David Cronenberg used to be the "body horror" guy. You know, the director who made people's heads explode in Scanners or turned Jeff Goldblum into a giant, vomiting insect in The Fly. But in 2005, he did something different. He released A History of Violence, and it wasn't just a movie title—it was a thesis statement about the American psyche. It’s been decades since it premiered at Cannes, yet we’re still talking about it. Why?
Because it’s a lie. Or rather, it’s about a lie.
The plot seems almost too simple. Tom Stall is a nice guy. He runs a diner in a sleepy Indiana town. He has a beautiful wife, Edie, and two kids. Then, two killers walk into his diner. Tom reacts with the speed of a cobra, killing them both in a blur of motion that leaves the audience breathless. He’s a hero. Local news loves him. But then, some very scary men from Philadelphia show up, led by a scarred Edie Harris (played by Ed Harris), claiming Tom isn't Tom. They say he’s Joey Cusack.
It’s a classic "wrong man" trope, but Cronenberg twists it into something much more sinister. Honestly, it’s one of the few films that actually understands how physical trauma works. It’s messy. It’s fast. It’s ugly.
What A History of Violence Gets Right About Human Nature
Most action movies treat fighting like a dance. It’s choreographed, clean, and the "good guy" stays handsome. Cronenberg hates that. In A History of Violence, when someone gets hit, they break. Teeth fly. Faces collapse. It’s repulsive because it’s supposed to be.
The film is actually based on a graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke. If you ever read the original 1997 comic, you’ll notice the movie is much tighter. The comic goes into these long, detailed flashbacks about the mob in the 1970s. Cronenberg and screenwriter Josh Olson threw most of that out. They realized the mystery of who Tom was matters way less than what Tom is capable of doing right now.
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There is this one scene—the diner robbery. It’s maybe two minutes long. But in those two minutes, Viggo Mortensen’s body language shifts completely. One second he’s a bumbling dad, the next he’s a precision tool. It’s terrifying. It makes you realize that the "violence" in the title isn't just about the acts themselves; it's about the lineage. The "history" is something you can’t outrun. It’s in the blood.
The Performance That Anchors Everything
Viggo Mortensen is a bit of a chameleon. To prepare for the role of Tom Stall, he reportedly spent weeks driving around the American Midwest, buying props for his character’s house and talking to locals to nail that specific, soft-spoken Indiana cadence. He wanted Tom to feel real so that Joey would feel like a ghost.
Then there’s Maria Bello. Her performance as Edie is arguably the heart of the film. Most "wife" roles in crime thrillers are thankless. They just worry and cry. But Edie is different. When she finds out her husband is a professional killer, she doesn't just get scared. She gets angry. She gets confused. She even gets a little bit turned on by the danger, which leads to that incredibly controversial staircase scene. It’s uncomfortable to watch because it feels honest. It shows that we are all attracted to power, even when that power is destructive.
The Geography of a Small Town Nightmare
Millbrook, Indiana doesn't exist. The movie was actually filmed in Ontario, Canada, specifically in a small town called Millbrook (how convenient).
By choosing a setting that looks like a Norman Rockwell painting, Cronenberg creates a stark contrast with the gore. This is "Midwest Gothic" at its finest. You have the diner, the high school football games, and the wrap-around porches. It’s the American Dream. But by the end of the film, that dream is stained.
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The diner itself is a masterpiece of set design. It’s bright, open, and communal. When the violence erupts there, it feels like a violation of a sacred space. We like to think that these kinds of things "don't happen here." Cronenberg’s point is that they happen everywhere because the people making them happen are hiding in plain sight.
William Hurt’s Ten-Minute Masterclass
We have to talk about William Hurt. He plays Richie Cusack, Joey’s brother. He’s only in the movie for about ten minutes at the very end, yet he earned an Oscar nomination for it.
His performance is bizarre. It’s almost campy, but in a way that feels like he’s a man who has completely lost his mind to the lifestyle of the Philadelphia underworld. "How do you think I feel? I'm the one who had to stay home and take care of Mom! You know what she was like!" He says this while trying to have his brother murdered. It adds a layer of dark, sick humor that the movie desperately needs by that point. It reminds us that this "history" is a family business.
Why the Ending Still Sparks Arguments
Most movies end with a resolution. A hero wins, a villain dies, and the credits roll. A History of Violence ends with a dinner scene.
No one speaks. The family sits at the table. Tom (or Joey) sits down. His daughter sets a plate for him. His son looks at him with a mix of fear and recognition. Edie just looks at him. There is no "I'm sorry" or "It’s over." There is only the realization that their lives are changed forever. The secret is out, and the "nice guy" mask is shattered.
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Is he Tom? Is he Joey? The answer is: he’s both. And the family has to decide if they can live with a killer at the head of the table. It’s a haunting, quiet finish that sticks in your throat.
How to Re-evaluate the Movie Today
If you’re planning on revisiting this classic, or seeing it for the first time, keep an eye on the character of Jack, the son. His subplot—dealing with a high school bully—is a mirror to his father’s story. At first, Jack tries to be the pacifist his dad taught him to be. But once he sees his dad use violence to solve a problem, Jack does the same.
It’s a chilling look at how we pass our worst traits down to our children. It’s not just about mobsters; it’s about the cycle of aggression that exists in every level of society.
Actionable Insights for Film Fans
To truly appreciate what Cronenberg did here, you should look at the following:
- Watch the "making of" documentaries: They show how Viggo Mortensen helped develop the specific fighting style Tom uses—a mix of Aikido and practical street fighting that emphasizes efficiency over flash.
- Compare it to Eastern Promises: This was Cronenberg’s next film, also starring Mortensen. It’s much more "out in the open" about its violence, but it deals with many of the same themes of identity and loyalty.
- Read the graphic novel: It’s a very different experience. Seeing what Cronenberg changed tells you everything you need to know about his directorial philosophy.
- Pay attention to the sound design: Notice how quiet the film is. There isn't a constant orchestral score telling you how to feel. The silence makes the gunshots sound like cannons.
A History of Violence isn't just a thriller. It’s an autopsy of the American identity. It asks if we can ever truly change who we are, or if we are simply the sum of the things we've done in the dark. It doesn't give you an easy answer, and that’s why it’s a masterpiece.
To explore this further, track down the 2005 interview with Cronenberg where he discusses "the virus of violence." It provides a fascinating look at his belief that once violence enters a system, it never truly leaves; it only changes form. You might also look into the cinematography of Peter Suschitzky, who used a specific lighting palette to make the Indiana scenes feel overly warm—almost like a faded photograph—contrasting with the cold, blue steel of the Philadelphia sequences. This visual storytelling is why the movie remains a staple in film school curriculums globally.