A review by Linda S. Barth

At what point in our lives do we find the courage to do what we know is right? Not what is right for a transitory moment or in a situation that, in the greater scheme of things, means relatively little, but instead to take action that is unquestionably right in terms of the most basic elements of human existence. And what if in doing so, we risk everything -- our homes, our families and loved ones, our own lives? Is it ultimately worth the terrible price we might pay?

One of Ron Perlman's latest films, "A Town Has Turned to Dust" is a relentless, uncompromising drama that asks these questions of its characters and its viewers. The film pulls us in, perhaps even against our will, and forces us to watch as its deeply disturbing events unfold. We can't look away, as much as we might wish to, and ignore the repulsive events being revealed in this unsettling and disquieting parable because it asks us to question beliefs that lie in all of us.

Based on a real life event, Rod Serling's original teleplay of "A Town Has Turned to Dust" dealt with the events leading up to the death of Emmett Till, a fourteen-year-old African-American who was lynched in 1955 for whistling at a white woman. When the show was aired in 1958 on "Playhouse 90," Serling was unable to halt changes that were made to suit various uneasy sponsors and Southern television stations. Mississippi in the 1950's became the 1870's American Southwest; Emmett Till's identity was transformed to that of a Mexican youth with misguided romantic intentions; and instead of the widespread and ongoing horrors of the Ku Klux Klan, viewers were shown an impermanent group of small town vigilantes.

In "Town's" latest incarnation, where the setting is a ravaged Earth in the year 2215, much of Serling's original material, including dialogue, has been restored through the efforts of his widow, Carol Serling who provided drafts of the original teleplay. Yet this is a story whose truth does not depend on time or place. The American South in the 1950s or the bitter remains of Earth in the far distant future, Germany in the late 1930s or modern day Romania, Egypt 2500 years ago or Northern Ireland today - the names and places might change, but the story remains the same.

Forty years after "Town" was first televised, the revised story takes place in "Carbon," a metal-scavenging center on post-apocalyptic Earth where a group of Native Americans has been virtually enslaved by the domineering members of the scrap processing company. Poisoned and polluted by a series of devastating wars, Earth is a brittle shell where the nurturing of life at any level is almost impossible. Led by Ron Perlman's character Jerry Paul, who "owns this town," Carbon is a microcosm of that ruined planet. It is physically devastated by drought and dust, searing heat and frigid cold; socially corrupt through avarice, cowardice, and cruelty; and emotionally depleted by a brutal and oppressive existence where violence can erupt without warning and no one is safe or at peace.

A reporter from the asteroid New Angeles, where most of Earth's surviving inhabitants now live, has been given permission to travel to Carbon to film a documentary about the mining operation. He suspects there is more to the story than what appears on the surface and he is determined to uncover its secrets. Unable to maintain his position as an observer, he slowly becomes drawn into the town's harsh and violent reality and finally uncovers a truth beyond his darkest nightmares.

In keeping with Serling's original focus on racial injustice, a young Native American, Tommy Tall Bear, has been arrested without proof for the alleged crimes of breaking and entering and the attempted rape of Jerry Paul's wife, Maya. With brutal haste, a truly terrifying mob, led by Paul, denies the young man his rights to a trial, and after dragging him from his prison cell, hangs him before the silent witnesses of the townspeople and his helplessly outraged and grieving family. In point of fact, Tommy Tall Bear had been Maya's lover, a completely unacceptable truth in Jerry Paul's eyes, one which had to be torn apart and distorted to fit his image of reality. As the plot of the story later reveals, there has been a long history of racial prejudice and violence in Carbon, with Jerry Paul and his cohorts so deeply enmeshed within it that it has become for them an inescapable and, in many ways, an acceptable way of life.

