'V for Vendetta' is a movie adaptation of the graphic novel written by Alan Moore and illustrated predominantly by David Lloyd. The screenplay was written by Andy and Larry Wachowski, and directed by James McTeigue (who worked on the Matrix trilogy).

In a dystopian United Kingdom, set in the not too distance future, the citizens are ruled by Chancellor Sutler (played by John Hurt), who came into power through fear. It was fear of the epidemic that took 80,000 lives, fear of the terrorists, of Muslims, of homosexuals, of the 'other' that fuelled his one-party system and his coming into power. Curfews are in effect each night and the Fingermen, a kind of secret police, roam the streets eager to catch any wrong-doers. In one of the the opening scenes, these figures of authority come across our heroine, Evey (played by Natalie Portman), out after curfew and decide the best matter of recourse is to rape her. As she is begging to be spared, the 'hero' (or anti-hero, it's really up to individual opinion), V (played by Hugo Weaving of Matrix fame), emerges from the shadows to thwart the evil-doers and rescue gentle Evey. The rest of the movie largely involves Evey's descent into V's world of terrorism and socio-political change, and of her own personal transition from a passive observer, to a woman without fear and therefore the ability to act.

I don't really want to talk about the plot, though, I want to talk about the symbolism and what the movie so strongly conveyed to me.

This movie is, above all, about hope. Hope for humanity, hope for ourselves.

V is a monster. He kills for revenge, he is horribly disfigured beneath his mask and dramatic garb. He has no memory of his life before his capture and torture. He knows nothing but hate, and pain, suffering and killing. He feels no remorse for the lives he takes, and even rejoices in them. None of this is hidden from the audience, and yet you (read: Evey) love him. I've always questioned why there are so many 'heroes' in stories who act like anything but; men and women who kill for revenge and think nothing of taking life. And yet still we love them. We believe they can change. Their tragic pasts touch us, help us understand them, and we hope above all that we, out of everyone, can reach them. We fervently want to believe the best about people. No matter how cynical and jaded we as a society have become there is always a part of us that wants, desperately, to believe that redemption is always accessible to us.

The moment that really pushes forth the message of hope isn't the ending, or Evey's eventual love for V and his for her, it is Valerie's letter, which I believe to be some of the best writing in recent cinematic history. Her story is so familiar; growing up knowing you were different, being told you'd change, falling in love, risking normality for that love. Her life was beautiful. Not because of the roses she grew with her girlfriend, not because of their shared kisses as the sunset behind them, not because they grew closer in a mere three years to a point where Valerie could imagine no one else in her life, but because it is true, and it's recognisable. When they came for her, she sat waiting on the sofa, looking in the low light as if she were naked. She'd already lost her love and had nothing else to give. She waited quietly to be taken, but she never gave up hope. Not hope of escape, not hope of surviving, of living, but hope that someone would read her words and love her in return. She wrote her life's story on toilet paper and shared it with a man she'd never meet. She loved him. She loved you. Her capacity for love, despite everything that had been done to her, was something no one could ever take and, in that, you have a type of hope that is untouchable. You can watch the video clip of this scene here (it has English subtitles so kefi you can watch it!).

There's a huge amount of symbolism in this movie and I couldn't begin to touch upon all of it, but some really stood out. The mask was the perfect touch and I agree with the director's decision never to let us see beneath it. V was right; he is no more his face beneath that mask than we are to be personally defined by our muscles beneath the skin, or our bare skeleton. He was the mask, and you come to believe that. When Evey presses her lips to the fixed, smiling mouth of that mask, you can almost see him feel that. You can almost believe those are his lips that she is kissing. The particular mask chosen is excellent. There were moments when I almost believed I saw an eyebrow raise a fraction of an inch, or the smile deepen. It is truly, wonderfully done.

The umbrellas struck me, too. Everyone in the streets have the same dour, black umbrellas. When do you ever see that? What better message of total assimilation and control than the fact that even a minor issue like umbrella colour and design has become so regulated? What better example of the country's passivity?

