The Devils Advocate, Taylor Hackford Interview, 'Who Is Satan?'

introduction

As a young boy growing up in a small town on the edge of the Bible Belt, it sometimes seemed as if there were essentially two kinds of people in the world: those who believed and those who didn't. Not in God—everyone believed in God. I'm talking about the devil. For some, it seemed, the concepts of Satan, hell and eternal damnation were as real and tangible as the ground beneath their feet. But for others, myself included, the arcane concept of some supernatural figure dealing out temptation and punishment from beyond the grave just seemed profoundly out of step with modern life, an obvious anachronism in an age of semiconductors and space travel. The notion of Satan and even the idea of sin not only failed to inspire in me fear or trepidation, they hardly even registered on my moral radar screen. Hell, in my liberal Christian upbringing, was a state of mind rather than a physical place and I was raised to show little concern for ideas that seemed, for the most part, to be mere superstition. Except perhaps for a brief encounter with the exquisite beauty of the poetry in John Milton's Paradise Lost and Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus in my college years, I had almost no experience with this classic embodiment of evil that has so enthralled the pious and the faithful for centuries. So when I went to see the movie The Devil's Advocate two years ago, I hardly expected that it might begin to change my opinions about the power and resilience of this time-honored symbol.

The movie tells the story of a young defense lawyer, played by Keanu Reeves, with a perfect string of courtroom victories in a small Florida district who accepts an offer to go to work for a very large, very wealthy international law firm in New York City. The law firm is run by a man suspiciously named John Milton, played by Al Pacino, a charismatic, charming and confident international power broker with an unusual interest in the fate of this young hotshot attorney. As the story unfolds, the devil is truly in the details, and Keanu Reeves ends up the unsuspecting protégé of this man of influence and prestige who, as we soon learn, is none other than Satan himself, a modern embodiment of God's most famous fallen angel. It is in many ways a classic story of temptation and seduction, an updated version of Faust told with all the energy, flair, cleverness and special effects that mark the best of Hollywood's talents.

Having been a spiritual practitioner for many years at that point, I was struck by the power of the film's portrayal of Satan, whose name is derived from an ancient Hebrew word meaning "adversary." Indeed, here suddenly was a devil I could relate to as a real spiritual adversary, one whose diabolical yet disquietingly human escapades breathed new life into the timeworn ideas of sin, transgression, pride, temptation and evil. As Faust, Paradise Lost, The Devil and Daniel Webster and no doubt countless other artistic works on this theme had done for generations past, this modern-day supernatural parable began to open my eyes to what, in fact, the concept of the devil could signify for the spiritual seeker. While still just as skeptical of the fire and brimstone, hell and redemption spirituality of my childhood hometown, I nevertheless felt a new appreciation for the idea of the devil and its vivid representation of the challenges we all face on the spiritual path.

This appreciation was helped along by the fact that, in the story, the main character falls prey to the classic temptations of vanity, lust, ambition and greed in ways that are disturbingly easy to relate to from one's own experience. And the movie pulls no punches as to the consequences of its characters' actions. To sell your soul to the deadly sins of vanity, greed and ambition is to sell your soul to Satan himself—an idea that, presented in this modern form, caused, I confess, a few moments of self-reflection. Not because I was worried about spending my postmortem days in a fiery hell, but simply because the movie makes a powerful link between small transgressions of conscience and the painful consequences that unfold when we place the appeasement and gratification of our own ego above all else.

So as we began our research for this issue—exploring the question: What is ego?, What exactly is our adversary on the spiritual path?—we quickly put The Devil's Advocate on our list to review along with numerous other books and videos, both classic and modern, addressing the subject of the devil in the spiritual life. Although he has lost some of his luster in our modern information age, the figure of Satan still is a topic of tremendous fascination, as attested to by the volume of material currently devoted to his study. Indeed, as the personified force of evil intentions in the human soul, his specter has dominated the Western moral imagination since the advent of Christianity two thousand years ago, and today there almost seems to be a resurgence of interest in the ideas that have created and sustained his myth. While the religious fervor that has often accompanied the idea of Satan has gratefully receded from our culture, could it be, we wondered, that he still articulates aspects of our spiritual and moral lives that cannot be easily translated into a modern context? The devil may, for good reason, no longer have a place in our psychologically informed society, but as Andrew Delbanco, author, social critic and Professor of Humanities at Columbia University, points out in his book The Death of Satan, "Despite the loss of old words and moral concepts—Satan, sin, evil—we cannot do without some conceptual means for thinking about the universal human experience of cruelty and pain. If evil with all of its insidious complexity escapes the reach of our imagination, it will have established dominion over us all."