"A Town Has Turned to Dust" is a film that deals with universal themes in an unyielding way that forces us to see ourselves in its characters. Many factors contributed to its success in making a great impact on its viewers, but I feel the most essential element was the depth of talent the actors brought to the portrayal of their characters. Clearly, they approached their roles with a tremendous amount of sensitivity and understanding, and I very much admire them for dealing very honestly and effectively with such difficult issues. I am not an actor, but I imagine it must have been impossible to completely set aside one's own feelings on such painful subjects, and perhaps it would have been wrong and less than honest to do so.

Ron Perlman is brilliant in the film's lead role. His character is truly a monster, depraved, ego-driven, and heartlessly cruel, who preys ruthlessly on the weaknesses of others in order to build up his own strength. Yet through sheer talent, magnetism, and extremely intelligent acting, Perlman manages to intrigue us, and, for a variety of reasons, make us truly need to watch Jerry Paul pursue his devious and destructive machinations. Sometimes it is like watching a disaster about to happen - we don't want to see it, but we can't look away - while at other times, we observe Jerry Paul with a blending of incredulity and hope. How can someone be such a horrible person, we ask ourselves. What happened in his life to create such a travesty of humanity? There must be a reason (not that anything could excuse the things he does), or a moment when he will redeem himself.

As so often has been true throughout his career, it is entirely to Perlman's incredible talent that we can feel any shred of sympathy or hope for someone such as Jerry Paul. Perlman makes the monster a human being -- a terrible, horrifying human being, but we cannot write him off entirely. In designing his portrayal of this devastating person, Perlman has conveyed Jerry Paul's overwhelmingly deplorable characteristics to the extent where we, as viewers, cannot believe there isn't another, gentler side to him. Yet, much to our dismay, in the end we find we have been as deftly manipulated as have the townspeople of Carbon, where very little of value can grow in the all- pervasive dust.

"Town" has been very effectively filmed in hot and hazy colors of blood red, dirty grey, and sulfurous yellow, full of darkness and shadows, brittle filth and suffocating heat. The harsh, unyielding environment is a mirror image of the people who live there; its images of cluttered piles of metal scraps, sterile soil, and preciously hoarded water are perfect representations of the town's hard-edged, emotionally spent, and nearly hopeless inhabitants. The costumes are equally effective, with the Native Americans clad in traditional, "honest" work clothes, and the townspeople shrouded in headwraps, veils, and layered garments.

Always at the corrupt heart of the drama are Ron Perlman's Jerry Paul and Stephen Lang's Harvey Denton. Paul is an egotistical, cruel man who manipulates "mob mentality" and fear to support his self-serving reality of violence and abuse, while Denton is a weak-willed, frightened sheriff whose sporadic moments of courage, although easily smothered in an alcoholic haze, whisper of his inherent but ineffectual morality. Together they comprise Carbon's version of "law and order," a deteriorating vigilante mentality fueled by Jerry Paul, hand in dirty hand with the thin façade of true justice that cannot be supported by Harvey Denton's fragile strength.

Brilliantly portrayed by both Perlman and Lang, we soon realize that Paul and Denton are virtually two faces of the same man, irrevocably linked within a shared history of violence, selfishness, and guilt. As young men, they - along with a third friend - despoiled a sacred Bear Cult ceremony designed to bring rain to the drought-stricken land. When caught, the three youths were humiliated, but their lives were spared. Yet in retaliation, they returned to brutally torture and kill Black Cloud, the clan's chief and Tommy Tall Bear's grandfather. The Native American holy site was destroyed by Carbon's town leaders, and the entire event became nothing more than another dirty little secret, rarely spoken of in the seventeen years since its occurrence during what was once the Christmas season, a traditional time of "peace on earth."

As they grew into adulthood, Denton and Paul chose opposing methods of dealing with their guilt. In becoming the town's sheriff, Denton set himself apart from the others, becoming something of an outcast, too, although not to the extent of those he had victimized, and he began to serve his penance by ostensibly enforcing justice for all. As the years passed, he tried to deal with the truth and he wanted to do the right thing, but he was never able to sustain his efforts. He needed rules and laws not only to show him what is right but also to allow him to do what is right. And when the rules were rewritten by his friend Jerry Paul, Denton found it all too easy to let things slide farther and farther into darkness, rather than to take a stand.

