David Cronenberg, Viggo Mortensen, and the Unseen Transformation

Even A Dangerous Method, a fairly straightforward biographical drama about the growing tensions between famed psychologists Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) and Sigmund Freud (Mortensen), and which does not see this sort of dual psyche in Viggo’s character, instead sees it played out in Keira Knightley’s portrayal of Sabina Spielrein—Jung’s former patient, who later becomes a physician and one of the first female psychoanalysts. Spielrein arrives to Jung in a state of disturbed mania, but, through Jung’s guidance and Freud’s teachings, Jung is able to work with the young woman to find the psychosexual root cause of her mental illness and manage it. Still, the once warm and fatherly Freud transforms into Jung’s professional adversary, as the two further disagree on psychoanalysis following Jung’s sticky sexual affair with Spielrein. Metamorphoses have been a predominant theme in much of Cronenberg’s work: The genetic mutation of Seth Brundle in The Fly; the external womb, created from internalized rage, of Nola Carveth in The Brood; the bloodthirsty orifice, developed after surgery due to a motorcycle accident, of Rose in Rabid. Cronenberg has consistently been preoccupied with changes in the body that bring us to some heightened state, often at the deadly intersection between science, technology and humanity.

In his Viggo films, Cronenberg’s unseen metamorphoses are grounded in reality—but often no less deadly. There are, of course, more overt preoccupations with the body in History, Promises and Method. The capability of the body to receive and commit violence (even in its most vulnerable state, like in the infamous “sauna fight” from Eastern Promises); the story of a man’s life as told by the tattoos which adorn his flesh; the abuse experienced by prostitutes forcibly drugged and raped at the hands of the Russian mafia, evident in their weary forms and injection-scarred arms. A shot of a glistening, wet newborn, newly released from the womb of her dead mother who did not survive childbirth. Spielrein’s masochistic sexual desires manifested as a need to be physically hit and bound in order to achieve orgasm. These bodies are grounded in reality, their stories told through the language of a genre typically removed from blood and guts to the point where the subtle fixation on physicality lends itself to the uncanny. Thus, what these bodies endure can be far more horrific than any hallucinatory, vaginal orifice generated on one’s abdomen like in Videodrome.

In the more evident displays of bodily transformation in Cronenberg’s past work, the mutation or decay of the body coincides with the decay of the psyche. But his Viggo triad is marked by decay, or hypothetical decay, of the psyche that goes physically unseen. How much humanity will Nikolai lose the more ingrained he becomes in the Russian mafia? How much of Tom Stall’s humanity is truly present if he was previously a brutal murderer? Is it detrimental to inhibit our natural, wild sexual impulses for the sake of creating controlled beauty and life? All three films tackle this idea of suppressing one self for the sake of another.

Of course, this suppression does not lend itself to total metamorphosis, but rather a multiplicity of self that begets hidden monsters among us. In Cronenberg’s initial efforts to get Viggo on board for History, they discussed the then-present state of George W. Bush’s America, “the image of a man standing alone with a gun—that if he is attacked, anything he does afterward is justified; about how much a part of America’s values that is.” The ordinary man who can transform into a ruthless killer when provoked, who has been encouraged to arm himself with weapons in defense of his second amendment rights. We other ourselves from such a figure, but the horror is that Tom Stall could be any of us. He was created in the beating heart of Americana. The distance between good and evil, between animal and human, is never as far as we might think. As illustrated by Method, this conflict of carnal urges exists in us all. To some degree, we are all engaged in a physical and psychological balancing act between what is “good” or “bad” in being human—which is nonetheless a part of our humanity. In the end, they are one and the same.

Perhaps part of what makes Mortensen and Cronenberg so perfect for each other is that Viggo is not afraid of his own body. He’s an actor who has become infamous for the absurd things he’ll do to himself to finish a scene (like supergluing a broken tooth back on). When promo posters for A History of Violence airbrushed Viggo’s wrinkles and the scar which embellished his upper lip, he made sure they were changed back to reflect reality. “He’s not afraid of what he is,” Cronenberg said. With Viggo’s embrace of aging and the distance since their last collaboration, Cronenberg’s use of Viggo’s body this time around will now be able to suffuse its physicality with true otherworldly horror as opposed to the naturalistic horror of real life. Long live the new flesh, indeed.

Brianna Zigler is an entertainment writer based in middle-of-nowhere Massachusetts. Her work has appeared at Little White Lies, Film School Rejects, Thrillist, Bright Wall/Dark Room and more, and she writes a bi-monthly newsletter called That’s Weird. You can follow her on Twitter, where she likes to engage in stimulating discussions on films like Movie 43, Clifford, and Watchmen.