The Curious Case of David Cronenberg

I have a pet theory; it's based on discussions over the years, one about certain directors and their bodies of work, but invariably I've noticed one trend consistent with one film maker / auteur / visionary (if you will): David Cronenberg. More than any other director I can think of, Cronenberg's films elicit a visceral reaction from their audience, and I happen to know several fans of his films - what this says about them (or me) is the subject of another discussion - and as time goes by, while in discourse about the Canadian, body-fixated, sometimes horror but not really, always shifting in subject matter, one consistent thread is visible.

There is one film for every person that doesn't "work" of Cronenberg's. The fascinating intangible in that for each of them, the film is different. One person hates Spider; another finds Videodrome's ending too "over-the-top"; yet another was underwhelmed by A History of Violence. For me, the clinical, dispassionate tone of Crash loses me every time. I have several ideas that may account for this theory, but let's look at the strongest case I can discern based on Cronenberg's oeuvre.

While almost all of Cronenberg's work deals with the body in some form or fashion - particularly with changes in the body and the abject horror / fascination that accompanies the changes, his approach varies considerably from film to film. Some are explicit: the mutant STD of Shivers, the transplanted / transformation in Rabid, whereas others are subtle in their approach - the schizophrenia of Dennis "Spider" Clegg, the visions of The Dead Zone, or the gender fluidity of M. Butterfly. Then there are the films that split the difference and hybridize the body with technology - identical twins and their custom gynecological devices in Dead Ringers, the literal "plugging in" of eXistenZ, and the auto-fetishism of Crash. Some are almost parodic in their bluntness: Videodrome's "New Flesh," or The Fly's Brundle metamorphosis. His work with Viggo Mortensen fixated on the idea of men who are not what they seem, who have undergone radical physical (Eastern Promises) or psychological (A History of Violence) changes in order to "fit in" or "start fresh."

Cronenberg also has a habit of adapting the "unfilmable," most famously by semi-translating William S. Burroughs Naked Lunch, but many would argue that J.G. Ballard's Crash was equally difficult to translate from novel to motion picture. He is a filmmaker who divides his time between original concepts and adaptations: including A Dangerous Method and Cosmopolis (Cronenberg's next two films) - 10 adaptations (one of which is a remake of The Fly), 5 original works, and two films written by someone else (Eastern Promises and Fast Company).

In total, this is a wildly varying body of work, from low budget shockers with graphic violence to quiet character studies to hallucinatory visits to the Interzone. There is certainly room for his fans to find a movie that doesn't "fit" or simply disengages them from the experience, but we need to take a step further. Is it a visceral response that turns them off? Not always - in the case of Spider, at least two people I know don't feel that the film is consistent with Cronenberg's thematic trends, whereas others - including, in the interest of full disclosure, myself - find the film to be a bridge from his literal body explorations to the figurative echoes in his recent work.

At time, I wonder if the emotionally distant approach evident in many - if not most - of David Cronenberg's films occasionally registers with his fans when it normally might not. Naked Lunch's mixture of biography and adaptation is, on first viewing, virtually impenetrable. Crash has no character with which to "enter" the story; James and Catherine Ballard (James Spader and Deborah Kara Unger) are wholly inaccessible throughout the film, even during the supposed "awakening" of James to the car crashing fetish. Naomi Watts' Anna is the entry point to Eastern Promises, but quickly vanishes into the background so that the stoic, reserved Nikolia (Mortensen)'s admittedly more intriguing story takes precedence.

The Fly comes the closest to to having two sympathetic, relatable characters: Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) and Veronica Quaife (Geena Davis), but the films graphic, disgusting transformation sequences building towards Brundlefly keeps conventional audiences at a distance. However, The Fly is the only film I've never heard listed as anyone's "least favorite." Some point to eXistenZ, a few Dead Ringers, and Naked Lunch is mentioned as one of the less viewed films. Th availability of They Came from Within / Shivers, Rage / Rabid, and The Brood limits their exposure to fans. And then there's Fast Company, a movie I suspect might alter the theory slightly, if only more people knew it existed or had any interest in watching the film. Cronenberg's curious side-trip into the world of stock car racing, devoid of almost anything fans would recognize as "Cronenberg-ian," remains for hardcore fans and completists only, which actually applies to the audience addressed in this essay.

In any event, it seems that for every David Cronenberg fan, one film simply doesn't fit in / "work" / "do it." If the reason(s) aren't apparent or consistent from fan to fan, I feel comfortable in asserting that the theory itself is consistent. It also seems to be at least partially unique to Cronenberg; with many other "cult" directors, one finds a considerably more varied approach towards their filmography, with "ups" and "downs" not tied to one specific film - a trend that is trickier with Cronenberg (and some would argue, David Lynch) as the varied output is nevertheless tonally and thematically consistent.

As a final note, I turn the exploration to you: is this true? Is there one David Cronenberg film that means less to you than others? Why do you feel that is?