When the young reporter finally confronts him with his history of weakness and ineffectual attempts at courage, Denton shows that in his heart he believes it is too late to change. "You make pictures of our sorrow," he tells the reporter, trying to convey to him the depth and seriousness of the depravity which has ravaged his homeland, and his unending hopelessness as well. "Let this place die in peace."

While Denton wallowed in a mire of continual failure, Jerry Paul chose to deal with his guilt by continuing what he had begun, constructing his own version of reality where truth was nothing more and nothing less than what he proclaimed it to be. Surrounding himself with ardent followers, indoctrinating them with his threatening view of "law and order," Paul became their indisputable leader. Convinced he was right, he manipulated people as if he owned them body and soul, playing on their weaknesses and fears until they saw him not only as their leader but also as a version of themselves. Over time, they might not always like what they see, but they manage to find their own ways to embrace Paul's image, for how can they turn away or hide from themselves?

Ron Perlman is outstanding in the many scenes when Jerry Paul exhibits his control over the inhabitants of Carbon. Illuminated against a fiery crimson sunset, he stalks along a metallic catwalk with the controlled strength and grace of a relentlessly fierce predator, and when he addresses his followers, his voice is full of strength and all the more frightening for its low, precise tones. He plays the crowd like a maestro, faultlessly choosing words that will instill in them great sympathy for his pain, and then smoothly switching gears to rekindle their blind rage and ignorant faith in his intimidating and destructive leadership. Beyond his outstanding delivery of dialogue, Perlman accomplishes all this with exquisitely effective body language - a turn of the head, an uplifting of his hands, a narrowing of his eyes. He makes Jerry Paul too believable, too horrifyingly real to allow the viewer any comfort at all.

It is Ron Perlman's brilliant portrayal of this key character that gives rise to the most vital points of the film and forces us to confront our own courage and strength of conviction. Jerry Paul is everything a leader should not be. He is self-serving, cruel, and unjust; and yet he is also strong, courageous, caring, and bold. Aren't those last four characteristics things we look for in a great leader? Of course they are, but, on the other hand, how does that leader make use of such attributes? What is his version of the truth? And is that version our truth as well? If our answer to that question is no, then when do we tell our leader that he is wrong, how do we dare to speak the truth or summon the strength to do what we know is right, even if it is at great personal risk? How do we find the courage to say no?

Having made himself the indispensable "ringleader" not only of Carbon's people, but also its industry, its laws, virtually its entire way of life, a leader like Jerry Paul rules by cruel intimidation, imposing his version of "truth and justice" as he so desires, easily crushing those who dare to oppose him. In their hearts, the townspeople may have deep and disturbing questions about his actions and their obedience to him, but it is not at all surprising that his followers have somehow found ways to adopt Jerry Paul's version of the truth. To do otherwise calls for a strength and courage not easily won. It can be easier and safer to accept distortions of truth instead.

Yet there comes a time when there can ultimately be only one truth, and in "A Town Has Turned to Dust," it is revealed at last. While still harboring the remnants of love for her husband, Maya Paul finds she is no longer able to contain her grief and pain, or to continue living a life of full of lies. Emotionally distraught, she vows to reveal to the townspeople the truth of her relationship with Tommy Tall Bear, telling Jerry, "You can't change the truth with a lie." Completely unable to accept this, he tries to stop her, by first playing on her emotions in a cruel and heartless way that somehow still conveys a thin thread of sensitivity and honesty unexpected in a man with such a vicious history, and later by brute force, willing to kill her rather than face the real truth.

