By Lindsay Toler
By Chad Garrison
By Allison Babka
By Lindsay Toler
By Jake Rossen
By Lindsay Toler
By Kelsey McClure
By Lindsay Toler
Even more disturbing, perhaps, and considerably less pretty, is Zero Day (2003), which is presented as a video diary left behind by school shooters Andre and Calvin, who dub themselves the Army of Two. The home-video footage is uncomfortably reminiscent of the basement tapes, but this army doesn't do much ranting or explaining; they seem to blend in all too well with their surroundings. "We see more than you do," one of the boys tells the camera, but much of what we get to see seems chillingly normal. Ironically, the final sequence of their suicides, shot as if taken by a grainy security camera, has been confused online with actual surveillance footage from Columbine.
If the shooter films come across as cold-blooded, those that focus on the aftermath of a shooting resemble somber but preachy after-school specials. Home Room (2002) offers Busy Phillips of Freaks and Geeks as a put-upon goth girl — and a message about not singling people out because they're different. The Life Before Her Eyes (2007) has the star power of Uma Thurman and Evan Rachel Wood, a message about survivor guilt — and a final plot twist right out of Ambrose Bierce's "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge."
Survivor guilt and bullying also provide the framework for April Showers (2009), written and directed by Andrew Robinson, a '99 graduate of Columbine. Tom Arnold delivers a surprisingly strong performance as Mr. Blackwell, a heroic teacher based on Dave Sanders, and some reviewers found the film quite moving, but it suffers from murky sound and an even murkier story line, with many mawkish moments. Lifetime has its own prior effort at a hope-and-healing film, Dawn Anna (2005), an inspirational biopic starring Debra Winger as the mother of Lauren Townsend, the class valedictorian who was slain in the school library. But the best of all the aftermath movies to date may be a work of non-fiction, the 2011 documentary Thirteen Families, which follows the emotional journey of all the families of those slain at Columbine — and never once mentions the names of the shooters.
The latest entry in the Columbine subgenre is Lynne Ramsay's We Need to Talk About Kevin — which, like Elephant, doesn't offer much accounting for the Bad Seed who decides to practice his archery on his classmates. (Even Kevin, who survives the attack, doesn't have much in the way of motive to offer: "I thought I knew," he says.) The movie is visually striking, with a fragmented, flashback-heavy structure. (There's something about school-shooting movies that invites a non-linear approach — probably so that the violence can be teased out rather than inflicted all at once.) But as in the Lionel Shriver novel the film is based on, it's a bleak business trying to figure out if Kevin is just born bad or a product of rotten mothering by Tilda Swinton's empathy-deprived character. By the end of the film, audiences may be wearing the same look of stunned stupefaction Swinton carries throughout the proceedings.
So far, Kevin hasn't stirred any noticeable outrage among Columbine alums. None of the other filmmakers' interpretations generated much controversy, either. But then, none of them claimed to be the "real story" of Columbine.
The petition opposing Lifetime's miniseries was started by a Las Vegas stage hand named Michael Berry. A 2001 graduate of Columbine, Berry was sitting in his guitar class in the school auditorium when two students ran in and said there were guys with guns running around. As the shots and explosions drew nearer, Berry's teachers locked the doors. Later, a janitor showed the class a safe way out of the school. They ran to a nearby park, where other students milled about in a general panic.
After the initial shock, some students and parents pressed for things to "return to normal" as soon as possible. Berry found that a difficult move. In his senior year, his English class went to see a production of Hamlet set in the 1920s. "The director didn't tell my teacher that at the end of it, the lights go out and guns start firing," he recalls. "A lot of my class had a real hard time with that."
Berry says he doesn't have a problem with Cullen's book, which he hasn't read. But he believes an effort to dramatize the "actual events" of Columbine will do more harm than good. "It's taken me thirteen years, and I still have a few tics and triggers," he says. "This was something that happened to us. Showing someone a video of this — it's way more potent content than reading a book. This is psychologically intense material. It's just toxic. I just don't understand what is going to be added to the conversation."
He notes that people from Jonesboro and Virginia Tech have signed his petition. The issue, he suggests, goes far beyond Columbine: "This does set a precedent for marketing these types of events. If this goes through, I'll bet you twenty dollars there's going to be a movie on the whole Norway thing. Does anybody want to see that rampage? At what point do we draw the line?"
Cullen is well aware of the range of objections to the miniseries. He read through comment after comment in the online petition, trying to understand his critics' perspective, but finally gave it up. "It was demoralizing," he says. "A lot of them were calling me a horrible person."