INTO THE ABYSS
Directed by Werner Herzog
Released in 2011
Directed by Werner Herzog
Released in 2011
First, let's refresh your memory with a snatch of hate speech from the ghoulish Texas governor, Rick Perry. It was back in September of last year, during one of the ridiculous network-financed campaign seminars masquerading as GOP debates, when NBC anchor Brian Williams inquired of Mr. Perry whether he'd ever struggled with the idea of the state putting a person to death. After a bit of circumlocution about how the government he claims to not trust never makes mistakes, he ended with words which I am sure he believed to be powerful. He said, "In the state of Texas, if you come into our state, and you kill one of our children, you kill a police officer, you're involved with another crime and you kill one of our citizens, you will face the ultimate justice in the state of Texas, and that is you will be executed."
Chances are Perry was referencing charges that he had acted improperly--conspiratorially--by appointing three of nine commission members to investigate the circumstances of the evidence, trial and execution of Cameron Todd Willingham back in 2004, an execution for a crime which, in all likelihood, Mr. Willingham was innocent.
Twelve hundred thirty-three people have been executed within the domain that is the state of Texas since 1819.
If you want the names of other people who were almost certainly innocent but executed by Texas anyway, check out Carlos DeLuna, Ruben Cantu, David Spence, Gary Graham, and Claude Jones. Their executions were all quite recent. Guilt or innocence really doesn't matter in Texas. All that matters is that the electorate gets to taste the blood. That's it.
Texas executed Michael Perry for a triple murder for which in all likelihood he was guilty as sin. And still the execution was wrong. Werner Herzog's incredible documentary Into the Abyss (2011) looks at the family and friends of the victims, as well as the killer and his convicted accomplice, and the details of what turned out to be a very stupid crime motivated by the desire to steal a fancy sports car.
In 2001, when the murders were committed, Michael Perry and Jason Burkett were eighteen years old. The victims in the case were Sandra Stotler, her son Adam, and a friend named Jeremy Richardson. All of this, as well as a police shoot-out with the perpetrators, happened in the small town of Conroe. I can say with some confidence that no matter what your pre-existing position on capital punishment, nothing in this movie will alter that position. However, it can also be said that your heart will change because you will be forced to admit to yourself the infinite complexities that heart of yours contains. Herzog listens to the people he interviews. He listens hard and so do we. The camera stays on a young man who knew one of the assailants. He stands there with his Pitbull ball cap, talking and spitting, telling us about the time one of the convicts stabbed him under the arm pit with a nine inch Phillips head screw driver all the way up to the handle. No, he didn't go to the hospital. Spit. He just thought himself lucky to be alive and went back to work.
Whether you know it or not, you are never far from someone who has committed a violent crime. A good many of these people are housed in the many correctional facilities throughout this country and others are not. Some of those who are not live in parks or shelters. Others live in very nice homes. Some cannot read. Others are highly literate. And every now and again, one of these folks goes to Texas and kills somebody, gets caught, and the state puts him or her to death, usually after about ten to twelve years.
Herzog does not preach. He just asks questions, good questions, such as early in the film when we meet the prison chaplain who will oversee the execution of Michael Perry. He talks about what he does to stay sane. He golfs a good bit. Occasionally he runs into some squirrels. "Talk about your encounters with squirrels." What a question! Is this guy nuts? Then the pay-off. The chaplain explains that one time he was riding in the golf cart and a squirrel darted out in front of him. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have run over the rodent. But he stopped in time. The squirrel just looked at him. The chaplain stared back. And he knew that he had had the power to kill the squirrel and instead opted not to use that power. If that's preaching, then I need to start going to church again.
Werner Herzog is not a sentimentalist. He does not romanticize either the killers or the victims. He simply lets the temporary survivors tell their story. The camera lingers on these men and women and we see them in ways we never do in documentaries. For instance, again early on, Michael Perry comes into the visitation area for his interview. He turns around to place his handcuffed wrists in an adjoining hole so the guards can unlock him for the interview. He wipes the separating glass with a cloth. He wants to be able to see Herzog and he wants us to be able to see him. It is one of the most disturbing scenes I have ever witnessed in a film.
The other scene I feel obliged to mention is that of a former correctional officer from the Texas Death Wall who resigned after the execution of Karla Faye Tucker. You may remember her. In June 1983 she struck Jerry Lynn Dean twenty-eight times with a pick-ax. Her conviction and execution in 1998 received some play because she converted to Born Again Christianity in prison and no less a blood-thirsty robot than Pat Robertson came out and begged for the state not to kill Tucker for the reason that killing a Christian is just not good policy. In any event, this C.O. resigned after strapping down over one hundred inmates. He just couldn't do it any more. He began to sense that something else was happening, that this wasn't about justice any longer. And he made an interesting observation about "living the dash." On your tombstone, he pointed out, there is the date of your birth and the date of your death. These dates are separated by a dash. That dash is your life. Live it.
