Deconstructing the Race Relations in Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight: A Character Study of John Ruth and other observations
(*It is strongly suggested that you watch the movie prior to the reading)
This is not a movie review. Occasional elaborations are mostly for the purpose of contextualization, but by no means are they poised to serve as evaluations of the movie. Plenty of others whose job description matches the task have done just that. If you were looking for a piece assessing the film in question in the more traditional sense, the usual exit door is on the top right.
This also is not a reproach regarding Tarantino’s socio-cultural adaptation of the movie. To be more precise, I am referring to Tarantino’s exposition, his exposé, of the racial undercurrent and their frequent, raw manifestations throughout the movie. I say this because shortly after the movie’s release, many have expressed, some with notable acrimony, strong disapproval of Tarantino’s interpretation of the race relations in that period. For example, one recurring criticism points to the rather liberal presence of the N-word in the script, which appears about 60 times in this eighth film of Tarantino. Considering the word’s peerless stench and its eviction from the scope of acceptable public discourse, hearing it spoken in a manner so light-hearted and carefree may chafe at the increasingly squeamish and exquisite sensibilities of today’s listeners like some uncooked meat.
To those critiques, however, a timely reminder: Tarantino’s work is not known for its historical accuracy, or historicity in general. This is not necessarily because his style does not dwell with documentaries. It is because Tarantino is a storyteller. That much is self-evident in a large chunk of his previous work. In fact, it constitutes a defining trait of his that reemerges time and time again, inter alia, Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, the Kill Bill sequel, Inglorious Basterds, and to an extent, Sin City (Frank Miller’s). And a good storyteller — a bar Tarantino most certainly meets — does not let fidelity to factual conformity get in the way of a captivating narrative. Besides, one’s allegiance to how things ought to have been presented tends to dilute once enthralled by arresting storylines — especially disruptive, nonlinear ones. And if nothing else, Quentin Tarantino is a master at uncoiling disjointed yet glabrous narratives.
Now, to the racial stuff. Take again, for instance, the (over)abundance of the N-word. While the invective’s fundamentally immoral nature and the unique intensity projected by its historically entrenched practice must be fully acknowledged, my present purpose is not to throw a temper tantrum about Tarantino’s transposition of his envisioning of racial relations onto his movie sets as its director. The word director here equals creator. When we approach a work of art, be it a painting, a poem, a novel, or even the architectural structure of a building, we find ourselves entering a world of its creator. A world of its own. And in that domain, in that fiefdom, the creator’s authority is supreme; his power, absolute.
One more thing. Lest we forget, this is a Tarantino movie after all. Here, violence is his love language. It follows that that brutality, whether it speaks in gushing blood (like when John Ruth and poor O.B. vomit their guts out in unison after drinking the poisoned coffee) or gore (recall the scene where Major Marquis Warren blows up Bob’s head like a ripe watermelon), it bears Tarantino’s signature. There is no such thing as an excess of it. A similar argument could be extended to instances where violence takes on the form of old prejudices: misogyny (John Ruth breaking Daisy’s nose to a bloody pulp for mocking his intelligence in the stagecoach) or racial animus ever so dominant a theme immuring the movie. Whichever shape incarnated, whichever medium channeled, that violence is, at its core, violence from one human to another. Of course, that violence remains Tarantino’s alone and his to assume. And he relishes in it, as he has made no secret of how he loses no sleep weighing in others’ judgments. Because in the eyes of the creator, they only amount to noise. Noise from outside, from outsiders. Outsiders who do not possess his gift of creation. Outsiders who have not put in the equally important, back-breaking work of refinement. And as harsh as it may sound, outsiders are just that. Tourists. Spectators. Plebs.
***
The subject of the study is John Ruth. Grosso modo, he is a seasoned bounty hunter travelling with his captive Daisy Domergue in a stagecoach driven in the capable hands of O.B.