I've read comments that this movie "glorifies" terrorism. I think that's too simplistic. I'm not convinced this movie ever tells us what is right or wrong. It's natural that we view fascist governments as ethically and morally wrong, no doubt, but I am not convinced that the movie ever actually says whether V is righteous in his quest. He wants vengeance after all. He seeks to 'save' the nation not purely out of altruism, but from a deep-seated hatred and, yes, numbness that consumed his life. Twenty years, he tells Evey, twenty years of nothing but planning this day, his final hour. Nothing else mattered to him, and even his love for Evey was not enough to turn him from his work. "I can't" he tells her. Is that an admission that he's not strong enough? That he's not a better man for putting aside petty revenge, no matter how much it might be deserved, in order to move on and be with her? In order to feel? Yes, he is painted as a tragic hero, but he's also clearly a villain. The black cape, the black suit, the knives, the almost horrifically smiling mask, the lack of real emotion. This is all a villain's effects. We sympathise with him, but do we believe he's right? When faced with horror, tragedy, and injustice do we really feel righteous when we respond in kind?

No matter what you decide about V's character, it's clear he had to die. I don't think there's a place for him in the world he'd created, and I think that was always his intent. To make decisions for others, which is what he does in some ways, is exactly what he's fighting against. He can't be the nations hero in life. He needs to remain the idea, the myth. And Evey understood that. When Inspector Finch (played by Stephen Rea) asks her who V was, the factual answer is that she doesn't know, but the mythic answer, and arguably the most true, is that he is her murdered father, mother, and brother, that he's the Inspector who stepped aside and allowed Evey to finish V's great scheme, and that he is her. He is everyone, and I think this is meant not just in regards to their freedom, which he grants them through his final actions, but to the fact that we as humans have a capacity within us for great evil and injustice, as well as great hope and love. We are V as much as we are anyone else. We, like V, have the capacity to be villains or heroes, and the choice is entirely ours, if only we'd just realise it.

I think you could watch this movie as purely a very slick, very cinematically beautiful, and completely exciting action film. A lot of people probably don't feel as strongly as I do about the symbolism or imagery, and, frankly, I blame my early years of drama school on that! But if, like me, you have a huge soft spot for movies that say more with images than they do with words, than I'd be surprised if you didn't love this film.

And, before I forget, I should comment briefly on the role of words within the movie. V lives and sustains himself on words. He understands their power, yes, but I also believe they're all he has. He has no memory of his life before, and his present is consumed with the future; of what he plans to do, so he buries himself in words. He loves them and, initially, that seems to be all he loves. They're the only thing that move him. He rejoices in their usage, speaks tongue-tying sentences, quotes Shakespeare, is almost nonsensical with his use of alliteration. He surrounds himself with them (such as in Evey's room) and lives through them. And yet you never see him speak. In contrast, Chancellor Sutler is seen on the huge screen, mouth moving animatedly, as he speaks words that ring false. He says all the right things, speaks of courage and unity and faith, but they ring as false as the lie you discover them to be. Words spoken in truth from behind an impassive mask have more power that those used by those who stand in the public eye and corrupt.

Something I'll always wonder is whether V shattered the mirror and his mask because he knew that what he had done to Evey was wrong, or because he felt he had no choice and felt powerless, a feeling he'd been avoiding for so long. Or, maybe, it was just the fact that he felt anything that moved him. Either way, it's one of my favourite scenes. It feels, to me, like he did a lot of these horrible things out of love for Valerie and her message, but it's a hard love, or a secret one perhaps. It took falling in love with Evey for him to share it. Maybe his love for Valerie was identical to her love for the world; unfocused, non-judgemental, open, and honest, but always true. I'm actually torn about whether he was ever truly numb, or whether he felt a form of love all along. I think either argument works.

I'll probably think of a million more parts of the movie to critique later. It really feels like something that I could ponder over for days, and reminds me of when I used to critique work like this at school, back when I still believed it would mean something if I became an actress.

Films like this almost, almost, make me regret giving up that world.

Go watch it. :)