With all of this in mind, we set off to find someone who could shed some light on the devil, this proud and ageless spirit whom Al Pacino had brought so vividly to life on the big screen. And what better place to start, we thought, than with the film's award-winning director himself. So I called Taylor Hackford, who upon hearing the topic of this issue, What is ego?, immediately responded, "Yes, that's exactly what The Devil's Advocate is all about," and generously agreed to talk with me. Apparently Hackford, in tandem with his screenwriter and collaborative partner Tony Gilroy, was the primary creative force responsible for the provocative ideas that animate The Devil's Advocate. Indeed, from the moment we started talking, he spoke with great passion about the message behind this captivating modern morality tale, and explained why, at the close of the second millennium, the ancient myth of the tireless master tempter known as Satan, is still relevant for us all.

interview

WIE: In your film The Devil's Advocate, Al Pacino plays the role of the devil. What is his character meant to represent? Is Satan a metaphor, or is he real? Who or what is the devil that you were trying to depict?

TAYLOR HACKFORD: The whole concept of the devil is a metaphor on one level. And I think what was of particular interest to me in making this film is that whether we call it "God" and the "devil" or we call it "good" and "evil," I believe that they're both inside mankind, and that you make your own choices. It's very clearly stated in the film: You make your own choices, and what you're always fighting is ego. What you're always fighting is narcissism. What's different now from when Walter Huston did The Devil and Daniel Webster? Well, there are some things that are different. You're now, as we say in the film, "fiber-optically connected to your every eager impulse." In other words, the whole culture is based on ego gratification. We're constantly inundated not just with products that you can groom yourself with, but with infinite ways in which you can satisfy your urges and reflect your own image.

The Devil's Advocate portrays a very powerful world where you have these large economic entities that are constantly looking for the best and newest gunslinger—and in this instance it was Keanu Reeves, as a lawyer. It's a world in which, when a bright young facilitator can come in and save the day, there is the promise of untold riches and ego gratification—not just in terms of a better car, a nicer apartment, a better suit, but also in the sense of the media, where everything starts to shine on you and build you into something larger than the next man, the next woman. That was what we were reflecting in the film.

WIE: So we're dealing with the same timeless issues that people have always struggled with, but they're just heightened in every way in the modern age?

TH: Yes. And it's a question of how far we're willing to go in order to let the ego shine, in order to let that beacon penetrate not only the local scene but the world. Feeding that ego is what The Devil's Advocate was all about.

So, getting back to your question—Who is John Milton, the Al Pacino character?—what was important and interesting to me was where it becomes clear in the movie that, in a certain sense, the devil didn't do anything. For example, in the last scene, Keanu Reeves says, "You made me do this! You destroyed my wife. You did it." And Pacino replies, "Give me a break; I didn't do a thing. Every single step of the way, you could have made another choice, and you didn't. You double-dealt your wife the moment you got to New York. You were already looking at other women. You wanted this. You decided in the court case to get a man off, even though you knew he was guilty. Every step of the way, you made choices, and you made them because you wanted the reward." That is what we were really looking at—how far people can be willing to go for the stroking of ego, for the aggrandizement of their own narcissism.

WIE: How did you direct Pacino? As the devil, what kind of personality did you want him to express?

TH: Well, it took a lot of time to convince Al to do the role. He looked at the screenplay and said, "It's another devil movie." And I said, "Al, listen, you've played Richard the Third, you'd like to play Macbeth, I'm sure you'd love to do King Lear. All of these are classic roles. The devil is also a classic role." Look at Walter Huston in The Devil and Daniel Webster: It's an incredible performance. The thing that's great about it is that this amoral character, who is an angel who has fallen from grace, resents his "father"—but at the same time, loves mankind. I wasn't interested in having this omnipresent figure pointing his fingers and having lightning come out of them. I was interested in someone who truly loves and understands mankind. You see, mankind has its own weaknesses; mankind's ego creates folly. This devil loves mankind because men are going to always make the choice that will send him into ascendancy. He's been winning the game for a long time.

When I sold it that way, Pacino started to get it. And I said, "You know, this character, John Milton, the man who runs the law firm, is incredibly smooth and smart. But he doesn't have to be all buttoned-down." I wanted somebody who you believe could walk into international corporate boardrooms and carry on a very intense and articulate conversation. But at the same time, he's got a little looseness to him, he's not surprised by anything, he's not uptight. He's seen it all. And Pacino looks ageless, which he is. You just feel an ease and at the same time a wit, and a devilishness perhaps, that come off of him. So what I asked Al to do was to play it very cool, very easy. When he's in his office and he's the chairman of the board of this huge international law firm, he doesn't have to evidence his power with a loud voice. Everything is easy; he's in complete control.

On the other hand, when he's out in the street, when you see him walking with Keanu Reeves in Chinatown, I wanted him to reflect a whole different persona. He comes alive. These are his people, the people in the New York street. I wanted you to get a sense that John Milton was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, that he was a self-made man, that he's got his feet on the ground.