With the highest incarceration rate of any western country and the only such country to practice the death penalty, our time together may be short.
Chances are Perry was referencing charges that he had acted improperly--conspiratorially--by appointing three of nine commission members to investigate the circumstances of the evidence, trial and execution of Cameron Todd Willingham back in 2004, an execution for a crime which, in all likelihood, Mr. Willingham was innocent.
Twelve hundred thirty-three people have been executed within the domain that is the state of Texas since 1819.
If you want the names of other people who were almost certainly innocent but executed by Texas anyway, check out Carlos DeLuna, Ruben Cantu, David Spence, Gary Graham, and Claude Jones. Their executions were all quite recent. Guilt or innocence really doesn't matter in Texas. All that matters is that the electorate gets to taste the blood. That's it.
Texas executed Michael Perry for a triple murder for which in all likelihood he was guilty as sin. And still the execution was wrong. Werner Herzog's incredible documentary Into the Abyss (2011) looks at the family and friends of the victims, as well as the killer and his convicted accomplice, and the details of what turned out to be a very stupid crime motivated by the desire to steal a fancy sports car.
In 2001, when the murders were committed, Michael Perry and Jason Burkett were eighteen years old. The victims in the case were Sandra Stotler, her son Adam, and a friend named Jeremy Richardson. All of this, as well as a police shoot-out with the perpetrators, happened in the small town of Conroe. I can say with some confidence that no matter what your pre-existing position on capital punishment, nothing in this movie will alter that position. However, it can also be said that your heart will change because you will be forced to admit to yourself the infinite complexities that heart of yours contains. Herzog listens to the people he interviews. He listens hard and so do we. The camera stays on a young man who knew one of the assailants. He stands there with his Pitbull ball cap, talking and spitting, telling us about the time one of the convicts stabbed him under the arm pit with a nine inch Phillips head screw driver all the way up to the handle. No, he didn't go to the hospital. Spit. He just thought himself lucky to be alive and went back to work.
Whether you know it or not, you are never far from someone who has committed a violent crime. A good many of these people are housed in the many correctional facilities throughout this country and others are not. Some of those who are not live in parks or shelters. Others live in very nice homes. Some cannot read. Others are highly literate. And every now and again, one of these folks goes to Texas and kills somebody, gets caught, and the state puts him or her to death, usually after about ten to twelve years.
Herzog does not preach. He just asks questions, good questions, such as early in the film when we meet the prison chaplain who will oversee the execution of Michael Perry. He talks about what he does to stay sane. He golfs a good bit. Occasionally he runs into some squirrels. "Talk about your encounters with squirrels." What a question! Is this guy nuts? Then the pay-off. The chaplain explains that one time he was riding in the golf cart and a squirrel darted out in front of him. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have run over the rodent. But he stopped in time. The squirrel just looked at him. The chaplain stared back. And he knew that he had had the power to kill the squirrel and instead opted not to use that power. If that's preaching, then I need to start going to church again.
Werner Herzog is not a sentimentalist. He does not romanticize either the killers or the victims. He simply lets the temporary survivors tell their story. The camera lingers on these men and women and we see them in ways we never do in documentaries. For instance, again early on, Michael Perry comes into the visitation area for his interview. He turns around to place his handcuffed wrists in an adjoining hole so the guards can unlock him for the interview. He wipes the separating glass with a cloth. He wants to be able to see Herzog and he wants us to be able to see him. It is one of the most disturbing scenes I have ever witnessed in a film.
The other scene I feel obliged to mention is that of a former correctional officer from the Texas Death Wall who resigned after the execution of Karla Faye Tucker. You may remember her. In June 1983 she struck Jerry Lynn Dean twenty-eight times with a pick-ax. Her conviction and execution in 1998 received some play because she converted to Born Again Christianity in prison and no less a blood-thirsty robot than Pat Robertson came out and begged for the state not to kill Tucker for the reason that killing a Christian is just not good policy. In any event, this C.O. resigned after strapping down over one hundred inmates. He just couldn't do it any more. He began to sense that something else was happening, that this wasn't about justice any longer. And he made an interesting observation about "living the dash." On your tombstone, he pointed out, there is the date of your birth and the date of your death. These dates are separated by a dash. That dash is your life. Live it.
With the highest incarceration rate of any western country and the only such country to practice the death penalty, our time together may be short.
