'Deliverance' is a masterpiece about the fragile male psyche

While I am a big believer in the value of the Bechdel test, and almost exclusively view modern movies through that lens, there are occasionally films that are exclusively about maleness that have an undeniable power and resonance.

The 1972 classic Deliverance is one of those films.

Women are barely on screen and don't really factor into the world of the film in any meaningful way. And it's relatively straightforward narrative of four friends who get far more than they bargained for during a canoeing adventure in backwood country, could be easily misconstrued as an effective bit of pulp.

But this film, and the 1970 novel on which its based, are much more interested in the interpersonal dynamics of the four lead characters than the occasionally grisly and squirm-inducing machinations of the plot.

Each character comes to represent a distinct trait -- Ned Beatty is weak, Burt Reynolds is strong, Ronnie Cox is principled and that leaves the ostensible lead of the film -- Jon Voight -- as the most ambiguous of the group. By the end he might be best described as haunted, as the film in many ways is about his loss of innocence.

In the novel, his character has a preoccupation that borders on homoerotic with the character played by Reynolds. And in a way, although his screen-time is limited in the second half of the movie, this is Reynolds' film. He gives a truly fantastic, Oscar-worthy performance, that has been sadly overshadowed by some of his sillier yet successful later movies.

His character represents a certain macho ideal -- an ethos which success that manhood is defined by a man's ability to conquer and dominate -- either his fears or other people. What makes the film compelling is that at times it's unclear whether the audience should agree or disagree with Reynolds' approach. It's ambiguous.

Certainly, Cox's more humane and morally sound protagonist should earn our loyalty and respect, and yet Reynolds' charisma (not unlike the Denzel Washington character in Training Day) finds you persuaded to embrace some dubious thinking.

I've always joked that when more than two or three men get together it's a gang, and the film plays with this concept. How men can sometimes reinforce bad behavior or at the very least goad their peers into acting against their will in order to assert their masculinity.

Adding a layer to this film is its most infamous aspect -- the shocking visceral inclusion of male-on-male rape -- not just as a subject matter, but as a pivotal plot point. Even though the source material was a best-selling book, it's incredible to me that a movie this vivid and harrowing was a tremendous commercial success. It's hard to believe a film this uncompromising would ever be greenlit today.

The fear of the sexual assault by someone of the same sex is played for laughs more often than not in films, but it's clearly a taboo that has remained potent in the minds of men for years. The movie handles it in a searing, unforgettable way.

But its the actors who make this material matter. Beatty is almost childlike in his helplessness at times. There is something symbiotic and telling about how he both resents and reveres the Reynolds character. Cox is the moral center and so it speaks volumes that he is the one who meets the harshest fate. And the tension between the Reynolds and Voight characters is really worth investigating.

Are they jealous of each other, attracted to each other? Why do they go on these adventures together, what are they trying to prove.

And what are men always hoping to prove to themselves and others? That they are men. Whatever that means.