Green Lantern (Campbell 2011)

The thing about origin stories is that they are only as compelling as their protagonist(s). Take X-Men - First Class (Vaughn 2011) from a few weeks ago: the film is filled with compelling characters, with flaws and passions that drive them in a time of social and political change. It is great stuff, and embraces its comic book mythology without letting it dominate the characters of the story.

Unfortunately for the Green Lantern comics, its protagonist is Hal Jordan, one of the blandest superheroes around. Devoid of depth and personality, Hal Jordan’s story is one of how a cocky hotshot pilot goes from being something of an insecure ass to having absolutely no personality at all. The comics supporting cast includes a love interest whose personality consists of being angry at almost all times, and a friend who was little more than a racisit stereotype in the earliest comics. Hal also happens to belong to a large intergalactic organization that polices the cosmos, filled with interesting characters that can thankfully be read in a title that does not feature Hal Jordon.

Sadly, film audiences are stuck with Jordan and his uninteresting supporting cast for the running length of Martin Campbell’s Green Lantern (2011), a film in which the worst elements of the source material get to come out to play, which include, but are not limited to: endless speeches about will power; endless speeches about fear; Hal sitting around feeling sorry for himself; people standing around telling us that Hal can be/is a great Green Lantern; Hal failing to actually do anything to convince us he is all that impressive; interesting characters pushed to the margins so time can be wasted on Hal and his uninteresting love life; characters standing around talking about how great the Green Lantern Corps are; the Green Lantern Corps failing to be impressive; and so on.

Ok, as you have likely guessed, I am not all that taken with either the comic book version of Hal Jordan, nor the film adapted from the comics. While I in no way hate the Green Lantern concept and universe, I have always felt that mythology of the Green Lantern universe was interesting in spite of its lead character. The idea of an intergalactic police force with rings that can create whatever the user wills is a fantastic concept, and when Hal Jordan disappears into the background, as he has in the past, the comics have been all the better for it. However, for some reason that continues to escape me to this day, the hardcore fans of Green Lantern are taken with Jordan, and since 2003 there has been an all out attempt restore Jordan as not only the main protagonist of the title, but also to hard sell readers on how great of a character he is.

The Green Lantern film is, in some ways, the culmination of those efforts. A $200 million plus dollar effort to launch the Green Lantern as a film franchise, and quite possibly launch the whole of the DC universe on film, the film is tasked with both introducing Hal Jordan and introducing the larger mythology of the Green Lantern Corps to a broad audience. In theory, these two tasks should have complimented one another perfectly, with Hal’s journey into becoming a full blown member of Corps providing plenty of opportunity to show off the Corps and explore the larger mythology. For some baffling reason however, the filmmakers behind Green Lantern did not see this as the case, as the Corps and overall mythology is put to the side to allow plenty of time to focus on Hal and his uninteresting adventures on Earth.

The film starts off well enough, as we witness the release of the film's supposed villain, Parallax, a entity that feeds on fear. Parallax quickly attacks and mortally wounds Abin Sur, the Green Lantern whose sector happens to include Earth, the planet he escapes to. Upon crashing to Earth, Sur has his ring seek out a new recruit to replace him, and it selects Hal Jordan (Ryan Reynolds), a test pilot whose cocky ego has jeopardized the employment of hundreds of employees at Ferris Aircrafts. Handed the ring and the power battery to charge it with, Hal is quickly taken to Oa, home of the Lantern Corps and the Guardians, the ancient race of aliens who created the Corps, in order to receive training in how to operate the ring..

Till this point in the film, almost everything works. The opening scenes are energetic and set a sense of the scale we can assume the rest of the film will involve, and while Jordan as a character is still little more than a cookie cutter hero, Reynolds does manage to bring a bit of charm to the role. However, once on Oa, the film goes south quick: the film barrels through these scenes, as if the filmmakers were not interested in the Corps at all, or embarrassed by them. More likely, the visual effects required to pull of Oa and the other Corps members was far too expensive to include for extended periods of time, even with a $200 million dollar budget. Given how quick these scenes flyby, Hal’s “training” comes across as being little more than an afternoon workshop, one followed by Hal giving up and returning to Earth after a one scene encounter/smack down with Sinestro (Mark Strong). This quick lapse into self defeat on Jordan’s part does nothing to endear him to the audience, and one wishes that when Hal bolts, the rest of the film would be spent following Sinestro actually trying to deal with the crisis at hand. Sadly, this does not happen.

The film pretty much falls apart from this point on, as a pointless secondary plot involving a scientist (Peter Sarsgaard) becoming infected by Parallax is introduced in order that Hal has a traditional Earth based villain to face, and endless time is spent with Hal and his angst about whether to quit the Corps or not. Reynolds tries his best to make these scenes work, but his charm only goes so far in covering up how uninteresting Jordan and his situation is. This problem is only made worse through the inclusion of rather predictable scenes that drag the pace of the down, including the typical “superhero public debut” moment, and a clumsy scene where Hal admits to a personal flaw the audience figured out sixty minutes earlier in the film.

Even though we are stuck with Jordan for the rest of the film, the failure to establish the Corps as a group of impressive heroes earlier in the film has major ramifications in the second and third acts, particularly with regards to Parallax. In every scene with the Corps, all we ever is them doing is standing about listening to Sinestro give speeches, or receiving a beat down from Parallax. Since we never see the Corps as an effective peace keeping force, Parallax easily defeating various Green Lanterns has no impact as far as establishing him as a credible threat. (SPOILER) In turn, Hal’s inevitable defeat of Parallax has no impact because the Corps earlier in the film are built up as straw men to make Hal look good. It all comes across as lazy and false, and does nothing to sell a larger audience on the Corps as being an interesting group of characters worth following. (END SPOILERS).

So far, I have primarily slammed the film in terms of overall narrative, but that is because the failures in these areas make some other aspects of the film harder to evaluate. For example, many critics have slammed Blake Lively’s performance as Carol Ferris, but I am not sure that such criticism is deserved when the actress is given nothing to work with on page. Likewise, the visual effects work is fantastic, but its impact is limited given how hollow the rest of the film is. Campbell's work as director here seems unsure and unfocused; more often than not, he seems to be mimicking prior superhero films rather than bringing his own sense of style to the film.

At the end of the day, Green Lantern is a mediocre film, but one that is faithful to its source material. It simply fails to make the the core mythology of the comics interesting, and has likely killed any possible film franchise for the character. Should a second film ever go into production, hopefully Warner Brothers will learn from their mistakes and perform a soft reboot of the films, with one of the other Green Lanterns at center stage in a tale that ditches the typical tropes of the superhero films.

