Moral Deliberations in Modern Cinema | Page 2

Young Greenleaf is young, captivatingly energetic, infinitely charming,
breathtakingly handsome and deceivingly emotional. He lacks real
talents - he know how to play only six jazz tunes, can't make up his
musical mind between his faithful sax and a newly alluring drum kit
and, an aspiring writer, can't even spell. These shortcomings and
discrepancies are tucked under a glittering facade of non-chalance,
refreshing spontaneity, an experimental spirit, unrepressed sexuality
and unrestrained adventurism. But Greenleaf Jr. is a garden variety
narcissist. He cheats on his lovely and loving girlfriend, Marge. He
refuses to lend money - of which he seems to have an unlimited supply,
courtesy his ever more disenchanted father - to a girl he impregnated.
She commits suicide and he blames the primitiveness of the emergency

services, sulks and kicks his precious record player. In the midst of this
infantile temper tantrum the rudiments of a conscience are visible. He
evidently feels guilty. At least for a while.
Greenleaf Jr. falls in and out of love and friendship in a predictable
pendulous rhythm. He idealizes his beaus and then devalues them. He
finds them to be the quiddity of fascination one moment - and the
distilled essence of boredom the next. And he is not shy about
expressing his distaste and disenchantment. He is savagely cruel as he
calls Ripley a leach who has taken over his life and his possessions
(having previously invited him to do so in no uncertain terms). He says
that he is relieved to see him go and he cancels off-handedly elaborate
plans they made together. Greenleaf Jr. maintains a poor record of
keeping promises and a rich record of violence, as we discover towards
the end of this suspenseful, taut yarn.
Ripley himself lacks an identity. He is a binary automaton driven by a
set of two instructions - become someone and overcome resistance. He
feels like a nobody and his overriding ambition is to be somebody,
even if he has to fake it, or steal it. His only talents, he openly admits,
are to fake both personalities and papers. He is a predator and he hunts
for congruence, cohesion and meaning. He is in constant search of a
family. Greenleaf Jr., he declares festively, is the older brother he never
had. Together with the long suffering fiancee in waiting, Marge, they
are a family. Hasn't Greenleaf Sr. actually adopted him?
This identity disturbance, which is at the psychodynamic root of both
pathological narcissism and rapacious psychopathy, is all-pervasive.
Both Ripley and Greenleaf Jr. are not sure who they are. Ripley wants
to be Greenleaf Jr. - not because of the latter's admirable personality,
but because of his money. Greenleaf Jr. cultivates a False Self of a jazz
giant in the making and the author of the Great American Novel but he
is neither and he bitterly knows it. Even their sexual identity is not fully
formed. Ripley is at once homoerotic, autoerotic and heteroerotic. He
has a succession of homosexual lovers (though apparently only platonic
ones). Yet, he is attracted to women. He falls desperately in love with
Greenleaf's False Self and it is the revelation of the latter's dilapidated
True Self that leads to the atavistically bloody scene in the boat.
But Ripley is a different -and more ominous - beast altogether. He
rambles on about the metaphorical dark chamber of his secrets, the key

to which he wishes to share with a "loved" one. But this act of sharing
(which never materializes) is intended merely to alleviate the constant
pressure of the hot pursuit he is subjected to by the police and others.
He disposes with equal equanimity of both loved ones and the
occasional prying acquaintance. At least twice he utters words of love
as he actually strangles his newfound inamorato and tries to slash an
old and rekindled flame. He hesitates not a split second when
confronted with an offer to betray Greenleaf Sr., his nominal employer
and benefactor, and abscond with his money. He falsifies signatures
with ease, makes eye contact convincingly, flashes the most heart
rending smile when embarrassed or endangered. He is a caricature of
the American dream: ambitious, driven, winsome, well versed in the
mantras of the bourgeoisie. But beneath this thin veneer of hard learned,
self-conscious and uneasy civility - lurks a beast of prey best
characterized by the DSM IV (Diagnostic and Statistics Manual):
"Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviour,
deceitfulness as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning
others to personal profit or pleasure, impulsivity or failure to plan
ahead... reckless disregard for safety of self or others ...(and above all)
lack of remorse." (From the criteria of the Antisocial Personality
Disorder).
But perhaps the most intriguing portraits are those of the victims.
Marge insists, in