Tom Stall is a nice guy. He runs a diner in Millbrook, Indiana, pours coffee for the regulars, and loves his wife, Edie. He’s the kind of man who represents the "American Dream" in its most sterilized, postcard-perfect form. But then two killers walk into his diner, and in about three seconds, Tom stops being a nice guy. He becomes a whirlwind of precision, breaking bones and painting the walls red with a speed that suggests he’s done this a thousand times before.
A History of Violence isn't just a movie about a guy with a secret. It’s a surgical examination of the American soul. Released in 2005, it marked a massive pivot for director David Cronenberg. People expected "Body Horror" from the guy who made The Fly and Videodrome. Instead, they got a neo-noir western that looks like a Norman Rockwell painting but feels like a nightmare you can't wake up from.
The story, adapted from John Wagner and Vince Locke’s 1997 graphic novel, is deceptively simple. After Tom (Viggo Mortensen) kills those two gunmen in self-defense, he becomes a national hero. The media circus that follows brings unwanted guests to town—specifically, a scarred mobster named Carl Fogarty (Ed Harris). Fogarty insists that Tom isn't Tom. He says Tom is actually "Joey Cusack," a cold-blooded hitman from Philly who once tried to gouge Fogarty's eye out with barbed wire.
It’s a classic setup. But Cronenberg isn't interested in a "whodunit" or even a "who-is-he." He wants to know why we, the audience, enjoy watching Tom turn back into Joey.
The Lie We All Want to Believe
The brilliance of Viggo Mortensen’s performance is in the stillness. Before the secret is out, Tom is almost too perfect. He speaks in a soft, Midwestern drawl that feels practiced. When the violence finally erupts, it’s not flashy. It’s ugly. It’s messy. It’s terrifying.
Most action movies treat violence like a dance. Think of the John Wick series—it’s beautiful, rhythmic, and safe because it’s so stylized. A History of Violence does the opposite. When Tom fights, you feel the weight of every impact. Bones don't just snap; they crunch. Blood doesn't just spray; it pools.
There’s a specific scene where Tom’s son, Jack, is being bullied at school. Normally, in a Hollywood movie, we’d cheer when the quiet kid finally stands up for himself. But when Jack snaps and beats his bully to a pulp, Cronenberg lingers on the aftermath. It’s not triumphant. It’s sickening. It suggests that violence isn't just an external threat; it’s a hereditary disease. It’s in the blood.
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Maria Bello and the Collapse of the Family Unit
While Mortensen gets the lion's share of the praise, Maria Bello is the movie's secret weapon. As Edie Stall, she represents the audience's POV. She’s built a life on a foundation of trust that turns out to be a total fabrication.
The shift in their relationship is palpable. There’s a sex scene early in the film where they’re role-playing as a cheerleader and a nerd. It’s playful, consensual, and "safe" suburban fun. Contrast that with the infamous staircase scene later in the film, after she knows the truth. It’s raw, aggressive, and deeply uncomfortable. It blurs the line between passion and assault, showing how Tom’s "history" has physically contaminated their marriage.
Edie realizes she isn't just married to a liar; she’s attracted to the monster he’s trying to hide. That’s a hard pill to swallow. It moves the film away from a simple thriller and into a psychological drama about the masks we wear to survive.
Why William Hurt Stole the Show (In Just 10 Minutes)
You can't talk about this movie without mentioning Richie Cusack. William Hurt received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor for what is essentially a single extended sequence at the end of the film.
Richie is Joey’s brother, a high-ranking mobster living in a sprawling mansion. Hurt plays him with a bizarre, campy energy that sits in total contrast to the grim realism of the rest of the movie. He’s funny, he’s pathetic, and he’s absolutely lethal.
"Joey, you're making me very unhappy," he whines, right before trying to have his brother murdered.
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This finale is where the "Western" elements of the film come home to roost. Tom has to return to his "old world" to kill off his past so he can return to his "new world." But as the final shot of the movie suggests, you can never really go back. Once the genie is out of the bottle, the dinner table is never the same.
The Graphic Novel vs. The Film
If you've read the original graphic novel, you know Cronenberg changed a lot.
In the book, the backstory is much more elaborate. There’s a long flashback involving a heist gone wrong and a childhood friend. Cronenberg stripped all of that away. He realized that the mystery is far more effective if we don't know the exact details of what Joey did.
By keeping the past vague, the movie makes Joey a universal figure. He represents any person trying to outrun their worst mistakes. The book is a gritty crime story; the movie is a philosophical meditation. Both are great, but the film’s restraint is what makes it a masterpiece.
Key differences you'll notice:
- The Villain: In the book, the antagonist is a childhood friend, not a brother.
- The Tone: The comic is much more "pulp" and noir-heavy.
- The Ending: The movie’s ending is famously ambiguous and quiet, whereas the comic has a more definitive "action" resolution.
The Myth of the "Good Man"
We love the idea that a man can be a killer when necessary and a doting father the rest of the time. We see it in Shane, Unforgiven, and Taken.
A History of Violence argues that this is a lie.
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Violence isn't a tool you can pick up and put down without it changing you. When Tom washes the blood off his hands in the sink, it’s a direct callback to Lady Macbeth. He’s trying to scrub away a part of his soul. Cronenberg is asking us: Is Tom a good man who did bad things, or a bad man who is pretending to be good?
Honestly, the answer is probably both. And that’s what makes it so unsettling.
How to Re-watch A History of Violence Like a Pro
If it’s been a while since you’ve seen it, or if you’re diving in for the first time, pay attention to the colors. The movie starts with vibrant, warm tones in the Indiana scenes. As Tom’s identity unravels, the palette shifts. The shadows get deeper. The lighting gets harsher.
Notice the framing of the final scene. There is no dialogue for several minutes. Just the sound of silverware clinking against plates. It’s one of the most tense moments in cinema history because of what isn't being said.
Actionable Next Steps for Fans:
- Watch the "making of" documentary: It's called Acts of Violence and it’s one of the best behind-the-scenes looks at Cronenberg’s process.
- Compare it to Eastern Promises: This was Cronenberg and Mortensen’s next collaboration. It’s even more brutal and explores similar themes of identity and organized crime.
- Read the Graphic Novel: Pick up the 1997 version by John Wagner. It’s fascinating to see the DNA of the story before Cronenberg "refined" it.
- Look for the "Unrated" Cut: If you’re a completionist, the international versions of the film have slightly more graphic versions of the diner fight and the staircase scene, though the theatrical cut is already pretty intense.
A History of Violence remains a towering achievement because it refuses to give the audience an easy out. It doesn't tell you how to feel about Tom Stall. It just shows you what he’s capable of and asks if you can still look him in the eye. That’s why, twenty years later, we’re still talking about it.