But I am not holding my breath.

Green Lantern: Emerald Knights (Berkley, Montgomery, and Oliva 2011)

Here are some potential alternate titles for Green Lantern: Emerald Knights, the latest in the series of DC DTV films:

“Green Lantern: Gee, Ain’t the Corps Great?”
“Green Lantern: Where Token Violence and Cursing Counts as Mature Storytelling”
“Green Lantern: Speeches! Glorious, Glorious Speeches!”

And so on, and so forth.

Yes, I have watched Green Lantern: Emerald Knights, and once again, I find myself playing the bad guy to the DC DTV films, a role I do no cherish, and one that I am frankly getting sick and tired of playing. At this point, I think it is a perquisite that all viewers of these films go in with incredibly low expectations, because that is about the only way to get through the mediocrity that has been primarily produced thus far.

Like the earlier Batman: Gotham Knight, Green Lantern: Emerald Knights is an anthology film consisting of five tales, told by Hal Jordan (Nathan Fillion) to new recruit Arisia (Elisabeth Moss) in a wrap around story that involves the Green Lantern Corps facing a catastrophic threat, etc, etc. The stories include the tale of the first ever Green Lantern, one involving drill instructor Kilowog’s (Henry Rollins) own boot camp experience, Laira’s (Kelly Hu) first, and most personal, mission, the classic story of why Mogo does not socialize, and a tale about Hal Jordan’s predecessor, Abin Sur (Arnold Vosloo). Along the way, Arisia learns what it means to be a Green Lantern, hints about how to defeat the “catastrophic” threat to the universe are dropped, and numerous nods to comic lore are are made.

To be honest, this review is coming across as much angrier than the film really deserves, seeing as how it is not a terrible film. Green Lantern: Emerald Knights is a competent piece of filmmaking, well animated, directed, and acted, with a typically bland score that has come to mark these DTV efforts nearly every time out. But being a competent piece of work does not make the film any less mediocre, or make the viewing experience any less dull. At least if the film were terrible, it might have been memorable, which is more than can be said of the end result here.

As you might have guessed from my mock alternate titles, the film suffers from several major problems. First, the film is little more than characters standing around telling tales about how awesome the organization they are part of is, while didactically shoving down the audiences’ collective throat what it "means" to be a Green Lantern. And I do mean shoved, because the filmmakers, worried that you might have missed the moral/point of the story, make sure that somebody at some point gets to make a speech that will make everything all clear. Missed that willpower is the key to being a Green Lantern? Do not worry, Hal’s there to spell it out for you. Confused as to the reason Kilowog and his instructor Deegan are both hard asses? Deegan will make is all crystal clear, using his dying breath, no less. As someone who firmly believes in trusting the audience to piece things together for themselves, this storytelling tactic drives me up the wall, and is rather insulting given how simple these stories are.

In fact, the simplicity of the stories and the writing once again brings into question just who the hell these films are made for. Given the nature of the tales presented, it would appear that Green Lantern: Emerald Knights is aimed at a younger set of viewers, which would be fine. However, as I have noted time and again, the DC DTV films were sold on being aimed at an older fan base, featuring stories that were more mature than what could be done within the restrictions of films ostensibly aimed at a youth audience. Unfortunately, “mature” has proven time and again to be little more than a code word for gratuitous violence and cursing in the films, rather than in reference to mature storytelling, and this problem once again appears in Green Lantern: Emerald Knights, most notably with the inclusion of a rather grisly opening death scene.

While these problems plague the film overall, the two stories that have the most potential to be interesting suffer from additional problems. First, there is the adaptation of the Alan Moore penned story “Mogo Doesn’t Socialize,” a brilliant tale from the comics that is butchered in the translation to animation, thanks to a few, but key, creative choices. (MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD) The original story is set up like a joke, involving a rather dim alien warrior in search of a fight with the famed Green Lantern Mogo. Landing on an alien world, the warrior spends years searching the seemingly empty world for sign of the Lantern, only to start mapping out the planet in hopes of finding some sort of clue he has missed. Once he completes his maps however, he discovers that the clearings of the planet form the Green Lantern crest, a discovery which makes him realize that Mogo is a living planet, one which he promptly flees.

While the structure of the story remains the same in the film, the filmmakers let the audience in way to early on the joke, spoiling the entire gag. Worse, in an attempt to liven the story up and make it a little more “cinematic” with grandiose explosions and visuals, the filmmakers take away from the story, whose joys were based on its simplicity and willingness to embrace the potential absurdity of just how varied the Corps membership can be. It is as if the filmmakers were afraid that the viewers would turn the film off if one of the stories happened to be a quieter piece of work, and it is a shame, as it ruins the entire mood of the original comic. (END SPOILERS).

On the plus side, at least “Mogo Doesn’t Socialize” is an actual story, which is more than can be said for the final segment focusing on Abin Sur, which is little more than a cliché discussion on the topic of prophecy and fate that ultimately goes nowhere and contributes nothing to the final film. The whole piece rests on the viewers knowing just who Abin Sur and Sinestro are, rather than actually establishing what their relationship is, and as such, it holds no dramatic weight at all. This is all the more frustrating as the segment flirts with story ideas featured in another Alan Moore story, “Tygers” a bleak, nihilistic, and full-bodied tale about fear that, had it been adapted, would have made for a segment that actually embraces the supposed “mission statement” of the DC DTV films discussed earlier.

“Tygers,” (along with “Mogo Doesn’t Socialize”) are republished in Green Lantern: In Brightest Day, a trade paperback collecting Green Lantern stories from over four decades, and I highly recommend the book, particularly over a purchase or rental of Green Lantern: Emerald Knights. While hardly the worst of the DC DTV films, it is easily the most bland, which in a series of films that also includes Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths, is saying something. With any luck, Green Lantern fans will get a much more satisfying film this Friday with the release of Martin Campbell’s live action film. Or maybe that film will be a spectacular failure.

Either way, it is bound to be more interesting than Green Lantern: Emerald Knights.

Great Scenes and Sequences in Cinema - Twilight Zone: The Movie (Dante, Landis, Miller, and Spielberg 1983)

Hello everyone, and welcome to a new segment here at The Experience Cinematic, Great Scenes and Sequences in Cinema. Here, I will take selected scenes from overall films that I find are worthy of discussion and do just that. And to kick things off, the scene being discussed today is the opening of Twilight Zone: The Movie.

When I was a kid, about the age of five, one of the things I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep was to get up and try and convince my parents to let me watch what they were watching. Usually, I failed. However, one Saturday (I think it was a Saturday), I pushed my luck and won; I was going to be allowed to stay up and watch what my parents were going to watch. In this case, it was to be a late night airing of a film, one which was preceded by an interesting, if slightly creepy, advertisement. I wasn’t going to leave though, as I was curled up beside my mother and ready for anything this film called Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983) could toss at me.

