“I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament.” Natalie Portman narrates in a faux-English accent, “I know,” carrying the implication that the American audience does not.
Author, Alan Moore’s name will not be found anywhere in the film’s credits; Instead it simply states, “Based on the graphic novel illustrated by David Lloyd.” After 2003’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, the writer requested that his name be removed from any future adaptations of his work. But the Wachowskis' have gone the extra mile with their screenplay. Not content with simply reworking the original graphic novel, they have also made the decision to rework British history.
“Remember, remember the fifth of November,” our heroes recite. Yet nowhere in the film will you hear a mention of the fact that November 5th is meant as a thanksgiving of the failed terrorist attack or how Guy Fawkes and his compatriots planned to restore Britain’s Catholic monarchy. Instead, in its attempt to appeal to general American audiences, the movie decides to make Guy Fawkes and his belated-successor, V as appealing as possible.
It’s not difficult to see why the internet culture found V to be such a relatable figure. The titular character first appears saving Natalie Portman’s Evey from a gang of government “fingermen.” Afterwards, he quickly delves into a spiel full of archaic language and alliteration that seems rehearsed more to impress upon Evey his own cleverness and wit than it does to communicate any real ideas. The terrorist figure echoes a pretentious college boy who has cornered a girl at a party. Mid-monologue we cut to Natalie Portman side-eyeing with an anxious look on her face; A young woman gripping her red solo cup and trying to find a way to exit the conversation. “Are you like a crazy person?” she inquires.
V encapsulates the modern nerd. He is a man who spends his time in his “Shadow Gallery,” a subterranean layer that basically amounts to a lavish basement, filled with various pop culture relics. When he’s not planting bombs, he spends his time playing pretend sword fights against suits of armour and reciting lines from old movies. The killer is an easy sell to a certain brand of adolescent males. His impressive knife throwing skills and flashy black outfit are just a bonus.
It doesn’t take long for the film to veer into the rhetoric of conspiracy theorists. “What if the most horrifying biological attack in this country's history was not the work of religious extremists?” Detective Finch asks. “What if,” the film postulates, “our own government was responsible.” And can you really blame the movie? Actual politics are far too boring.
“Your own father said that artists use lies to tell the truth.” V reminds Evey after kidnapping and torturing her. “Yes, I created a lie. But because you believed it, you found something true about yourself.” Apparently nothing is too extreme as long as there’s some truth to it. Those truths just happen to repeatedly be ones that require a woman’s trauma to tell.
Evey offers back a woman’s autobiographical letter she found while locked away in her cell. “I thought about keeping this, but it didn’t seem right, knowing you wrote it.” “I didn’t.” V tells her. “She wrote the letter just before she died... You were in the cell next to her. And that's what this is all about. You're getting back at them for what they did to her.”
Everyone does their part in the rebellion. Stephen Fry plays a show host who decides to takes a strike against the film’s totalitarian government. “We threw out the censor approved script,” he says. We are shown a slapstick skit where the chancellor and V chase each around to Yakety Sax. Somewhere in the mix there’s also a man in a gorilla costume. “I think this could be the best show we’ve ever done.” Stephen Fry tells us. “I wrote [it] this morning.”
The skit leads Fry’s character to get beaten down and taken in by government authorities. It’s challenging and biting satire. At least that’s what the movie is trying to convince us of. But as much as it tries to persuade us that the skit or the film itself is rocking the boat, it’s all fairly formulaic. Fry’s bit of pantomime seems right at home in the movie. Loud and eye catching, they are both tales full of sound of fury. But at least it signifies something, we tell ourselves, regardless of however shallow and questionable that something might be.
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