Twilight Los Angeles 1992 Movie

Seeing the movie form of Twilight Los Angeles 1992 forced me to reconsider some judgments I made during my reading of the play. Anna Smith’s interpretation of the characters, drawn directly from her encounters with the real people she portrays, shows their attitudes to the events, in some cases, as much different from the way I read the monologues.

For example, when I initially read “Heads in Shame,” I thought the speaker was bitter, almost angry. Heads in Shame is spoken by a male juror of the first Rodney King trial. He speaks condemningly of his encounters with the press after the verdict was announced, and deeply questions the reactions of the public. While reading this and later discussing it with classmates, I inferred the inflection of his voice to be laden with the bitterness of having to endure the consequences of a verdict he still perceived to be just.

Instead, Smith portrays the man as quiet, reserved, and deeply sad. In retrospect, this seems to be a much more real emotional response. After all the time that elapsed between the trial and the interview with Smith, it makes sense that bitterness and anger towards an unfeeling mob would dissolve, and all that remains would be the profound unhappiness with the unfortunate turn in his life. He speaks of his privacy being blatantly violated by the press, and in turn receiving support from the KKK, which he viewed as further condemnation of his actions.

                The portrayal of the riot participants was also enlightening. All riot participants (who, coincidentally, happen to be black) are depicted in a mad frenzy, wildly destructing the props placed haphazardly around the stage with no purpose beyond devastation for its own sake. This discounts the political undertones of the riots by showing the aimless targeting of victims and property, yet perfectly communicates the collective “blind rage” that overtook South Central after the verdicts.

                The director also made an interesting choice by intertwining the monologues of Daryl Gates, the Chief of LAPD, and June Park, a Korean whose husband was killed by rioters. Parks emotional testimony about the needless death of her husband contrasts harshly with Gates’ casual, careless defense of his inaction during the first hours of rioting. The scene truly touches on the divide between the police and the victims. When faced with the danger of confronting the mob with an understaffed force of officers, the LAPD repeatedly choose to wait out the horde. Meanwhile, people such as Reginald Denny were being beaten nearly to death, with no repercussions for the aggressors. The scene, to bystanders, the media, and the rioters was thus determined to be a free-for-all, which perpetuated violence.