Four minutes later Dan Aykroyd turned into a monster, killed Albert Brooks, and I tore down the hallway to my bed as fast as possible. If it needs to be said, I didn’t sleep well that night.

However, that opening scene always stuck with me, and when the opportunity to tape the film off of “Space: The Imagination Station” came in the late 1990s, I took it and watched the film with glee several times. The film was one I eagerly anticipated on disc, and when it finally hit DVD, it was a day of release purchase, no questions asked. Sure, the film is flawed, and the production of the film is one of the most notorious in cinema history due to the horrific deaths of Vic Morrow and two children in a helicopter stunt gone wrong, but I love the film just the same.

The best element of the film though is that opening scene with Aykroyd and Brooks, a scene so strong that it almost sabotages the rest of the film. The scene is a perfectly executed jump scare, one of best ever put to film, but the scene has a much greater function than merely scaring the hell out of the audience. While Twilight Zone: The Movie is update or remake of the original show, the film is also a love letter to what Rod Serling created, examining the show’s place in American popular culture. It is a reminder about how the series examined the society it was part of, highlighting said society’s best and most negative attributes through Serling and crew’s imaginations. The opening scene of the film is a tightly constructed piece of meta fiction that directly comments on the series intent and power, while acting out itself a moral/political drama that would not have been out of place in the original series.

The scene (and the film overall) begins with the folk song “Midnight Special” performed here by Creedence Clearwater Revival, playing over shots of a highway at night in the middle of nowhere. Already the themes of the film are being set, with the song recalling America’s cultural past while the images remind us of the increasingly interconnected nature of America in the late 1970s/1980s. Said images finally give way to the image of a car wheel barrelling down the road to…somewhere, and finally to the two nameless occupants, singing along to CCR, engaged in their culture. Presumably, from the images we see, these two are friends. After all, why else would two men be driving in the middle of nowhere together, just singing along?

Soon, an all too familiar event for those who had cassette players happens: the tape is eaten, and the duo are left to talk to one another. Or not, as the case turns out to be, as the driver (Brooks) states that they already have talked to one another. The writing at this point is clever and subtle, as the nature of the relationship of the two is complicated when the passenger (Aykroyd) notes that he knows where the driver is from, but not the other way around, a point ignored by the driver. The driver instead begins to joke about by turning the lights on his vehicle off as he races down the road, much to the discomfort of the passenger who calls the practice unsafe, another point ignored by the driver as he kids about running over pedestrians.

As simple as the scene thus far is, some rather complex material is happening just below the surface. What we have is a tale of two men of seemingly similar backgrounds (a point only to be enhanced in the events to follow) but with two vastly different world views. The nameless driver is seemingly empowered in all ways - it is his car, he is driving, he decides how the conversation is going to go - and he treats this power as a joke. He could very well kill someone, but his self confidence is unshakeable as he heads into the darkness without direction. The passenger, quite possibly a hitchhiker, lives up to his position as being passive, out of control of what is going on. He is also more thoughtful and concerned about the driver’s behaviour.

The moment of dangerous driving gives way to the pair bantering back and forth about TV theme music, a topic suggested by the driver, until the conversation reaches its ultimate point, The Twilight Zone. The conversation from this point on turns into a complete geek fest, with the driver mixing up a Zone episode for an Outer Limits episode and claiming that he bought an additional pair of glasses after viewing the classic episode “Time Enough at Last.” While a seemingly innocent conversation, the driver’s unfounded conviction about which series a specific episode belongs to and the misunderstanding of “Time Enough At Last” points to a superficiality of the character, his own self-absorption. He “knows” the culture, but he does not understand it beyond how it may or may not apply directly to him. Just as his driving is solely for his own benefit. Just as he controls the conversation and games to his own benefit, not caring about the man in the seat beside him.

At this point, the passenger asks the same question of the driver that the driver asked him earlier: do you want to see something scary? The driver does, and the passenger illustrates the difference between himself and the driver by asking him to pull over before he will show him, an act of social responsibility and awareness. Once the car has stopped, the passenger indeed show the driver, and the audience, something scary, as he punishes the driver for his self absorption and lack of social consciousness, out in the middle of America.

Cue the iconic music; kick in Burgess Meredith’s narration.

As noted earlier, the scene serves a dual function. First, it is a reminder and commentary about the intent and importance of the original Twilight Zone series, with regards to its political, cultural and moral concerns, as brought to the show by creator Rod Serling. Second, while explicitly explaining the series, the scene itself plays out a type of morality play that would not have been out of place in the original series, were it to be expanded to fill a proper television spot. It is a complex scene, written and directed by John Landis, a scene which makes one wish that Landis had managed to come up with something half as clever in his full segment, which becomes lost in its grandiose attempts at political relevance.

The casting is also a vital reason that the scene works as well as it does. It is not merely that the casting of two stars primarily known at the time as comedians that adds to the creepy and unsettling tone of the scene, but just how average the pair are. Aykroyd and Brooks may have been major stars at the time, but at no point do they come across as such: they are just a couple of geeks cruising about and having the same nerdy conversations as anyone else. It is a tough quality to find in modern cinema, and one that makes me miss the style of American studio cinema of the 1980s all the more.

To be perfectly honest, I am willing to admit a nostalgic bias when it comes to Twilight Zone: The Movie, but that doesn’t change the brilliance of the film’s opening. If nothing else, I highly recommend the film for that sequence alone. And who knows? Maybe you’ll stick around for the return trip into the Twilight Zone…

All Star Superman (Liu 2011)

Given the tragic death of All Star Superman (Liu 2011) screenwriter Dwayne McDuffie on Tuesday, February 22 2011, the same day that All Star Superman was released, I considered not reviewing the film like I have the other DC Animated films. In circumstances such as death, the criticism of a person’s work, either positive or negative, can take on a different tone and be misconstrued. Out of respect for Mr. McDuffie, I figured it would be best to avoid such problems.

However, while watching the film last night, a story about facing life and death with strength and dignity, I changed my mind. While flawed, All Star Superman is the final work from the acclaimed writer of comics and animation, and as such deserves to be seen and discussed as much as his other work, not ignored out of a misplaced attempt of respect.