Then at the very end of the film, he's defrocked—defrocked of his corporate suit—and now you see him in his apartment, and you see, in fact, that he is the devil. There's a chance then for him to kind of let it all hang out. He has a lot to say in the last scene. His monologue is very important because it's the crux of our argument. It's what we were trying to reveal about human beings at this point in the millennium—that whole sense of the narcissism of capitalism. So at that point he takes on this larger-than-life persona, and he can raise his voice, he can shout to heaven, because, having been cast out, he's an angry entity. It's the first time in the movie you see him reveal that he has resentments. Of course he doesn't have resentments against mankind—he has resentments against heaven and God, and rails against them. It's a full-out battle. So what I talked to Pacino about was modulating a performance over the entire film, where, as you would expect with the devil, he's not going to really reveal himself until finally he takes off his corporate garb and says, "This is who I really am." And actually at the end of the film he can be seen as a bit of a tragic figure, because he's always doomed to fail if, in fact, you have a moral tale where God wins.

WIE: The dangers of feeding and empowering the ego are clearly depicted in the film. How far do you take this critique?

TH: Well, if you're ultimately asking: Do I think we can live in an egoless society?—no, I don't, and I'm not trying to say that. Without ego, you don't have individualism. And I would certainly say that ego is responsible for many works of artistic genius because you have to have people who say, "I can do it differently; I can do it better." You may say, "People can be individuals without having to feed their egos." But in reality, in order to step out and really make a stand, in order to walk out on the precipice and say, "I can do this better," you have to believe it, and that means your ego is being developed. However, once you do step out, there is a support system in our culture that comes into play that starts to say, "You're a genius." But you're not a genius. You may be right on certain things, and you may be very talented in certain areas, but that doesn't mean that you're God. Our society gives power to people who are successful. All of a sudden, if you've created something unique and interesting, you're set apart. That's okay—you should get some recognition. But, unfortunately, sometimes that affirmation creates a sense that you deserve special treatment and recognition in areas where you're not so talented. And then self-importance starts to take over, and you find that you're making decisions that are destructive, making decisions that have nothing to do with your talent but have everything to do with your narcissistic desires. I mean, these are the things that we are faced with every day. The problem is that we have a society and a worldwide capitalistic system that are there to satisfy your narcissism on every level and give you a sense of yourself as larger than what you really are.

WIE: And this invariably leads to problems.

TH: Right. Because when you have millions of people with this kind of need for gratification, and the culture is saying that it's possible for everyone to satisfy all of their needs and desires all of the time, there are obviously going to be clashes—clashes of ego. The contradictions will multiply until things explode. But I can't say that ego is not a valuable thing—it is. It's just a question of how to control it, how to modulate it, how to keep it from growing to the point where it becomes a sort of large, fatty tumor.

WIE: In Christian theology, the most fundamental sin on the spiritual path is pride. And pride, of course, is Lucifer's mortal sin. Over and over again in the movie, the protagonist falls into the trap of his own pride, egoism and vanity. Unable to accept any kind of defeat in the courtroom, he practically throws his life away to protect his perfect string of victories. "Lose?" Keanu Reeves says at one point, trying to defend his actions, "I don't lose, I win. I win! I'm a lawyer. That's my job. That's what I do." At which point the devil looks at him calmly with a knowing smile and responds, "I rest my case. Vanity is definitely my favorite sin." Could you say more about the relationship between pride and evil, and how that informed the creation of the movie?

TH: I think, at a certain point, no one is infallible. And if you think you are, if your pride gets to the point where you say, "I'm the best," there's still always going to be somebody who's better. And if it comes down to having to confront failure, that's when you want to change the playing field. In other words, then you resort to devices and techniques that are not necessarily ethical. Because you've got to preserve your ego and your pride. But you don't want to feed the ego to the point that you end up with a big cirrhosis of the liver—where you open it up and see this huge fatty mass in there that you've created—created by drinking into it. Now the fact is that most of the time all of that stuff is hidden, and what you are basking in is this glow of notoriety, this glow of success that is worshiped and celebrated in our society. And that is a very heady brew to ever resist. That's what happens in this film. Of course, that's what the devil is celebrating. "Go for it! Win! Don't pay any attention to what God is saying. Don't pay any attention to this other stuff. You can feed your ego. You can have all the sex you want. Why feel any guilt about anything anyway? There is no guilt; just go for it!" That's what he's saying. And too often in our society, that is a goal in and of itself. I think the last confrontation is being faced with your own hypocrisy. That's the hardest thing in the world. The hardest thing is to look and say, "I did it all myself." That's what Keanu finally has to say, "I did it. I destroyed my wife. I did it all." And the wonderful thing in the movie is that he goes all the way through this whole process, and then he realizes that he can still control the situation. He can make the right choice. The devil, as all-powerful as he is, still needs the individual to make their own choices.

