American Psychos

Natural Born Killers

Badlands

As we march our way through my least favorite month of the year, as the worms descend from tree branches and the humidity reclaims the land, I grow weary of the heat on the horizon and long for the colder, spookier days of Autumn and Winter. I know it’s not a cool take, to not be into Spring or Summer, and I’m not nearly goth enough to claim the cold as my favorite either, but I wish we had proper seasons here in Texas. To go from the fleeting cold to the extreme heat so quickly never fails to give me whiplash, but sometimes we need an extreme shock to the system to come out of our cocoons, and embrace the next, best versions of ourselves. I wish I could say that the extreme shock of Oliver Stone’s 1994 film Natural Born Killers helped me become my best self, but it, rather unfortunately, just kind of annoyed me. Natural Born Killers is based on a screenplay by Quentin Tarantino (which makes sense) but was revised and changed by Stone to the point that Tarantino now disowns this movie (which makes sense…) Somewhat inspired by a 1950s serial killer named Charles Starkweather and his girlfriend Caril Ann Fugate, but also inspired by the general influx of violent crimes and murders in the 1990s, Natural Born Killers introduces us to Mickey and Mallory (Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis), two young and violent people who are in love with each other—and with killing. We meet them just as they’re about to murder an entire diner full of people—some of which, who were harassing Mallory, honestly deserved it. Suddenly, we’re thrust into a dreamlike opening sequence, and we become inundated with the atrocious cinematography of this film. Throughout the film, the camera cuts from person to person frantically, the image switches between color and black & white, the frame would be intentionally off-kilter or intensely zoomed in. Several shots of this film are shrouded in an opaque shade of neon that had some novelty at first, but wore off fairly quickly. The goal, I suppose was to be psychedelic and cool, but it came off incredibly disorienting and art-school-try-hard to me. Natural Born Killers was committed to this oppressive visual style, and I just wish it’d had the same fervor and dedication to its story. Some of the artistic choices were cool, like when we’re given the backstory of Mallory and Mickey, and the format changes from frenetic action movie to cheesy fucked up sitcom. Edie McClurg was perfect as her sitcom mom, and Rodney Dangerfield was perfect as her sitcom dad—albeit unnecessarily rape-y… It kept vacillating between Bonnie and Clyde, the Divine era of John Waters, and that horrifying tunnel of terror scene from Willy Wonka. All the while, we observe Mickey and Mallory’s tour of domestic terrorism, and we see the country fall in love with these serial killers. The media is soaking up every bit of this frighteningly entertaining story, and Robert Downey Jr., the smarmy investigative reporter, is happy to exploit every part of this that he can. The cast of this movie, if it’s not already apparent, is pretty impeccable. Tom Sizemore (RIP), Tommy Lee Jones, and Jared Harris are in this, and I gotta say, this was the grimiest I have ever seen Woody Harrelson and it was the hottest he’s ever been. The two leads had a lot on their plates here, and not a lot of time to build chemistry, but they still managed to find some. They made a hot couple, honestly, and I much prefer Juliette Lewis when she’s kicking ass than when she’s being needlessly sexualized. There’s lots of killing that’s done, Juliette Lewis has several great wig and costume changes, and like I said, Woody Harrelson and his blonde locks look phenomenal here, so I can understand why it might all sound fantastic on paper. But at a certain point, the aesthetic, the editing, and the overall vibe of this film began to grate on me. I appreciated Mickey and Mallory’s ability to thwart and fool the cops, and I really liked the social commentary this film was trying to carry out, but in the end I wondered how much of a message was actually delivered. Now, more than ever perhaps, American society is particularly obsessed with the cult of true crime. There are people who still fawn over serial killers and there’s a whole trend on TikTok where people excitedly prepare kits and notes in case they ever go missing… And there’s plenty to unpack with how desensitized we’ve become as violence becomes more normal, but I feel like Natural Born Killers never quite makes it there. I think RDJ did an excellent job with his wacko Australian accent, but everything that this film sought to expose about the