Mud

"Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly

Sealed up with virgin stitch"

 

Marilyn Manson - Tourniquet

 

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Spoilert: His name is Mud.

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Mentioning Matthew McConaughey's career as a dime-a-dozen romance movie chew toy reminded me we're supposed to pretend he's a respectable professional now, which in turn reminded me of one hint about a decade ago that he might aspire to more than Hugh Grant's understudy.

 

Mud's reviews inevitably mention either its southern gothic or fantastic realist appeal but conspicuously gloss over the flick's main plot element of Quixotic anti-romance. Much as it gives the first impression of a standard "man bad, woman good" Hollywood plot, it may be more nuanced than it first appears. While most viewers will have no trouble critiquing the title character for fabricating a noble but ultimately destructive self-delusion, pretty much no-one seems willing to note that his Dulcinea is not only unappreciative but more importantly unworthy of his heroics. Moreover, the ending can hardly be read as anything other than perpetuating such misery, brainwashing a (surprisingly well acted) young boy into self-destruction in the name of chivalry. This is less a coming-of-age story, as so many superficially label it, as a subtle subversion by its miseducational value.

For the butt of romantic comedy as McConaughey was, such a role not only ran against his usual type but, as he did an admirable job of it, provides a poignant counterpoint to pop-culture assumptions of justified martyrdom.