Straw Dogs

In ancient China, ceremonial straw dogs were used to represent the impartial nature of Heaven and Earth. “We dress them up and put them on the altar” explains writer Su Ch’e, “but not because we love them. And when the ceremony is over, we throw them into the street, but not because we hate them.”
Rod Lurie’s cinematic straw dog sees him dress up Sam Peckinpah’s controversial 1971 examination of masculinity, ideals and violence in a glossy top-coat of Steinbeck and Saw and throw it onto the box-office altar – not because he cares, but because he can. The unnecessary remake displays no depth, fresh insight or even passion for its source material. It’s not impartial, it’s apathetic. And it’s awful.
When Hollywood honeys David (James Marsden) and Amy (Kate Bosworth) return to Amy’s hometown of Blackwater, Mississippi, David’s milquetoast liberal mannerisms clash with the hardscrabble machismo of Amy’s ex-boyfriend Charlie (Alexander Skarsgard.) The Harvard Vs. Ole Miss war soon escalates until the couple find the town’s aggressively traditionalist gender roles seeping into their psyche. A scene where Amy’s skimpy wardrobe is blamed for the locals’ lewdness emphasises not only the misogynistic male gaze of the town, but also of the audience.
However this proves to be one isolated plunge into the murky waters of gender politics, in a film that’s otherwise awash with dull archetypes. Bosworth and Marsden can’t rise above their respective roles as a promiscuous shrew and validation-seeking Neanderthal. And as scenes of sexual violence eschew Peckinpah’s thought-provoking ambiguity for simplified sexualisation, the film becomes a dull and unengaging excuse to shoot yet another glossy rape scene.
But the stereotypes don’t stop at gender. Southerners are portrayed as insulting caricatures of mindless yokels, complete with a town drunk (pantomime villain James Woods) and their very own Lennie Small (Dominic Purcell), whose patronising portrayal of intellectual disability proves far more insulting than the locals’ cry of “retard.”
As the film finally builds to a senseless, gratuitously violent house siege, Peckinpah’s Hobbesian exploration of human nature is reduced to a pathetic masculine revenge tale, until it’s the film that’s “poor, nasty, brutish” – but unfortunately, not particularly short.