(Part 2 of an ongoing series of film criticism, dissecting movies from the latter parts of cinema history of all kinds.)

So with my last article I raged against Tarantino’s flick The Hateful Eight; from what a few people have told me they were shocked at how much hate I lumped onto the people on screen (no pun intended). I figured with this article I would be a little more positive, and with that in mind I wish to write about one of my all-time favorite pieces of cinema, Billy Bob Thornton’s 1996 Southern drama Sling Blade.

I was originally going to compare this amazing picture to another flick that came out a year later, a film written, directed, and starring Robert Duvall by the name of The Apostle. Both of these flicks share the same actor/writer/directors, and both won major awards for their brilliant and moving scriptwriting. But the more I began considering my prospects I realized that both movies are just too big to give them each half a space in a short journalistic piece. So for this piece of criticism I’ll just stick with the one film, and I’ll make a move for The Apostle in a future article for this series.

Now getting back to the main event: what we have wrapped up in a morbid Southern gothic bow is an exceptional piece of writing acted out on the screen, with wonderfully moody lighting and an eerie film score composed by Canadian producer, artist, and singer/songwriter Daniel Lanois. Set in Arkansas in a not-so-distant past (it’s not specified in the film, but from looking at the vehicles driven in the film I would say mid 1980’s), the movie opens on a middle aged, mentally handicapped man named Karl Childers (played by Thornton, with a tantalizing use of voice in making the character believer), who is set to be released from a state mental hospital after 25 years for the murder of his mother and her young lover. Within a few minutes of the film’s opening we are treated to Karl being seated before a student reporter for a local college newspaper, where his monologue articulating his backstory leading up to the gruesome crime is possibly the best part of the whole movie. Everything about this scene was pitch-perfect, from the light from a desk-lamp dampening the spirit of the room, to the music changing from a string instruments to the low thump-thump of a heartbeat to accentuate the intensity and suspense of what was being said.

It was this monologue that gives the viewer the meaning behind the film’s name. Upon describing the weapon he used to commit the horrible murder, he says, “Some folks call it a sling blade. I call it a kaiser blade.” This line is repeated a second time later in the monologue, as well as Karl’s signature deep grunt repeated several times throughout the spiel—these framing hook devices run throughout the entirety of the film and cement memorability for the viewer.

Simply put, you will not forget this movie once you see it.

Now that I’ve spent so much time on the opening monologue, allow me to provide you with some more information. Karl is released from the institution and goes back to his hometown, where he lands a job at a small engine repair shop and befriends a young boy named Frank (played by Lucas Black, star in films such as The War and All the Pretty Horses, now in a regular role in NCIS: New Orleans). This unlikely friendship involves an ensemble of interesting characters into Karl’s life, including Frank’s mother Linda (played by an underrated Natalie Canerday) and her gay friend Vaughan (played by the brilliant John Ritter). Through a long a tumultuous growth in this thrown-together family’s relationship, Karl opens up more regarding his dark and abusive past, and finally finds the courage to seek out his demonic father (played by Robert Duvall in a cameo role). Told through the veil of scripture and baptism, by all accounts this is set to become a true redemptive story in the classic Christian sense.

But there’s always a demon or two to attack the redemption for all that it’s worth, and the main demon in this film is Linda’s boyfriend Doyle Hargraves, played by country music star Dwight Yoakam. Weaseling his way into a mother and son’s life after tragic death of the father leaves the family in financial ruin, he serves as the prototypical abusive drunk, acting out every selfish impulse that comes to his head and threatening ever increasing amounts of violence upon Frank and Linda with every altercation, even so far as to say he’ll kill them. As Karl is now entered into their lives, he is now made part to this dark triangle of familial destruction, and that’s the path on which we as viewers are made to walk.

Everything making up the plot of this film is pretty cut and dry—mother and son are forced into an abusive relationship with a new father figure, and a new family friend is caught into making a harsh decision that may bring him back into the life he wants to leave behind. But this is much more than your typical “Lifetime” movie, because Sling Blade is also deeply entrenched in traditional Christian values and the historic roots of the Deep South. If you look to some of the best movies—not all, but some—they carry with them the weight of religion and ancestral roots, to varying degrees: To Kill a Mockingbird, Steel Magnolias, and even Fried Green Tomatoes all possess these qualities to a lesser or greater extent. We as moviegoers and viewers in the American public enjoy these flicks because they so richly and beautifully articulate the history of our country in its parts of religion and region. Our Southern traditions and religious roots have so much in the way of psychology that to deny them would be a sin.

Sling Blade handles these issues with a creepy brand of charm, and from the use of music to the subtle use of lighting Thornton offers us a unique and interesting environment in order to try out some social and interpersonal issues over the course of 135 minutes. Seriously gang, this film is worth a watch.

(In Part 3 I hope to do a breakdown of the film The Apostle—try and give it a watch until then!)