In a scene that is one of many that are very unsettling to watch, Jerry tries to hold onto Maya's love, fervently embracing her and, for once, revealing that he is not an entirely cold and heartless individual. Maya tries to respond as he wishes her to do, but she cannot set aside years of pain and fear. In retaliation, Jerry attacks her, verbally and physically, effectively hiding any shred of love and kindness that might still exist within him in favor of his persona as a terrifyingly talented master of brutality and oppression, a role he embraces with more ease and delight than he is able to hold his wife.

Again, Ron Perlman gives a fantastic performance in this scene, showing us a hint of the man Jerry Paul might have been, perhaps even wanted to be at one time, while horrifying us all over again by his rapid descent back into his tyrannical, brutal self. It is this scene more than any other that makes us question the events and motives that created the Jerry Paul who scares and disgusts us, and I completely credit Mr. Perlman with bringing this important aspect to the role that makes the character so believable.

A later pivotal scene, a barroom fight between Jerry Paul and members of Tommy Tall Bear's family, further reveals the deepening fissures in Paul's once invulnerable reign. Many of his followers do not defend him in the fight, indicating that at last their mob mentality might draw them together for the right reasons. Yet there are more than enough who remain sufficiently under Paul's control; they embrace his vengeful dictates once again and follow him out into the streets in pursuit of his enemies.

However, in a hard-hitting climatic moment outside the town jail, Jerry Paul finds he must finally face reality, a place where his weakness can no longer be hidden by the wall of pride he has so aggressively defended all his life. So full of his own image of himself, he has made the fatal error of beginning to truly believe his own lies and forgetting that for all their intimidation and supplication to him, "his" people still have minds of their own.

Demanding that the Native Americans must be punished for attacking him, Jerry Paul observes the crowd with expectant arrogance. But the proclamation he hears is not one of fierce loyalty, but rather clear and utter truth, for this is when Maya at last tells everyone the truth of her relationship with Tommy. She does not appear to understand that in doing so, she will change nothing within her husband and that she has virtually signed her own death warrant.

Full of pain and rage, Paul turns toward her, but is halted on his journey of destruction by the voice of his old friend. "I'm your real enemy," Harvey Denton tells him. "I'm the only one who really knows you, Jerry." In the devastating play of emotions across his face, it is clear to all onlookers that Jerry Paul knows at last that there is a truth not even he can redesign, and for once there is nowhere to hide.

In the harsh darkness of night, Harvey Denton redeems himself by rekindling the embers of truth in the desolate town. He finally does what he has always known is right, even though he realizes he will pay the ultimate price of his own life. As he reveals to the townspeople the identities of the three young men who desecrated the sacred Bear Cult site so many years ago, Jerry Paul explodes in a cold rage, shooting him, and then turning the gun toward Maya who has voiced truths of her own. Fatally wounded, Denton is still able to fire at Paul, saving Maya's life as he falls across the chest of his longtime friend and alter ego.

In the seventeen years since that horrible night, Paul and Denton have helped each other evolve into the men they are as they die together. Finally finding the peace that had eluded him, Denton murmurs his last words, "Wouldn't you think after all these years I could finally forget?" While Jerry Paul, silenced at last, frees his followers to perhaps find their way back to a truth that holds peace and goodness instead of brutality and evil.

As their bodies are borne away, the rains begin at last, signaling the tentative beginnings of growth and rebirth, and perhaps eventual peace among all the people of Carbon. Yet, as the film ends, we are not left with a sense of optimism or reassurance, for we know all too well that history repeats itself time and time again. The reporter's voice echoes our doubts as we leave this battered world: "So in the end there was no story here…the rain came too late…the town had already turned to dust…yet we continue to imagine a future where we might love each other. This may be as close as we can come."

When you see "A Town Has Turned to Dust," you will not be able to ignore the very disquieting messages the film and its extremely talented cast will convey to you. It is not an easy story to watch, but it is well worth your time and consideration, and we should commend Ron Perlman for his great contribution to the film's success in making us think about important issues that are far more easily ignored.

 

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