*Spoiler Alert*
Whether touted as a visually spectacular eco-friendly thriller, or belittled as a mindless macho adventure, John Boorman’s Deliverance remains a provoking variation on the Man versus Nature trope.
The film closely follows the source novel of the same name – its author, James Dickey, provided the screenplay. Four suburbanite friends decide to canoe down a river that is about to be destroyed by a dam. The weekend outing is instigated by Lewis (terrific Burt Reynolds), a born leader with a soft spot for the environment. “We’re gonna rape this whole goddamn landscape”, is how Lewis bemoans industrial progress. Ed, an advertising pro, Bobby, a portly insurance salesman, and Drew, a soft drink executive, tag along for the ride. None of them shall return emotionally and physically intact.
Initially, Boorman lures us into the story with breath-taking scenery (courtesy of cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond) and carefree camaraderie. Drew (Ronny Cox) engages a local boy in a guitar-banjo duel, which sets a friendly tone at the onset of their adventure. But once our team starts to paddle away in two canoes, the banjo boy appears once more, all silent and staring vacantly. Standing on a makeshift bridge, he swings his banjo by its neck like a pendulum over our heroes’ heads. They are about to enter the pit.
The first night outdoors offers our heroes a dose of Thoreau’s "We need the tonic of wildness” attitude. But the rural idyll gradually yields to a gruesome right-of-passage. Bobby’s contempt for the backwoods is made clear early on, and it is he who suffers the first and greatest abuse. Venturing ashore, he and Ed are captured by a pair of local hunters – wild specimen with missing front teeth and a few displaced chromosomes. Boorman stages the scene with such frightful precision, that when Ed is forced to witness Bobby’s rape, we are as shocked as he is. From now on, the film escalates into a cinematically brilliant breakdown of masculinity – both toxic and unpolluted. Alas, it is also a critique of white, middle-age suburban comfort which our four protagonists represent.
After Bobby’s rape, Ed (Jon Voight) gradually emerges as the character with the biggest dilemma. Initially, he is the voice of reason – a passive humanist riddled with doubt about himself and the act of homicide the group is involved in. Democratically, they choose to bury the hillbilly, with Ed being the sole objector. After Lewis is incapacitated by injury, Ed assumes leadership. His transition from a pensive, meek intellectual to a killer survivalist forms the thrust of Deliverance. Voight is doing a fantastic job, transforming internally and physically. His goofy fishing hat and pipe yield to a sleeveless vest mirroring Lewis’ macho attire. And it is Ed who makes the film’s second deadly shot with Lewis’ bow and arrow.
Through Ed, we realise how fragile our contentment with modern urban existence can be. Education, decency, and job security – all these attributes are shelved in a moment of pure terror. Facing death and killing to survive takes a heavy toll. Ultimately, Deliverance is about carrying on after such experience – like a soldier with PTSD, haunted forever by the memories of combat. From that angle, the film touches on the war in Vietnam, which was still going on at the time.
For Bobby, so bravely portrayed by the late Ned Beatty, moving on with his dignity tarnished means to live forever with an open wound. In the book, he moves as far as Hawaii, while Ed stays close to Lewis, his sleep interrupted by nightmares.
The most enduring quality of Deliverance is that it remains morally ambiguous. There are no easy answers, nor easy solutions. An utterly truthful, dynamic, and deeply provocative film.
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