All Star Superman is based on a twelve issue comic series of the same name by writer Grant Morrison and artist Frank Quitely, which focuses upon the final days of Superman (James Denton) as he discovers he is dying from solar poisoning, resulting from a rescue mission near the sun caused by Lex Luthor (Anthony LaPaglia). With his time running out, Superman sets about getting his affairs in order, from finally addressing his relationship with Lois Lane (Christina Hendricks), making sure the world is protected one final time, and trying to save the soul of Lex Luthor.

While many people have referred to the original comic version of the story as a deconstruction of Superman and his mythos, such a description is not fitting. Morrison and Quitely’s comic tale is not interested in breaking down the Man of Steel and exploring the contradictions and instable meanings of the character. Rather, the comic was a love letter to Superman, a tale that explores why Superman endures and is as relevant as ever in popular culture, even when it seems like his time is done. The story takes everything about Superman, from the iconic to the downright goofy, and gives it a sense of power and weight that most comic creators could only ever dream of achieving. Most important however is how Morrison and Quitley bring out of the complexities of the character by embracing his deceptive simplicity and seemingly all powerful nature, rather than trying to mitigate it as many writers since John Byrne have done to varying degrees of success. At times, Morrison’s messianic take on Kal-El is a bit much, but that is about the only criticism that can be held against the comic.

The challenge in adapting the comic into a film is that the source material is epic in scope, episodic in structure, and dense in detail and ideas, carrying the reader from moments of sheer awe, such as the opening rescue of a ship flying into the sun, to touchingly human moments, such as Superman’s visit to Smallville. To do it justice in a single film is likely impossible, or at the very least would require the running length of one of the Lord of the Rings extended cuts. As such, adapting the material into a 76 minute long direct to video film did not inspire much confidence, even with Bruce Timm and Dwayne McDuffie in charge. While their respective work on the acclaimed Batman: The Animated Series, Superman, the Animated Series Batman Beyond, Static Shock and Justice League television series have defined what the DC Universe is for me, the direct to video films have been a flawed bunch at best. While Batman: Under the Red Hood was fantastic, Superman/Batman: Public Enemies and Superman/Batman: Apocalypse were simple dreadful.

Given this, you can imagine my surprise at how well All Star Superman works in the format. Now, the finished film is far from what an adaptation of the source material could be, given the proper running time and budget, and part of me wishes that Zack Snyder would make the shock announcement that his up coming Superman film is an adaptation of this material. Still, All Star Superman is better than the film has any right to be given the limitations the filmmakers faced, as it keeps the heart of the story and Quitley’s gorgeous artwork mostly intact.

The approach taken to adapting the material though is one which I have frequently noted as being one of my least favourite, the cut and past abridged tactic where key scenes and ideas are directly lifted in order to “maintain” as much of the story as possible, while much of the connecting material is dropped. The end result of such adaptations more often than not is a finished film which feels like it is missing huge chunks of story, while never allowing the material that remains to breath. This is certainly the case in All Star Superman, best illustrated in an inappropriately comic moment at the grave site of Jonathan Kent, where Martha Kent kneels down for what appears to be a respectful prayer, only to get right back up and carry on a conversation without missing a beat less than a second later. That said, the strength of McDuffie’s script is that it does manage to identify and keep the most important material from the comics in the film, never losing sight of what the story is about. Only once does the film seem to stray off course by keeping the “paranoid Lois” chapter, a story that worked wonderfully in the comic but seems out of place in this condensed version of the narrative. Simply skipping ahead to Superman giving Lois her birthday gift would have allowed the film to flesh out one or two other scenes to the film’s benefit.

The flaws in the film however are partly smoothed over by the excellent casting in the film, starting with James Denton’s Superman. While I have heard criticism of Denton’s work as being too calm and saintly, I believe that for this interpretation of the character it is entirely fitting. This is a story in which we see Superman at his best and most noble, and Denton manages to project this through his work. Hendricks’ Lois is easily the best animated Lois Lane since Dana Delany, bringing a greater sense of warmth to the character than is usually seen in other interpretations.

The scene stealer however is Anthony LaPaglia as Luthor. Morrison boiled Luthor down to his essence in this story, a man driven by his own ego and an inferiority complex that he tries to deny. LaPaglia captures the nature of the character perfectly, particularly towards the end of the film when he is required to deliver an emotion laden speech built entirely out of complex science terminology. With any luck, if Luthor appears in future DC animated films, LaPaglia will be allowed to reprise the role.

(One thing to do while watching: listen carefully for a surprise appearance by Michael Gough in a rather small and peculiar part.)

On the animation front, the work here is stellar as usual from this crew. Quitely’s artwork has been simplified down in order to better translate to animation, but little the awe and emotion captured in his work has been lost. Indeed, the animation crew seems to have gone above and beyond their usual efforts with this film, and while it never quite hits the level of a theatrical feature film, it comes close.

Unfortunately, for all of these positive points about the film, I think the word “close” is the defining term for the finished film. All Star Superman is a film always on the verge of hitting its true greatness, but never quite makes it all the way. It is a film which perfectly illustrates the constraints in which these films are produced, the constraints which hold back these filmmakers from making films that fully achieve their ambitions. Warner Brothers needs to give these people the resources they need to make a truely epic piece of superhero animation, because what they have here in All Star Superman is a good film, when it could have been great.

Still, if the DC Animated films are to continue as a series of DTV releases, perhaps it is time to find a Superman story that is brilliant, but manageable in the format of 76 minutes. A story that many fans would love to see.

A story like "Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?"…

Daybreakers (Spierig 2009/2010)

Is anything more annoying to genre film fans than seeing a good film fail to find the audience upon initial release? Actually, yes, there is, and that is seeing miserable excuses for genre cinema succeed with general audiences, thus ensure that crap continues to be produced instead of solid efforts.

Among the most annoying films to see fail last year was Daybreakers (Spierig 2009/2010 [while a 2009 film, it opened in North America in January of 2010]), a film which addresses a long asked question in horror film circles: if vampires did succeed in taking over the world and became the dominate species, how would they keep feeding themselves with a dwindling human population? This question drives the narrative of Daybreakers, a near future set film that deftly blends science fiction and horror in a manner that few films ever achieve.

Looking to answer the problem of the depleting blood supply in Daybreakers is Dr. Dalton (Ethan Hawke), chief scientist for a major corporation lead by Charles Bromley (Sam Neil). Dalton’s task is not imperative due survival reasons however, because the lack of blood does not kill a vampire. Rather the longer a vampire goes without blood, the more likely they are to transform into a mindless bestial form. Worse, the blood supplies are down to merely a few weeks worth left, meaning the bulk of the population is facing this animalistic existence.

