The 100 Man Killing Contest: Revised

Originally written in 2008 on fisherie.blogspot.com. Now revised and with multimedia aides.

When I opened up a history book to see these words as the title for one chapter, I sat up a little straighter in my hard, plastic desk chair and read the following pages with some interest. A documented controversy set during the Sino-Japanese war of 1937 to 1945, when Japanese troops were about to surround and take over Nanjing.

This must be one of the craziest debates in the history of atrocities: two Japanese soldiers, bored with the concept of war and the occupation of someone else's capital city, decide, on route to victory and massacre at Nanjing, that they should spice things up by entereing competition mode: the first to kill 100 people--Chinese people--wins. They both excitedly agree that this is a great way to conduct the next part of their military campaign.

Due to the on-the-spot, spontaneous and unprepared nature of their bet, and/or their enthusiasm, the next time they check in with each other, one has reached 105 and the other 106. The two men are unsatisfied, because even though they have both reached their targets, there is no way to prove who had gotten to 100 first. So, they go on with the most logical course of action to settle their friendly rivalry: take the competition to 150, to see who gets to the next stage first.

Such is the alleged tale. Was it just fabricated myth, exacerbated by the nationalistic pride of the soldiers? My book's article then recounts some of the debates and arguments about the accuracy of this account, if there were others and how the debate played out. But the thing that struck me, though, was not the controversies, not the disagreements or even the horrific nature of history, but somehow, my warped mind was making the connection between this part of history, to something kind of absurd, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.

The scene in the film I'm thinking of features Gimli and Legolas at the Battle of Helm's Deep. The unexpected friendship brought by competition between an elf and a dwarf. Weren't they doing the same thing? Didn't they look back at one another at several times during the course of the battle, to yell out a number and smile triumphantly in the other's face? What I had once thought was such an amusing segment of my favourite Hollywood blockbuster has now resurfaced in a completely different medium: a long and harsh historical debate about an incident that we all wish would stay fiction rather than fact.

Take a look at this clip, set the morning after the Battle of Helm's Deep wraps up. Gimli sits, idly and happily, on the body of an Orc his axe is conveniently stuck in. Legolas saunters up, and they banter over numbers.



The scene is the neat resolution to the happenings during the battle, where at intermittent intervals when touching moments featuring children are not shown and when Legolas is not making use of makeshift skateboards, Gimli and his Elf rival/friend shout numbers to each other, comparing their killing toll.

And what was Peter Jackson thinking, when this idea came to his head? Maybe, like most of us, he didn't even give it a second thought: Gimli and Legolas killing Orcs? Perfect. It's performing a righteous act, isn't it? The enemy needs to die anyway, so why not in a way that creates some amusement?

It's only now that I no longer feel amused by this part of the film, that when I think about Legolas and Gimli's actions I no longer feel that warm heroism that I suppose it's supposed to bring. Instead, it's--let's face it--freaking scary.

We are entertained by violence in the media so much that we love it when the subject matter is looked at lightly. We egg Legolas and Gimli on, and we laugh when one or the other is falling behind in his tally, because it's hilarious! It's fantastic! They're scrambling around with their axe and knives and bow and arrows, and they're sliding down stairs on shields shaped like skateboards, and those greusome Orcs are getting EXACTLY what they deserve: to be massacred! They're not human anyway, so we don't have to worry about any of that type of morality. As long as they're dying and we're winning, and our favourite odd couple are having lots of fun in the process, we're happy. We're have no reason not to be a happy, entertained audience, moved by the signs of growing friendship between two at-odds species. We do not realise that it is at the expense of massacre.

It's very hard to advocate what to show and what not to show in the media, but I wonder, if Peter Jackson had ever picked up one of these writings on the story of the 100 Man Killing Contest of 1937, if he would have made his movie differently? If he had thought about the horror tales, the justifications and the pure brutality some of these retellings offer up, Gimli and Legolas' contest may have probably been transformed to something with much fewer implications.

But of course, war bonds people like no other passtime in this world. For two species that had been warring for centuries, perhaps the only possiblity of unity would be against a common enemy. This, I can understand--after all, the forces of Sauron are pure evil, much of the heroism stemming from the Battle scene comes from the overwhelming desparation of the protagonists to selflessly defeat this force.

Yet, how should I watch the Helm's Deep battle now, knowing that one of my favourite fictional sequences in recent cinema history... isn't really all fiction?