American fetish for murder, love, and glory, has been done in other films, in much better ways. I wish Natural Born Killers had been just as concerned with telling a coherent story as it was concerned with launching an audio/visual assault upon the audience, but that’s showbiz, baby—even a story with the intention to point out our societal failures can contribute to those failures. Quite chillingly, I found out in my research that this film has been blamed as inspiring the Heath High School shooting, and the Columbine High School massacre—the killers at Columbine literally codenamed their attack “NBK” or “Natural Born Killers”. While I don’t believe in the censorship of art, I do believe that there is a responsibility with creating it and releasing it out into the world. When the film ended with clips of the Menendez brothers, OJ Simpson, and Lorena Bobbit (first of all, leave her out of this), I wondered what wackadoo Oliver Stone thinks of how much more violent the world has become since. And I gotta say, for all of the edgy, hedonistic exploits and violence that was alluded to, there was very little gore. Any legitimate terror or disgust that could’ve been garnered from this movie was just too oversaturated by its own style to be appreciated—the most disturbing part of this movie may have been when Woody Harrelson buzzed off his lovely hair. Natural Born Killers was close to being good, but I fear that its style overshadowed its substance. Thank god and American Jesus that the next film didn’t suffer the same fate. More accurately based on the aforementioned Starkweather and Fugate, Terence Malick’s 1973 film Badlands follows the much more likable duo of Kit and Holly (Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek), who embark on a journey that wasn’t as chaotic as Mickey and Mallory’s, but just as deadly. Where Natural Born Killers was weighed down by its artistic license, Badlands was made all the better by its stunning visual storytelling and cinematography. Terence Malick’s films are known for their careful attention to nature, details, smaller moments, and intimate points of view, and this film was just one beautiful set piece or scenery to another. Sissy Spacek is effortlessly chic, like the understated Mia Goth of her time, and while I’ve never had a thing for Martin Sheen before, his blue-eyed James Dean schtick here actually worked for me. Kit was just a lowly garbage man and Holly was just a high-schooler twirling her baton before they met each other, but after a couple of bad decisions, they have to go on the run. The one thing I will give Natural Born Killers is that its protagonists were equally insane, equally down for the debauchery, and I wish I could say the same for Kit and Holly. Holly unfortunately gets swept up into Kit’s mess, but at least Badlands took the time to establish their chemistry, and build a believable dynamic. Badlands wasn’t just murdering and roadtripping, nor did its characters intend to make a statement, it was just a compelling story that was filmed exquisitely. I had a lot to say about Natural Born Killers because it had all of the makings to be good and then disappointed me. But I struggle to find the words to describe Badlands that doesn’t cheapen or minimize the experience it provides. I find it hard to encapsulate why I loved it beyond its simultaneous light and darkness, so challenging to nail down why it struck me so. It wasn’t just the beguiling color story, or the dreamy, sun-soaked aesthetic, it was the complicated relationship of Kit and Holly—how she grew into a bolder person before anyone died, how he was in over his head before he’d even shot anyone. Their love felt real, their eventual resentment felt real, and their bizarre connection felt more akin to my favorite of these films—Bonnie and Clyde 1967—in its unexpectedly complex portrayal of masculinity and sexuality. I know its tough to call a film perfect but its soundtrack, its script, its tense pacing, it was all immaculate. I loved recognizing where I’d seen this film referenced as I watched it—I thought of Bones and All and the intimacy of its many American roadside settings, and I swear the delightful marimba music played in this movie is in True Romance as well. Badlands would’ve been nice, even if all it had to offer was pretty scenery. But it also had a riveting story, and wells of human emotional depth to explore. I’ll never grow tired of stories about young, terrifying love, especially when they’re as enjoyable as Badlands, even when they’re as grating as Natural Born Killers. Thanks for reading, my friend, and if two disheveled lovers ever cross your path—best to keep on moving. Ta ta! 🤠