So the devil is pushing Keanu to give in at the end, and when it doesn't happen and everything falls apart, and the devil is defeated yet again, you think, "Oh, wow, it's a happy ending." But I couldn't leave the film that way. So then it's a flashback to the very beginning. Everybody goes, "Oh, it didn't really happen. His wife is still there. All that horrible stuff didn't really happen. Isn't life great; it's a movie." And then at the very end, what I wanted was to have him do something in court that totally violates the ethics of his profession. He doesn't represent his client because he knows he's guilty. He violates that contract, and so therefore the judge is going to disbar him because you can't do that within the legal profession. He does something that is morally right, but professionally wrong.

Then he walks out thinking, "I stood up. I did the right thing for the first time in my life. That's an amazing thing!" And as he goes out, he realizes, "My God, the press is going to make a hero out of me! I can be incredibly famous. I'll be on the cover of Time magazine—for doing the right thing! That's going to be great." And immediately you see him make that decision, and he tells the local reporter, "Call me tomorrow." And when he does, you realize he's feeding the ego again. And then all of a sudden the reporter turns into Al Pacino, the devil. And the devil says, "Yes, I lost before, but I'm back." So in other words, if you win a moral victory, it's not over. You confront those choices every single day. And the temptation is never going to stop.

WIE: At the climax of the movie, when the devil tempts the protagonist, he does so by offering to take away his "bag of bricks," his guilt and worry over the consequences of his actions—in effect, severing him from his own conscience. And this seemed to be the characteristic of all the devil's henchmen in the movie—a kind of eerie confidence, born presumably from a lack of conscience. In looking into the subject of evil for this issue, we came across several passages asserting that the definition of true evil is the conscious denial of one's conscience. Best-selling author and psychologist M. Scott Peck, in his book on human evil People of the Lie, writes, "What distinguishes the evil is the specific type of pain they are running away from . . . the pain of their own conscience." Could you explain how you sought to portray the human conscience in relation to the force of ego and evil?

TH: Well, first, I agree with Peck's statement. Second, in this particular story it was important to base Keanu's character in a background that was quite religious. His mother, played by Judith Ivey, is obviously a religious person who is close to the church and very orthodox in her beliefs, so you know that there have been a lot of moral teachings in this young man's life. He has a certain code of ethics that he has at least attempted to follow, and tried to stay fairly close to the line. In other words, if he's trod across the line, it's been briefly, and he's come back.

But then the stakes are raised, and he goes into a new world, which in this instance we call Babylon, but it's New York City. Babylon traditionally is the place of corruption, the place of sophistication, the place of great wealth, the place of all the temptations. And you start to see that line blur, and you also see that within the context of a seemingly legitimate professional life, everyone is doing it. Everyone is doing it, so it's okay. You see the subjugation of the conscience. And the conscience is replaced by the building and the swelling of ego. And only at a certain point when everything around Keanu starts to change does he start to come to the realization, "Oh my God, I created all this." Before that, he is completely oblivious to it. This is what we were trying to say. The conscience gets buried, especially when those around you and the society celebrate the subjugation of the conscience.

WIE: But Reeves's character makes several decisions during that time when he knows what's right, but he clearly chooses to do the wrong thing. So in a way, he subjugates his conscience himself—consciously. He knows what's right, but he makes a different choice.

TH: Absolutely, because the other side of it feels so good. What he's getting in exchange is so good. It's a process of intoxication of the ego, to the point where you're totally intoxicated. You've buried conscience.

Now when you have a moral tale like this, you want to take your protagonist up to the precipice. And by the time he's at the precipice, there's a lot of bodies lying along the line. In this instance, the sacrifice is his wife. The sacrifice is this person who is closest to him, the person who has supported him. The person who really loved him—he has destroyed. He has destroyed. However long the intoxication of the ego lasts, finally the perfume drifts away and you have to confront reality. So at the end of the movie, Keanu has to confront the horrible truth of what he has done. He has completely subjugated his conscience.

WIE: In an interview you were quoted as saying of the character of the devil in the movie, "His greatest lure is what we have in common with him, our greed, ego, jealousy, competitiveness, lust, dishonesty." Could you say a bit more about that?

TH: I think that there is good and evil in each of us, that we possess all of those things. You know, the piety of man would say, "I don't lust. I don't feel those things." But that's bullshit of course; human beings do. But to say, "I have no conscience; I have no sense of good," is also bullshit. You may subjugate those things, you may deny them, but they're there. And that's my point. I didn't ever want an audience to abdicate responsibility by saying, "The devil's out there. And he made me do it." The devil doesn't make you do anything. You do it yourself.

Who is Satan?