At first glance, our subject is all of the following: uptight and antsy; yet undeterred and eminently focused. He is a professional who is anxious to deliver Daisy to the authorities in the Red Rock and collect his bounty money.
Let us dwell on John Ruth’s professionalism for a moment. The application of the term “professional” here is not merely descriptive; it is a qualification and a well-deserved one. John Ruth’s professionalism can first be sighted during his exchange with Major Marquis Warren in the stagecoach, and once more when he fends off Oswaldo’s rather tenacious pestering in the first minutes at Minnie’s Haberdashery. That professionalism is this: that John Ruth’s prisoners are always caught alive and he sees to it that they hang in the appropriate hands of the law. And at each time his operating principle is in dispute, John Ruth recites his favorite line as if it were a mantra:
“No one said the job is supposed to be easy.”
It can be inferred from these two scenes that John Ruth takes great pride in his work, almost as much as he believes in the efficacy of hanging as a powerful deterrent to those he distinguishes as “mean bastards.” So it is not just about the money. There is a method to it, a certain credo as to how to conduct the business. This was John Ruth’s code of work ethics, if you will. And as a true stickler to that convention, he keeps up his guard during all subsequent encounters. His disposition to suspicion due to the nature of his job is replicated with equal force, for example, vis-à-vis Major Marquis Warren as well as with Chris Mannix. Same with the confiscation of guns before and after the arrival at Minnie’s Haberdashery.
Can we blame John Ruth for being overly cautious? Certainly not. One only needs to imagine all the unimaginable things considered occupational hazards. Those were the days where phones and security cameras did not exist. A period in human civilization where the boundaries of law often coincided with folks taking matters into their own hands. The Wild West, or to borrow Oswaldo’s apt words, “Frontier Justice.” In fact, John Ruth’s constant alertness was an essential condition in his line of work, one may argue, the absence of which could very well result in the captor’s own demise. The bounty as his chief motivator and his eyes fixed on the prize, John Ruth thus strives to complete his lucrative quest.
Now, beyond the materialistic aspects abovementioned, our man strikes as a simple (as in mono-focused) but fair-minded, no nonsense type of individual. No doubt a little rough around the edges, him being a bounty hunter and all in the late 1870s. John Ruth is no milquetoast, that’s for sure. A straight shooter, so to speak. One might say almost decent, even. Yes, in fact, one might venture as far as to see John Ruth as someone with the right moral rectitude, in particular when it comes to questions of race. There are several indicators to my claiming him being as such.
One initial sign pertaining to John Ruth’s view on race surfaces when he vehemently expresses his distaste of Chris Mannix’s former entourage, the Mannix Marauders. Regarding what was essentially a Southern state militia composed of a few hundred renegade soldiers, John Ruth does not withhold his loathing. That aversion of his is unambiguous as he and the Major enumerate the atrocities committed by Mannix Sr’s vigilante group: ransacking towns, terrorizing innocent civilians, and as their Confederacy-friendly affiliation would imply, persecuting Black Americans. Perhaps I should just quote John Ruth’s own words here to best convey his level of disgust:
“Bunch of losers gone loco. (…) You wrapped yourselves up in a rebel flag as an excuse to kill and steal.”
Remember, this was right after flat out turning down Chris Mannix’s offer to buy him and Major Marquis dinner and booze as a gesture of gratitude for the ride:
“I don’t drink with rebel renegades, and I damn sure don’t break bread with them.”
He then scoffs at Chris Mannix’s accusations leveled at Major Warren, effectively denying Chris Mannix the right to criticize Warren’s actions during the war. From his incredulity concerning Warren’s questionable past to his aggressive reservations about Mannix’s past association, we can safely place John Ruth at the right side of history.