Dalton’s personal motives for looking for a blood alternative is not driven by a desire to preserve vampire kind however, but rather to preserve humanity. He sympathizes with the remaining humans, and hopes his work will lead to the end of the human blood farming that has been undertaken to preserve most of the population. Dalton’s search for a blood alternative is completely altered however due to a chance meeting with a group of humans on the run, a meeting which leads him to ‘Elvis’ (Willem Dafoe), a one time vampire who has been miraculously cured without knowing quite how.

Elvis believes Dalton can unravel the mystery of the how the cure works before it is too late for the population of the world, but complicating the situation is Dalton’s brother Frankie (Michael Dorman), a human hunter looking to help Bromley preserve vampire kind, regardless of whether or not a cure is in the best interests of both of the vampires and humans.

What separates Daybreakers from most other recent genre efforts is the level of detail that writers/directors Michael and Peter Spierig - the duo behind the heavily flawed but fun 2003 effort Undead - bring to the film. Like the best of science fiction film and literature, the brothers have crafted a full fledged world, packed with detail that, while not always necessary for the narrative, give a full sense of a living, breathing alternate reality. How can vampires function in daylight? Try interconnected underground tunnels, and cars that utilize video cameras as opposed to windows. How does a world full of vampires manage to keep their blood supplies from running out faster than they already are? Blood rationing, controlled by the government and private corporate interests. These are just the big questions that I am give the answers to; a good deal of the film’s joys come from discovering how the world of vampires works, and just how frighteningly close to our day to day existence it remains.

Perhaps more shocking however is the manner in which the filmmakers utilize the world they have created to deliver a rather subtle, and incredibly cleaver, allegory for the anxieties surrounding the uncontrolled consumption within Western society, particularly of fossil fuels such as oil. The film places great emphasis upon vehicles and road imagery in the film, with several significant events featuring cars prominently. The rationing and price increases of blood recall the fuel crisis of 1973, as does much of the imagery throughout the film. Dalton’s race for a “blood substitute” is a just subtle enough nod towards contemporary research and development of alternative energy sources. Read in this manner, the film’s presentation of the relationship between the militaristic human hunters and Bromley’s corporate power seems eerily similar to the conspiracy claims that oil supplies were the driving force behind most of the United States middle eastern involvement in the past decade, most notably the Iraq war.

It is not all politics though, as the filmmakers have fun playing with and subverting the typical tropes and imagery of the vampire film. While the 1998 mini-classic sci-fi/horror/superhero effort Blade first initiated the modern presentation of the vampire at the top of modern urban life, Daybreakers takes this concept to its limit, with the upper crust of vampire kind living in sterile consumerist paradise/hell. In contrast to this, the surviving humans have taken to the vampire hangouts of yesteryear, in isolated vineyards with gothic style housing. Clandestine meetings take place under the cover of day in the biggest car in the county (I have no shame. Really), and salvation may come with a vampire bite, though not in the manner you think.

As an Australian/American co-production, the film is peppered with talent from both countries. Hawke makes for an solid lead in Dalton, utilizing his almost minimalist approach to acting to great impact, while the Spierig brothers making excellent use of Hawke’s rather gaunt appearance. Dafoe manages to walk a fine line between caricature and character as ‘Elvis,’ while Claudia Karvan is sidelined by a somewhat underwritten role as Elvis’ right hand woman . Also suffering from slightness of writing is Dorman, though his performance is strong enough to make up for the somewhat sketch nature of his character.

The show stopper in the film however is Neil, a villain who could have come across as a rather typical corporate bad guy were it not for some better than expected writing, and Neil’s magnificent work. Bromley is a monster, but a rather understandable and sympathetic one. His actions within the film’s main plot are villainous, but a subplot involving Bromley’s daughter is rather touching, as we get to see him as a well meaning, but rather destructive father away from the film’s main narrrative concerns. While the subplot does involve a touch of coincidence, the manner in which it impacts Bromley’s overall character is rather understated and subtle, and the effort from both Neil and the filmmakers is much appreciated. Plus, (MAJOR SPOILER ALERT) Neil is given the single best death scene of his entire career with this film, and it is one that would make George A. Romero smile (MAJOR SPOILER ALERT OVER).

Perhaps the most impressive element of the film however is the rather ambiguous note upon which the film concludes, tackling a question that most films of this type avoid addressing: even if one could find the solution to the worldwide problem, just how on Earth is any solution going to be disseminated effectively? Rather than using some plot contrivance to write themselves out of this corner, the filmmakers address the issue head on in a rather dark manner. It is an ending which provides hope, but it is a subdued hope, leaving the audience to grapple with several narrative and thematic questions that are not fully answered on purpose. It is a rather gutsy manner upon which to end the film, and it shows the level of ambition brought to the project by all involved.

There are minor flaws with Daybreakers, but they are just that, minor. With any luck, in ten years time the film will be remembered as one of the stronger, if not strongest, vampire films to come out of the current craze for undead fiction. Highly recommended.

Dreamscape (Ruben 1984)

What does it mean to be original? It is a question that has been asked time and again in the arts, particularly in contemporary times. In a media saturated landscape, the question is rather confusing, with so many voices, projects and ideas being tossed about at nearly the speed of thought. For many, the very concept of originality is dead, with all art considered a reworking or synthesis of old ideas and concepts into a new form.

Yet, the concept of originality remains an obsession in our culture, particularly when it comes to cinema. How often do we hear people complain that a given film is unoriginal, or similar to another idea? Putting aside that such complaints tend to miss that the very films they grant the status of being “original” are merely re-workings of other texts themselves, these complaints tend to associate the idea of being original as “superior” to the works that come later. It ignores the possibility of refinement, improvement or an alternative take on similar ideas.

Certainly, there is some merit to the lack of “originality” in modern cinema: the endless parade of remakes are a testament to Hollywood’s never ending cannibalism of its past. Yet, the vast majority of cinema is built upon cobbling ideas and concepts from elsewhere: classic Hollywood frequently adapted, “borrowed” and outright stole ideas from other media. These other media were frequently drawing from other sources and ideas themselves. Even the great William Shakespeare’s plays were frequently synthesising other works that had preceded him.

While films, at least within the commercial system, often rely on a blend of innovation and the familiar, what people respond to most often is how well a given film is executed. When a film enjoyed, the complaints about originality tend to be mild. Certainly, a brilliant premise is a great place to start, but if the execution of that premise is lacking, or even outright awful, then it matters not how strong the premise is. Likewise, a thin or well worn premise properly executed can become a magnificent film.

