Jay Baruchel Turns to Horror in the Gore-Fueled ‘Random Acts of Violence’

When it comes to conversations about art and violence, it can sometimes feel like we haven’t moved the needle much in the past twenty years. Every time an atrocity happens in America, the same pundits trot out the same talking points about loud music, video games, and horror movies. But dig around the edges a little, and there is evidence that this national conversation has evolved. In recent years, the true-crime genre has become a source of nuanced commentary about the intersection of celebrity, art, and violence. In our rush to turn every series of brutal murders into the next five-star podcast, are we creating an unhealthy media culture that celebrates death? This is just one of the many, many questions on Jay Baruchel’s mind in “Random Acts of Violence,” based on the 2010 Image Comics story of the same name.

In the years between 1987 and 1991, the small town of McBain bore witness to a string of gruesome murders. Years later, Todd (a rock-solid Jesse Williams) has turned these murders into ‘Slasherman,’ a wildly popular—and wildly graphic—underground comic book series told from the killer’s perspective. With the series winding down and Todd in search of inspiration for his final issue, his girlfriend Kathy (Jordana Brewster) helps plan a cross-country road trip visiting some of the communities affected by the original murders. And along for the ride are Ezra (Baruchel, who calls little attention to himself as a performer) and Aurora (Niamh Wilson), Todd’s publisher and personal assistant (and aspiring artist), respectively.

Does ‘Slasherman’ celebrate violence? By adopting the killer’s perspective, is Todd turning him into a folk-hero? It depends on who you ask. In one sequence, we watch Aurora and Kathy as they flip through a binder dedicated to the lives of the victims. Meanwhile, Ezra and Todd slide copies of the ‘Slasherman’ comic onto the shelves of a nearby gas station. Baruchel cuts quickly between the two, alternating photographs of the real-life victims— smiling, happy, and alive—with the cartoonish gore of the ‘Slasherman’ covers. “Free of charge!” Ezra cheerfully announces as they drop in the final issue. For as much as Baruchel, the actor, has a manic, talkative energy, Baruchel, the director, exhibits a surprising amount of confidence with his visual storytelling. There may be nothing particularly subtle about what ‘Slasherman’ is trying to say, but it’s still refreshing to see any actor emphasize the visual over the spoken.

And then there are the murders themselves. While there are a few heated exchanges about the relationship between art and violence—Todd and Kathy, in their dueling roles as entertainer and historian, butt heads more than once over the value that ‘Slasherman’ adds to the world—the film’s most overt commentary is in the explicit nature of its kills. Make no mistake: “Random Acts of Violence” is an incredibly violent movie—think Rob Zombie violent, with a little “Hannibal” corpse manipulation thrown in for good measure—and Baruchel has no interest in giving his audience an easy out. When Slasherman hunts, he does without a playful score or eye-catching framing; people die – often and badly – and we’re forced to question why we thought these screaming deaths would be entertaining in the first place.

There is one exception to this rule. Throughout the film, Todd struggles to separate an act of violence from his childhood with the comic book narrative he has created. We soon realize—even before he does—that his beginnings as an artist are tied to Slasherman’s murders. When he finally remembers the death in full, it plays out with all the stylistic touches Baruchel has avoided throughout the rest of the movie. A body falls in slow motion; a haunting Christmas song by Jimmie Rodgers plays on the soundtrack; the faces of the dead are framed gently, almost lovingly, by the camera. When placed against the murders that come before (and after), this death sequence almost comes as a relief. It’s entertaining – and that, for Baruchel, is both the point and the problem.

When he’s not forcing audiences to confront their media-fueled bloodlust, the filmmaker sticks to a late-‘90s aesthetic; if you’ve ever seen an unrated direct-to-video release from the era, you’ll feel right at home with the red filters and off-kilter angles. The result is a film whose parts may be slightly better than the whole.

‘Violence’ will find an audience in horror fans searching for explicit gore and a throwback aesthetic, but Baruchel works hard to push back on those very horror fans for the role they may play in celebrating acts of brutal violence. That being said, the director never puts himself above the genre—this is not the work of a self-serious artist dabbling in horror for kicks—but neither is he interested in traditional modes of entertainment. In the end, maybe it’s best to think of “Random Acts of Violence” as a horror Rorschach test from an artist with enough ‘How To Train Your Dragon’ money to work through some shit onscreen. [B-]