Back in 1969, only Arthur Penn's 1967 "Bonnie and Clyde" had ever put anything remotely similar on screen, and there the ballet-like dance macabre had come at the end of the film, not slamming the audience at the beginning (and middle, and end).
It was the end point of an evolution that stretched from Otto Preminger provocatively stuffing that filthy word "virgin" into" 1953's The Moon Is Blue , through Alfred Hitchcock's structurally audacious murder of Janet Leigh in a show in 1960's Psycho , up to the storm of bullets that closed Arthur Penn's Bonnie and Clyde in 1967.
I can’t imagine what it must have been like to witness such a scene in 1969, even if Bonnie and Clyde did redefine movie violence two years prior.
It has become this year's controversial film about violence, the successor to " The Dirty Dozen ," " Bonnie and Clyde " and the Italian Westerns.
“Bonnie and Clyde” was released in 1967, two years before Sam Peckinpah’s “The Wild Bunch” employed an even more exaggerated, and controversial, climax of slo-mo bloodshed for its exiled hero cowboys.
In the same way that filmgoers supposedly inured to cinematic ultraviolence can still be stunned and sickened by The Wild Bunch—say what you will, Peckinpah’s savagery still has more punch than almost anything bloodletting on screens today, not always necessarily in a good way—those returning to Bonnie and Clyde with this well-deserved special edition (the digital remastering is particularly pristine) could well be shocked by how, well, shocking it is.