A second trace to John Ruth’s racial mentality can be detected upon his show of keen interest in Warren’s “Lincoln Letter” This is one of the more interesting scenes in the movie, for there is a coy play, a play of relational power dynamics. Recall at the opening scene how John Ruth was in a position of power, a position from which he could perform an act of kindness, saving Major Warren from potentially freezing to death. Then we witness a one-eighty in John Ruth’s manner of speaking following Apple Blossom’s musical interlude. How he launches then steers the conversation toward the letter is a good place to start. This is John Ruth speaking:
“I, uh… I know we only met each other the once before, and, uh, I don’t mean to unduly imply intimacy, but, well… you still got it?”
Once Warren’s possession of the letter is confirmed then and there, John Ruth continues his ‘courting’ for a chance to lay his eyes on that paper (a second time, from the looks of it):
“Look, I know you got to be real careful with it and all, and I can imagine you probably don’t like taking it in and out of the envelope all that often, but, uh… if you wouldn’t mind, I’d sure appreciate seeing that again.”
Note how his general tone and demeanor change during his inquiry. No, he doesn’t grovel for it, but he definitely lowers himself considerably, which marks a stark reversal from his previous posture. And Warren, as cunning as he is, plays along, with just the right amount of push-and-pull. At the Major’s somewhat sheepish yet strategically irresistible giving in, John Ruth’s eyes light up like a five year-old’s who is about to receive his Christmas present. How facile it is to coax a man! Don’t forget about Daisy gazing at all this with the greatest bewilderment. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, John Ruth’s adulation for Lincoln is out in the open for the whole world to see. And once again, John Ruth seems to be with the winning team on the post-war racial ethics of things.
But the most salient scene pointing to John Ruth’s view on race erupts when he bashes in Daisy’s head upon her objection to Major Warren tagging along. It is a violent scene for sure, and the first one in the movie. Here, John Ruth ensures that Daisy ‘gets it’ (“Let me hear you say ‘I got it’”) as blood trickles down her left cheek. It is unclear whether John Ruth’s resorting to physical violence is simply due to him taking Daisy’s complaint as an act of defiance/insolence (defiance against his invitation to the Major), or whether it springs from his collegial solidarity (or fraternity, for the lack of better words) toward the Major. Whatever the reason, there is a sense of soothing relief, unavowed delectation for some, as our subject puts Daisy back to her place with the butt of his Remington 1858. And right here, if we were to tie that cause to that of racial justice... compliments pour in. An avant-garde champion of desegregation. The white male Rosa Parks before Rosa Parks.
But our commendation ends here.
***
The laudable image of John Ruth as a man of virtue, the solidity of that image, the virility of that conviction, begins to crumble when we take a closer look.
The first sign of atrophy occurs shortly after John Ruth figuratively pats down Major Marquis Warren from a safe distance. Upon verifying the anonymity of his captive to the Major, John Ruth formally bridges them with introduction. Here, in response to Warren’s polite bowing, Daisy’s greeting is short and sweet (and savage) with the casual use of the N-word (“Howdy N*****”). Seeing Warren’s mild vexation at her language, John Ruth is instantly bemused. Calling Daisy a “pepper,” he proceeds to inform her:
“Now, girl, don’t you know the darkies don’t like being called N****** no more? They find it offensive.”
To which she nonchalantly retorts:
“I been called worse.”
At this juncture, John Ruth breaks out into a full-fledged chortle, de facto concurring with her answer (“Now, that, I can believe.”). This is a most remarkable scene, for that laugh is not just any laugh. Through that laughter, John Ruth is taking it upon himself to assume the perceived offensiveness of the N-word. In accepting Daisy’s justification and thereby agreeing with her statement that there are more vicious vituperations than the N-word, John Ruth engages in diminishing the power of speech and the harm therein. A white man so haphazardly presuming, second-guessing and ultimately determining the veritable extent of the verbal abuse, the depth of that cut, directed at the only black man in the scene, as felt by that black man. This, is what is truly intriguing. Who is he, a man who has never been a person of color, nor known its implications, not a single day in his life, to speculate on this word’s significance? By extension, how dare he decide for and in lieu of Major Marquis Warren, an African American war veteran, how the target on the receiving end is supposed to feel?
