After surviving a violent assault, Brad starts his college experience trying to connect and belong. Seeking the promised protection and popularity of his older brother's fraternity, he pledges, though his brother's reservations threaten their rapport. Pledging this fraternity, however, may be more than either brother bargained for, and as Brad is tested so is their relationship.
A damning indictment of modern American white masculinity, Goat pulls back the veil on the status quo. Under the guise of pushing boys to become men, the ritualized hazing process is revealed to be a torturous, brutal experience with dire consequences. The promised safety and camaraderie is only earned through violent humiliation, and a hierarchical culture of silence keeps the brotherhood operating on its own terms. This element of common college life, so often relegated to prejudice and punchlines, is under the microscope here, and its darkest sins are laid bare.
Clearly filmed with a cinema verite awareness, the film comes dangerously close to making broad statements about fraternity culture. While it stops itself at the last moment, it does do a few other interesting things, especially in analyzing the psychology of violence at the heart of American manhood. Individual moments of the film may feel like dramatized depictions of salacious headlines, the context of these scenes brilliantly helps its audience understand (if still revile) the motives and reasoning for such behavior. No amount of bodily fluids (and trust me, it's all here) can wash away the stain of unleashed machismo and "bro" culture's fierce policing of self. In fact, one might argue that the amount of puke and piss and sundry liquids indicate the film's awareness that torture is what happens when your insides are made to be outside.
In this way, the film broaches the body horror genre. What happens when the male body is subjected to eroticization and objectification, and when the subjectors are themselves male? Without getting too graphic, however, we might also consider this socially. The community of radically heteronormative cis-men (the "body") polices itself by tearing itself apart (letting its innards loose) and re-forming it in its own image. The brothers' constant use of demeaning names, cruel punishments, and inhumane tasks destroy the sensibilities of incoming pledges, so that subsequent everyday interactions won't be seen for the casually sexist, classist, heterosexist behaviors they are. Their apparently solid masculinity, their strict adherence to traditional gender roles, is revealed as rife with anxiety and fear, angst over perceived rigidity and violence as the answer to challenges.
The other primary function of the film works as an exploration of PTSD in this culture. Brad (played masterfully by Ben Schnetzer) suffers after his pre-college assault, and his brother Brett (a grounded, passionate Nick Jonas) is shown to be a loving, generous influence. Apparently seeking more of that, however, Brad joins a brotherhood that repeatedly re-enacts his assault. Brett sees the proceedings for what they are, even when Brad himself chooses not to. It makes us wonder why these pledge processes are so determined to traumatize newcomers; perhaps it's a sort of Stockholm syndrome where the initiates perversely bond with their torturers. Regardless, as the film illustrates in its rather sensationalized final act, these behaviors are not without their consequences.
Difficult to watch, Goat is a horrifying experience. It's not without its occasional misstep, and frankly I think it even played things too safe in a few scenes. But it does what it set out to do, and in mesmerizing fashion. If you can make it through a trying hour and a half, you'll be rewarded with deep thoughts and good conversation. If you can't tough it out, though, it will still inspire your consideration. You just won't have to see James Franco shouting at college boys to suck his cock.
IMDb: Goat
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