I was never a toddler who appreciated the bombastic yet heart-pounding sights and sounds of the quintessential movie going experience. On a simpler note, I was afraid to go to the movies because of the loud sounds and sometimes dizzying visuals.

But, with my utmost reluctance, my adventurous family took me to see a delightful animated feature on the big screen when I was just two years old. The name of this animated feature was "An American Tail" (1986), which told the heart tugging story of Fievel, a Russian mouse searching for his long-lost family in 19th century America. There are some moments I can still recall to this day: the whimsical song-with-a-moral "Never Say Never," the Billboard Top 40 single "Somewhere Out There," the Broadway-style tune "There Are No Cats in America," and the Brooklyn-accented "Keep Walkin'" (Does anyone recall the scene where Fievel was skittish about walking up the rope to the boat headed for America?). There were also several brilliantly drawn scenes, including a Zeusan tidal wave during the boat trip to America and an eye-winking Statue of Liberty during the film's predictable yet satisfying ending. In addition to seeing the feature-length animated movie during the year of its initial theatrical release, I happened to pick up a Fievel plush toy the day right after I saw the film. Over the next several years, I began to realize that mass merchandising plays a significant role in public relations or, more specifically, the promotion of a major Hollywood hit. I no longer have the Fievel doll I bought that day, but I will always remember how special it was to own something I saw on a screen that I was a wonder for a child like me to behold.

The greatest movies ever made have sometimes been a form of artistic expression for social, political, and even religious controversies we experience in real life. Escapist movies, on the other hand, only allow us to be entertained for a couple of hours without making a point that can effectively provoke the viewer who enthralls in "enlightentainment." What both theses up top have in common, though, is the longstanding debate between the violence that's on the big screen and the almost daily violence that affects our society outside of the theater. As a matter of fact, there have been numerous real-life cases in which certain criminals have based their behaviors on graphically violent films they have seen prior to the heinous acts they've committed. I'm sure many of you may recall some of these kinds of cases. But I don't feel the need to elaborate on this.

On a more personal note, I think that violence in the movies pretty much reiterates what I said in my theses just mentioned. As far back as I can remember, an interesting article in the Connecticut Post mentioned the perplexing terms the Motion Picture Association of America uses to state why a certain movie has been given a certain rating. The 2005 "slasher" hit "Hostel," for example, was not rated R for "violence" or "strong violence," but rather for "strong horror violence/gore and language." What this could mean is that the classification board responsible for rating the picture believed the violence was meant for outrageous horror-movie "thrills" as opposed to more socially conscious depictions of violent behavior. And, like the other students in my class, I honestly do think that action, horror, and other style-over-substance flicks can sometimes go over-the-top with the blood quotient (e.g. Kill Bill, Sin City, Saw, Scream, and Jeepers Creepers).

The thought-provoking masterpieces of world-renowned filmmakers Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese, on the other hand, are a much different story. Never a one to use violence in film for gratuitous reasons, Spielberg's best films have the potential to disturb viewers with their political, social, and historical overtones. In other words, "Schindler's List," "Amistad," "Saving Private Ryan," and the recent "Munich" depict violence as a meditation on the all-too-real horrors of war, slavery, and terrorism. Did I find these films hard to watch at times? Absolutely, but it didn't bother me that he used violence to give these moviegoing experiences a terrific "you-are-there" quality. Scorsese"s films may be more "action-packed," but the most potent works of his career depict violence in ways he has experienced for himself while growing up on NYC's gritty streets. As with other "action" films, the blood leaking from gun or knife wounds may be too much at times. But, unlike conventional films in the genre, he ups the character development and storytelling techniques for reasons all too personal for today's mainstream Hollywood. What we ultimately experience in his films is how street-smart men tend to overpower women and how persistent masculinity affects the characters' overall psychological or emotional complexities. In his "Mean Streets" (1973), for example, a gangster (Harvey Keitel) can't lighten up to his girlfriend's needs because of the conflict he has towards her mentally unstable brother (Robert De Niro) and the "business" he must hold on to in order to become a "made man." Does Scorsesean violence really disturb me? Not really, but it does upset me that contemporary men sometimes can't "calm down" to make love with the opposite sex.

I can't easily explain why young guys my age like movie violence, but it's easy to know that men, in fact, do overpower women in today's society. Just think about it: Rape happens to women more than men, some wives get beaten up by their husbands more than husbands get beat up by their wives, etc. What's comforting about violence in movies, though, is that, regardless of how gratuitous or non-gratuitous it may be, we all know that it's just edited moving images left over from the primal cutting room floor.