Now, there are less conspicuous moments where we get a glimpse into our character’s racial bias. Two such occasions are noteworthy. Both involve Bob the Mexican (or John Ruth’s notion of Bob, to be exact), shortly after John Ruth and Daisy have entered Minnie’s Haberdashery. Recall, John Ruth’s go-to choice of suspect for breaking the door? Yes, he blames the Mexican fella. Recall, also, who he faults for “soaking his socks in a (coffee) pot” upon tasting the coffee? Yup. Yet again, our Mexican amigo. Does he know with unimpeachable certainty, does he have any actual evidence proving Bob’s misdeeds? Of course not. But that does not stop him from pointing fingers at the only other person of color who might have been in that room.
Although desultory, there is nothing random about John Ruth’s accusation. His blaming of Bob even for the most insignificant inconveniences betrays his implicit bent regarding The Others. It is of no small import that John Ruth is unaware of the bias within him, because it is precisely this blindness that which enables, in effect ensures, its subsistence.
As regrettable as John Ruth’s lack of self-awareness may be, it is relatively tolerable when measured against the bile his speech spews to those around him. It does not matter that Bob was absent in the room the moment John Ruth blackened his character. It also does not matter whether Bob has or has not committed these offenses. What matters is that Bob’s name, his standing in that circle, in that community of persons, is publicly denigrated. In other words, Bob’s reputation suffers injury. What we have, as the direct consequence of an erratic aspersion tossed around from one man’s flawed perception of The Other, is this pervasive, mushrooming effect polluting the judgment of many in the room. And if John Ruth’s audience had already shared his predisposition prior to this mudslinging, his slander would have lent added comfort and affirmation to their defective beliefs. The tragedy is not so much the distortion of John Ruth’s vision thanks to his own ply. The real tragedy is the spread, the propagation, the contagion of that bias, which, when released in air, corrupts others’ esteem of Bob as well.
Still, no single scene lays bare the superficiality of John Ruth’s relationship with race like his unseemly ‘partnership’ with Major Marquis Warren before their arrival at Minnie’s Haberdashery. We already know it be a union forged by necessity, not born of respect. But it also is one that is fraught with inconsistency. Let me explain.
After recuperating from a brief tumble in the snow, John Ruth is notified by O.B. of another individual’s presence in close proximity (Chris Mannix). Now, keep in mind, just moments ago, how John Ruth was hitting it off with the Major in the stagecoach. We all sat here and watched Major Warren appropriately stroke John Ruth’s ego, taking the care to spell out to Daisy what earned him the nickname “John Ruth The Hangman.” John Ruth, in return, was besotted, a little bit gaga even, over that Lincoln Letter of the Major. Bref, they were having a grand old time together.
At the first sight of a potential risk however, John Ruth immediately turns against his friend. Considering their merry fellowship and camaraderie, the alacrity with which John Ruth forcibly coerces Major Warren to shackle himself is dumbfounding. As if that weren’t enough, with paternalistic overtone, he deems the Major’s possible gain (had he been conspiring with the newcomer) as too good of money for a black man:
“$8000 is a lot of money for a N*****. With a partner, 18’s a whole lot better.”
Talk about insult to injury.
But that’s not all.
Soon thereafter, we have Chris Mannix brazenly putting down his foot, refusing to put on the handcuffs as a prerequisite to gain entry to the stagecoach. Mannix’s protest forces John Ruth to ponder upon his move, now with the knowledge that his decision could lead to legal repercussions once in Red Rock. Facing this hairy dilemma, John Ruth performs another reversal by shamelessly extending his hand to Major Warren — the man he reduced into submission barely minutes ago — to form a pact to double-team the new player.
These scenes are key to disrobing John Ruth’s shallow affinity to race. His repeated revision of his relationship to Major Marquis Warren, that unabashed lability, unveils how he views black people as disposable good. A commodity of some sort. Under a more crushing light, one may extract that John Ruth exploited the apparent incompatibility between black and white men for his own benefit. How do we know this? Because he said it out loud, literally:
“One thing I know for sure, this N*****-hating son of a gun ain’t partnered up with you.”