Which brings us to the 1984 science fiction film Dreamscape and recent comments by filmmaker John Landis (The Blues Brothers) regarding the similarity of Christopher Nolan’s Inception to the earlier film. While Landis praised Nolan, he made sure to make clear that the film was not an original, referencing Dreamscape as having beaten Nolan to the punch by 26 years. And indeed the basic premise of the film, in which a man is able to enter the dreams of others, is similar to the premise of Inception. Furthermore, like Inception, Dreamscape’s narrative centers on the eventual invasion of the mind of an important man and the blurring of various dreams together. Yet Dreamscape is a decidedly inferior work compared to Nolan’s Inception, with its unique premise serving little purpose beyond spicing up an otherwise conventional thriller that is filled with the stock characters and situations, which are executed in a fairly tired manner.

Dreamscape focuses on the character of Alex Gardner (Dennis Quaid), a young psychic who is dragged into an experimental program by Dr. Novotny (Max von Sydow), who years ago studied Alex when his abilities first emerged. Novotny has created a device which allows psychics to enter the dreams of others as a form of therapy/psychoanalysis. Alex is blackmailed into helping Novotny, but he at least sees the project as a way to try and woo Jane DeVries (Kate Capshaw), another scientist working on the project.

The thriller side of the film is provided by Bob Blair (Christopher Plummer), a high ranking head of a secret government organization and friend of the President of the United States (Eddie Albert). The President is suffering from recurring nightmares of a nuclear holocaust, and has decided to push the country towards nuclear disarmament. Blair, fearful such an approach will put the United States at risk, decides that the only course of action is to eliminate the President while he dreams. When Alex stumbles upon the plot, he is put on the run in a desperate race to save the President’s life.

The lack of ambition on the part of the filmmakers is evident in nearly every frame of Dreamscape, starting with its cast of characters. For a film that involves human psychology in its very premise, the film is peopled by cartoons found in below average thrillers. Dennis Quaid is once again stuck playing a second rate Harrison Ford as Alex, the supposedly loveable cocky bastard. Quaid does his best with the material, but given how simplistic the character is, he is reduced to getting by on charm, which becomes hopeless after a certain sequence (more on that in a minute). Capshaw, Plummer and von Sydow fair no better, being stuck with the roles of the hero’s love interest, bad-for-the-hell-of-it-villain, and wise old mentor figure respectively.

The closest the film comes to dealing with the psychology of its characters is a scene in which Alex enters Jane’s dream, which quickly becomes an erotic fantasy. The scene is played for its seeming sexiness, yet the context of this “love” scene involves Alex entering Jane’s dream without her permission, evoking notions of rape. The film however chooses to ignore the implications of this scene, brushing them under the rug as quickly as possible to get on with the plot. The aftermath of these scene is doubly damaging for the film, introducing an unsettling and complicated side to the otherwise bland Alex that might have been interesting, if disturbing, to explore, only to ignore the subject while asking the audience to keep finding Alex a likeable rogue. As such, it is hard to find the film a fun romp as much as the film would like to convince the audience it is when our “hero” comes close to being an out and out sexual predator.

Speaking of the dreamscapes, these might be the most disappointing aspect of the film overall. As with everything else in the film, the dream reality is treated in as safe and standard a manner as possible, marked off from reality with extreme lighting, off kilter camera work and a far too literal correlation between the fears of characters and their realization within the dreamscape. Why is it that one patient is struggling at achieving an erection? It is because he is afraid that his wife is sleeping around, and that is just what happens in the dream. What is the weakness to the assassin sent to kill the president? Why, it just so happens to be the personal detail Alex learns early on. The imagery for snake monsters and demonic dogs is so by the book that it is astounding that the filmmakers even bothered with them, and the fairly poor effects work in achieving these visions does nothing to help combat the lack of threat found in these dream sequences.

The worst sin of the film is how it fails to integrate the various components of the film together. The science fiction, thriller and romantic sides of the story all feel as if they are distinct films forced to exist together without any thought to whether they should coexist in the same narrative. Inception manages to successfully blend the various genres it pulls from together because the film is unified in its focus on the psychology of protagonist Dominic Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio), whose issues ultimately subsume the dream worlds he finds himself in. Dreamscape lacks any similar type of unifying principle, bouncing from scene to scene without any goal. It is as if the filmmakers had three different scripts, snipping scenes from each one and stitched them together in the most basic fashion possible. The film was written by three writers, David Loughery (Star Trek V: The Final Frontier), Chuck Russell (The Blob) and director Joseph Ruben, and the film shows the signs of too many hands trying to guide the final product.

Given these problems, it is hard to give Dreamscape’s “original” premise any merit given its complete lack of originality in terms of execution. Yet, What damns Dreamscape all the more is not its failings in comparison with Inception, but its failings compared to another 1984 film: Wes Craven’s Nightmare on Elm Street. With that film, director Craven blends reality and the dream world to much greater impact and thematic resonance, cleverly addressing issues of abuse and the disintegration of the American family within the seemingly limited confines of the slasher genre. As such, Craven’s film still feels modern and of our times; Dreamscape feels twenty years older than it is.

Man Made Monster (Waggner 1941)

Earlier this year, I finally watched The Wolf Man, the 1941 horror classic from director George Waggner which featured Lon Chaney Jr. in the title role. While I had some reservations about the film as a whole, it was an ambitious and striking work, thematically complex and an interesting critique of the pressures of patriarchy and traditional conceptions of masculinity.

So when I heard that there was another film from the same year directed by George Waggner with Chaney Jr. in the lead, I was excited to say the least. Unfortunately, Man Made Monster is far from the heights set by The Wolf Man. Instead of a bold an ambitious film, Man Made Monster is a poorly conceived riff on the Frankenstein story, borrowing the broad strokes of the tale and “updating” it for the pre-atomic era. The end result is a film whose sole value is as a camp classic when viewed ironically.

Man Made Monster opens with a bus crash into an electricity tower, which kills five of the six passengers. The lone survivor is Dan McCormick (Chaney Jr.), a carnival showman who comes out completely unscathed despite the high amounts of electricity. This bit of luck attracts the attention of a leading scientist named Dr. Lawrence (Samuel S. Hinds), who working on a bio-electrical theory. Dr. Lawrence invites Dan into his home with the idea of studying Dan’s “immunity” to electricity, an offer Dan is more than happy to accept given that he is temporarily out of work. Dr. Lawrence’s colleague, Dr. Rigas (Lionel Atwill) however sees Dan as the perfect subject to test out his more extreme ideas about creating powerful electrically run beings, and sets about a clandestine set of experiments to transform Dan into one of his new electrical men

With a running time of only an hour, Man Made Monster moves at a rapid pace, and the film suffers as a result. The characterisation is rudimentary at best, with characters fitting into only the most basic of archetypes, if that. Only Chaney Jr. is given anything of real value to play in the film as Dan, the dim but loveable victim of Dr. Rigas. A scene late in the film where Dan is under psychological evaluation is given more effort from Chaney Jr. than the scene deserves, managing to bring out some legitimate pathos out of the proceedings. Atwill unfortunately does not fare near as well, with his mad scientist character existing as little more than a plot device designed to deliver poorly written exposition and even worse villainous monologues.

