Crash

On a hot Sunday afternoon in July of '05, I walked out of the AMC movie theater in Alexandria, having seen Crash for the first time . . . and I literally felt like I had been gutted. I went into this movie knowing very little about it, you see—I had seen a few teaser trailers, knew that it largely examined race in L.A., knew that it featured an all-star cast, knew that it shared its name with a 1996 David Cronenberg movie (which, for the record, is one of the weirdest films I've ever seen), but Crash nevertheless remained mysterious for me going into the theaters. Suffice it to say, Crash became a far greater experience for me than I had ever anticipated, and I left the theater that day knowing that I had never in my life experienced a movie so brutal—but so remarkably real.

The film opens with a distant voiceover as the opening credits roll, which turns out to be Detective Graham Waters (Don Cheadle) reflecting on the connection and associations people make—or their general lack thereof. His assumption: that people are so isolated, so lonely, that they often have to "crash into each other, just so we can feel something." Whether that's his actual philosophy on life or the confused mutterings of someone who's just been in a car wreck (in point of fact, Graham's police cruiser had just been rear-ended) is another matter. But it sums up the theme of the movie perfectly: that human tensions simmer beneath our veneer of skin so long that when they finally do surface, they explode in a violent crash.

Crash is a major ensemble piece, and the story is actually told in flashback, first showing Graham and his partner Ria (Jennifer Esposito) coming to a crime scene . . . one that the audience can tell strikes right at Graham's heart. But that's all the exposition we get, because from here, we move back 36 hours, where we explore the lives of several characters—many of them intertwining irrevocably with the other. It starts in a gunshop where an Iranian shopkeeper and his daughter are purchasing a gun from a rather redneck owner. Cultural tensions and stereotyping show up almost immediately (do I really need to explain why?), but from the perspective of the all-seeing/all-knowing audience, we understand that the prejudice and stereotyping in this scene arise out of ignorance, whereas the characters do not.

This is largely the case for many other scenes and characters, too. Take, for example, Sandra Bullock's stereotypical response to the Hispanic locksmith Daniel (the always-excellent Michael Peña) when he's changing the locks on her house after she and her District Attorney husband (Brendan Fraser) get carjacked by two black youths (Larenz Tate and rapper Ludacris). She just blindly assumes that Daniel is part of a Hispanic gang, and angrily demands that her husband have new locks put on the doors the next morning.



What she doesn't see is Daniel's return home—but we as the audience do, and what follows is a truly beautiful scene with his daughter, one that breaks our preconceptions of him and allows us to see him as the loving father he is.



The acting all around was just incredible! I was particularly struck by Terence Howard's portrayal of Cameron, the TV director who find his sense of race and personal pride awakened . . . and enraged. Thandie Newton's portrayal of his wife Christine was just as strong, as she struggles with her own sense of ego, love, and violation—all at the hands of police officer Ryan, as portrayed by Matt Dillon in what was nothing short of a showstopper performance. When he stumbles upon Cameron and Christine for the first time, he shocks us with an unexpected (and very uncomfortable) scene of brutality and humiliation.



Officer Ryan, though, isn't quite as hateful and demeaning as he first comes across. In reality, all the anger and power he asserts over Cameron and Christine are misplaced pain and frustration at being unable to find proper medical care for his father, who's suffering from a bad urinary infection and spends many sleepless nights in pain. Naturally this takes a toll on Officer Ryan, because he genuinely cares for his father; but he vents his anger in the wrong places, on the wrong people—as was evidenced when he pulls Cameron over that night, and when he angrily unloads on the insurance rep (Loretta Devine) later on.

But despite all these characters with all these flaws, chances of redemption are offered. Take Officer Ryan when he stumbles across Christine's car accident the next day. This scene still makes me shiver every time I see it—but it nevertheless serves as Officer Ryan's penance.



At the end of the day, though, another hard lesson is learned—that sometimes not everyone achieves redemption. Sometimes those with the best intentions, or those we think are the most upstanding, have shattering moments of weakness where they end up committing terrible acts that will haunt them forever. Take, for example, the scene where Officer Tom (Ryan Phillippe) picks up hitchhiker Peter (Larenz Tate). Or when Farhad (who bought the gun in the movie's first scene) pays a visit to Daniel's house and blames him for the robbery at his store. Worse yet is how race often has political undertones. I'm genuinely almost frightened by the conversation that takes place between Graham Waters and the DA's assistant Flanagan (William Fichtner), because not only does it highlight some of the racial politics that take place in this world, but some of Flanagan's claims are flat-out dangerous.

But the problem is . . . these are all the terrible realities we face every day: the pre-conceived notions of others, the politics, the stereotyping, all of which affect our actions in unexpected and sometimes unthinkable ways.

I'm truly fascinated by studies of human nature, and the more brutally honest, the better! As such, Crash spoke to me in a way no other film ever has before. I'm not a person who fears brutal honesty . . . but Crash took that brutal honesty to a degree of realism far greater than I ever conceived. Because it didn't just hit me on the head with an resolute no-holding-back approach to human stereotyping and false presumptions—it literally kicked me in the balls . . . again and again!!! What makes Crash unique is that it's a story about people, not of slam-bang action and explosions, or of surface relationships that just showcase events for our entertainment. Crash is about people and how they act towards others unlike them, and how they respond to events that happen to them. It forces us to examine our world from a very critical—and not altogether pleasant—vantage point, in the hopes that doing so will enable us to better ourselves.

When I left the theater that hot July afternoon in 2005, I could hear myself thinking, "Please, let this movie receive the Oscar attention it deserves!" I got my wish, too, for at the Oscar ceremony seven months later, Jack Nicholson opened up the Best Picture envelope, and with a noticeably surprised look on his face, read, "Crash!" At that moment, I genuinely couldn't believe my ears (like everyone else, I thought that Brokeback Mountain would take home the Best Picture gold), but I was nevertheless overjoyed. I'd also been crossing my fingers for Matt Dillon in the Best Supporting Actor category—though I must admit to being torn between rooting for him and George Clooney (I'd have been happy in either case, really). I was kinda hoping for a Best Actor nomination for Terence Howard, too, because when he looks at Anthony (rapper Ludacris) and silently utters, "You embarrass me", it conveys a sense of pain and shame so strong that it's impossible to ignore. (For the record, Howard did receive a Best Actor nomination that year, but for Hustle & Flow instead of Crash).

But I was overjoyed because this powerful movie, this terribly honest and harsh portrayal of human flaws was being recognized for the achievement it was. Crash isn't a feel-good movie by a long shot, but it still left me with a feeling of hope at the end. Though the hope that writer/director Paul Haggis offers isn't the age-old "we need to overcome race" motif, but rather that our salvation comes from our basic human desire to not see another human being suffer. Much like Traffic, the overall big picture is one that's very sour—but an individual can still rise above the ashes and find peace. 10 out of 10.