In that moment, John Ruth used the racial hostility of his fellow countrymen to his personal advantage.
The John Ruth aforementioned, the John Ruth we thought we knew, is no longer recognizable. Suddenly, John Ruth is not that cut-and-dry of a man. This is why this movie speaks volume. It offers a nuanced presentation of racism, with a character who is able to carry some very profound contradictions within him and exert them so effortlessly. A human paradox.
***
In hindsight, it is hard to fault John Ruth for his shifting management. In fact, it could just as well be countered that John Ruth was merely being strategic — yes, pragmatic indeed — in adjusting his position as dictated by the rapidly fluctuating, unpredictable circumstances. The utilitarian in us would offer him praise, not rebuke, for prioritizing the integrity of the mission. And in that process, in view of that goal, one might suggest that his handling of the situation ought to be applauded, not discredited. How he harnessed the only means at his disposal — a lifeline to a safe harbor before an imminent blizzard — was a testament, a tour de force really, to his adept bushwhacking expertise.
(Of course, this should not prevent us from challenging the narrative. John Ruth’s dedication to his job cannot expunge his opportune flip-flopping.)
In more ways than one, we see John Ruth’s reflection in the modern-day left-wing politics — both in the center-left and those sitting further left. They display analogous excrescences. Taking for granted the title and the privilege of their long-standing allyship with people of color simply by virtue of ‘being located’ within the progressive pasture with their hands in their pockets. Cultural appropriations of expressions that often result in the hijacking of hard-earned platforms of actual victims and the voiceless. Undertaking their self-professed identification with higher aspirations as a license to scorn and despise those with different political views (“You know what this is, tramp?”).
This is why Major Marquis Warren’s eventual lie about the Lincoln Letter hit John Ruth as hard as it did. Because in John Ruth’s mind, he was the enlightened white man, not the backward redneck. He was the hero who saved Major Warren, a black man, from freezing to death, and by way of overblown analogy if you would permit me, countless other black men via his righteous intervention worthy of Lincoln’s imprimatur, without which those miserable souls would still be under the yolks of subordination. On top of it all, as recompense to his moral superiority, was it not he, John Ruth The Hangman, who had laid his eyes upon Lincoln’s handwritten letter? Twice?
All this begs the following reexamination of our previous suppositions. Perhaps John Ruth never truly admired Lincoln’s ideas nor his ideals to begin with. Perhaps he was more or less apathetic to Lincoln’s struggle, Lincoln’s cause, as a continuity of the slaving institution and the enduring dehumanization of colored folks would not have affected him personally nor his bottom line. Perhaps, just perhaps, he never gave a damn about what Lincoln stood for. No indeed. John Ruth was disinterested in the national meaning of Lincoln’s achievement and its ineffable significance for millions of subjugated.
Rather, John Ruth was enamored with the person of Lincoln. The idolization of Lincoln and the personification of Lincoln in himself. The ultimate White Savior complex. This explains why Major Warren’s defense fell flat on John Ruth’s deaf ears, for the Major’s lie was perceived as an attack on his gracious benevolence. The why did not matter to John Ruth. And yet, that why was what Lincoln gave his life for. Guided by his faux internalization of Lincoln instead of Lincoln’s values, devastation awaits John Ruth’s rude awakening.
Looking back, one cannot help but feel somewhat sorry about the sad paradox that is our dear friend John Ruth. After all, on the outset at least, he was not too distant from living up to his icon’s expectations. John Ruth was the embodiment of all that was possible, all that was attainable, had he not deviated from the pursuit of what made Lincoln truly great. So close, yet so far.
May the example of John Ruth serve as a tale of caution and a call to self-introspection to all those who assume the banner of anti-racism perfunctorily.