Blame for the shoddy writing falls on the shoulders of George Waggner himself, who wrote the film under the alias of Joseph West. While Waggner does manage to fare better in his direction of the film, Waggner the writer manages to undermine Waggner the director at numerous points thanks to the endless exposition. All too often, particularly in the final third of the film, characters stand about and deliver said exposition while watching events that we the audience are never made privy to, or even in scenes that audience is allowed to see. During the film’s climax, various characters stand around and describe what the monstrous Dan is doing rather than actually doing anything to help the situation, even though they are the characters who are supposed to be intervening.

Man Made Monster does have its charms however, a few of them legitimate. From time to time, Waggner does manage to creating some striking imagery, particularly during a montage scene showing the passage of time leading to a character’s execution date. The effects utilized to realize Dan in his monstrous state are effective, and the film does manage to have a bit of fun mocking psychoanalysis in a manner Alfred Hitchcock would have loved. However, the film is more memorable for its unintended humour, from the laughably bad science (electrical immunity? Really?) to what is perhaps one of the worst “man was not meant to play God” speeches I have heard in quite some time.

As a film likely made to fulfill a production quota, Man Made Monster is hardly the worst film to come out of the Classic Hollywood era. It is however a below average genre piece that would have been a welcome target for mockery on Mystery Science Theater 3000. While hard core genre fans will likely want to see the film, anyone else interested in seeing a science gone wrong film would be best to look elsewhere.

Silent Running (Trumbull 1972)

Science fiction with an environmental theme has a dodgy track record to say the least, thanks to the fact that the issue is a politically heated one. At the best of times, you end up with films such as Wall E or Dune where the environmental commentary is present without being preachy. At the worst of times, such films are fire and brimstone sermons designed to guilt trip the audience, with the pertinent issues presented in only the most black and white of terms (see: Avatar). Most of the time, we end up with middling films or entertaining embarrassments, such as Waterworld.

So thank God for Douglas Trumbull’s 1972 science fiction mini-classic Silent Running, an environmentally themed film that forgoes being didactic in favour of being a psychological drama in which the loss of nature is symbolic for a loss of humanity. While flawed and occasionally heavy handed, the film is a complex work, with striking imagery and ideas which are held together by a magnificent performance from star Bruce Dern (The ‘Burbs).

Silent Running concerns Freeman Lowell (Dern), a crewmember aboard the spaceship Valley Forge, who maintains the last remaining forests of Earth. Valley Forge also is the home of three other crewmembers, none who hold Lowell’s personal investment in preserving the forests, and are more interested in going home after 8 years in space. Having to wait until they are recalled, these three pass their time performing their jobs, lounging about, and giving Lowell grief.

This early section of the film, with its blatant Eden imagery of Lowell as a Space Age Adam, are disheartening to say the least, and leave the impression that the rest of the film to follow will be full of righteous anger and nothing else. This is only confirmed further as we are presented with several moments in which Lowell preaches to the rest of the crew about how oblivious they are to the importance of the forests, both for the spirit of mankind as well as basic survival. It is seemingly all designed to be a quick shortcut to getting the audience on Lowell’s side: he is the outsider; the other crew members treat him with contempt; and they openly wreck havoc on Lowell’s forests.

So when the orders come to destroy the forests, it is no surprise that Lowell makes a stand against the rest of the crew. At this point, it would be fair to guess that the film would follow a fairly predictable path, with Lowell courageously bucking orders by engaging in a battle of wits between himself and the crew for the rest of film. Lowell perhaps might even die in a noble, if tragic, fashion at the film’s conclusion.

Instead, Lowell kills the rest of the crew in a matter of minutes, transforming the Space Adam into Space Cain. Like Cain, Lowell becomes literally and figuratively disconnected from humanity, drifting away through space in an effort to protect his Eden and hide his crimes. And, much like Cain, Lowell discovers that his ability to preserve the forests is compromised, he is unable to solve why the last forest is dying.

This fusion of Biblical narrative, environmentalism and character study give Silent Running a surprising power, both emotionally and intellectually. Lowell’s journey is epic and mythic whilst retaining the crushing ambiguities of life, and the film provides no easy answers to the questions it raises concerning dehumanisation and the destruction of the environment. Instead, director Turnbull simply captures the weight and frustrations of the issues, refusing to allow his work to be interpreted in any one, narrow manner by providing us a future that is neither a utopia or dystopia, nor providing us a character that is strictly a saint or sinner. The film even goes as far to note that human kind on Earth has managed to survive without the forests, and that disease and poverty have been eliminated. Given this, Lowell's attitudes about the preservation of the forest are brought into question. This will likely anger the extremists on both sides of the environment debate, but for everyone else provide an engaging experience in working out the complexities of the narrative.

As noted, the film is a showcase for star Dern, who carries the film for more than two thirds by himself. Dern walks a fine line with the role, balancing the character’s arrogance and obsessive tendencies with a fragile vulnerability, and he manages to pull it off successfully. Perhaps no bigger testament to Dern’s abilities as an actor can be found than a farewell speech he delivers to one of the ships drones, which is given enough sincerity and commitment as to make the scene one of the most touching in the film, despite the fact that he is talking to what looks like a dumpster pail.

Director Turnbull, who made his directorial debut with this film, is clearly hamstrung by the film’s low budget and his own lack of experience as a director: the exterior shots of the ship are clearly models, and at times it appears as if he was unsure how to stage a scene that does not involve special effects. For the most part however, Turnbull makes the most of his limitations and captures an appropriately cold and contemplative atmosphere, allowing Lowell to be visually dominated by the environment around him, just as Lowell is emotionally and intellectually caught between past, present, and future.

The film does feature a few significant flaws though. While I hate it when films are labelled “dated,” as if it is a real criticism of a work (all films date. All things date, so why hold that against them?), the film features songs clearly written in the dying days of the counter culture movement. This would not be bad if it were not for the fact that the songs are dreadful, and engage in the type of heavy handedness avoided or critiqued in the rest of the film. While these songs are mostly kept to the clunky montage sequences, they stand out as a particular problem in the film’s final moments, as the most striking image of the film is almost undermined by the overly sentimental song playing on the soundtrack, making the image nearly laughable rather than poetic.

