get here is a shot of a mirror with the sound of a ticking clock running over it.
That’s very, very important!
We will talk about that mirror, and we will specifically talk about the ominous tick-tock-tick-tock part of the soundtrack during that mirror shot.
And why is this whole opening scene shown to us out of order, anyway? (Because this whole sequence of shots doesn’t show a progression from cause to effect, i.e. from Wilhelm getting beaten up to him eventually escaping the scene in that car.) What’s up with that?
We will talk about all of this.
And we will talk about the physical violence in this club scene (and in at least one other scene on this show).
We will talk about the symbolism of stairs.
And we will talk about the question of why Wilhelm mentioning his Confirmation into the Church of Sweden during his mea culpa speech might not mean what you think it means. (Because in the subtext of the script, this reference isn’t really about religion all that much.)
Let’s lose ourselves on winding staircases and in dark stairwells, in the intricacies of camera work and shot framing…and in the physicality of male bodies punching, shoving, headbutting and kicking each other, grunting, groaning and sweating (you can probably see how this is already my favourite post of all time in the way I’m gleefully describing it all). But above all: Let’s ask ourselves, “What is a good character establishing scene?” and “What is a hook?”
If you’re hooked now – and not in the sense that you had to be on the receiving end of my left hook (no worries, pianists are far too protective of their hands to ever actually punch anyone) – so if you’re hooked now, then welcome.
Welcome to Wilhelm’s Fight Club scene!