That final shot however is a powerful one, and encompasses the film's themes and ambiguities perfectly. While I do not wish to spoil the film’s conclusion, I would like to ask the following questions to consider after watching: how long can Lowell’s solution last? And more importantly, if it can last, what does this final shot say about the place of humanity in the future?

The Blob (Russell 1988)

Years ago, I watched the original 1958 version of The Blob (Yeaworth), which features Steve McQueen as a teenager in a town where a mysterious alien substance has landed is consuming townsfolk. The film was entertaining, but I did not remember much about it afterwards, a point which has not improved with time.

As such, it is pretty much impossible to make any comparison between the original film and director Chuck Russell’s 1988 remake of The Blob, which was co-written by Russell (The Mask) with Frank Darabont (The Green Mile). I doubt any stronger familiarity would either help or hinder Russell’s film though, because the 1988 version is a straightforward update of the 1950s era B-movies, paying homage to the past with a slicker (and gorier) production typical of the 1980s. The end result is a vapid-but-fun affair that seeks to do nothing more than to find the most inventive ways to see the title substance wipe out town folk and government spooks alike.

As in the original, a mysterious substance lands in a small town, and proceeds to spread across the hand of a homeless man. This event is witness by a group of teenagers, including rebel Brian (Kevin Dillon) and cheerleader Meg (Shawnee Smith) who take the man to a hospital. When the blob starts to move about and graphically consume its victims, the teens are not believed at first by authorities, until a group of government scientists lead by Dr. Meddows (Joe Seneca) arrive to deal with the situation. Meddows knows more than he is telling, and when the truth comes out, it is up to Brian and Meg to save the day.

With a film like The Blob, the degree to which the film works is measurable only by the amount of energy an enthusiasm brought to the film by the filmmakers. Luckily for audiences, Russell and Darabont’s love for classic science fiction horror cinema is on full display in the film as they find a way to bridge the culture gap between the 1950s and 1980s. As with their contemporaries Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, Russell and Darabont display a nostalgic love of 1950s America, yet go a step further by injecting a sense of post-Watergate paranoia and cynicism into the film, starting with the titular monster.

(SPOILERS)

Unlike the original film, in which the mysterious substance came from space, the blob here is re-invented as an American biological weapon’s experiment gone wrong, with Dr. Meddows being more than willing to sacrifice the town in order to save their weapon. As such, the film becomes something of a mild commentary on the Cold War arms race, with the reaffirming of community values and commitment coming across as a longing for the mythic simplicity of America’s past, while understanding the need to remain vigilant for possible internal threats. Such longing is of course absurd, as the notion that life was ever simple is betrayed by history, but we are talking about a film with a giant purple substance eating people here. Besides, such political and ideological readings of the film give the impression that the film is more complex than it is.

(END SPOILERS)

While the monster may have changed since the 1950s, the reason the audience is watching any version of The Blob has not: the hope of being scared and dazzled by some hopefully solid special effects work. The film thankfully delivers on these fronts, with some clever jump scares and more than enough gory mayhem, from watching a would-be date rapist pay dearly, to a modern reinterpretation of the iconic theatre attack from the original film. The film is a practical effects fans dream, and acts as a reminder about why computer generated effects often lack the distinction and quality of something that can be shot for real.

Russell and Darabont do however remember to give attention to their characters at the same time thankfully. While the film is mostly populated by stock types, the characters are written and cast well enough that they are fleshed out more than is typical of this type of film, from a smarter than average sheriff (Jeffery DeMunn) to Kevin Dillon’s rebel who is more James Dean than Steve McQueen. Also, genre vets Paul McCrane (Robocop), Candy Clark (The Man Who Fell to Earth) and even Bill Moseley (TheTexas Chainsaw Massacre, Part 2) are on hand to give the film a bit of charm.

Of course, none of this changes the fact that The Blob is a completely disposable film, and a minor work for all involved. Moreover, for those seeking a little substance with their horror, the film will fall completely flat and likely leave them annoyed, as a more interesting concept for the never realized sequel is teased at the film’s conclusion. However, for those looking for a fun little horror film, The Blob is worth checking out, particularly given that you will likely find the film for around five dollars. There are worse ways to spend your money.

Heavy Metal (Potterton 1981)

Let me be clear: I love a good, trashy adolescent film every so often. I make no secret my love of Crank and Crank 2: High Voltage, or of any other number of B schlock films. Even the just released trailer for Hobo With a Shotgun looks entertaining as all hell. While often regressive, politically incorrect and idiotic, these films still have a certain appeal and a sense of fun about them. Moreover, in their own odd way, they are able to tap into the undercurrents of society, even if it is doing so for purely exploitative reasons.

Then, there is Heavy Metal (Potterton 1981)

It is hard to describe just how much I hate Heavy Metal, the Canadian made science-fiction/fantasy animated anthology film. It is a film that sets the bar low, and then proceeds to fail to reach even that modest height. Worse, as it fails, it takes things I love, including science fiction, pulp fiction, animation and great Canadian talent down into the gutter with it. It is as if the filmmakers were going out of their way to try and insult the viewer of the film on every conceivable level.

Heavy Metal is based on an American magazine of the same name, which itself was based upon a French magazine, from which the American version of the magazine apparently reprinted translated material. While I have never read an issue of the magazine, its reputation among genre fans is well known, both for featuring the works of noted comic artists and writers as well as for is hyper-sexual and hyper-violent storylines and images. While I cannot say the degree to which the film reflects its source material, there is no question that the filmmakers were certainly in love with the concepts of sex and violence, as these two elements are what the film solely consists of.

So, just what is the story, or stories as it is, of this anthology film? This is the first major problem with Heavy Metal, in that there is nothing in the film that can be called a story, let alone multiple stories. Yes, stuff happens on screen, but none of it is actually contained in anything resembling a narrative. I could use a famous quote from Macbeth to describe the material and the way in which it is presented, but I don’t feel like insulting Shakespeare by sheer association at this point. Technically, the so-called stories are tied together by a device called the Loc-Nar, an orb of great power which terrorises a little girl with its grizzly tales of death and destruction, which include zombies, taxi cab drivers, stoner spaceship pilots and other things that might have been interesting if anyone had actually bothered to write a script.

At this point, allow me to quote a selection from the 2004 edition of the Oxford Concise Dictionary of Literary Terms, written by Chris Baldick, about “plot“: “the pattern of events and situations in a narrative or dramatic work, as selected and arranged both to emphasis relationships - usually cause and effect- between incidents and to elicit a particular kind of interest in the reader or audience…” (195).

Now, lets breakdown one of the segments in the film. We have a set up that various random mutations are happening among the population of Earth, with a respected scientist showing up at the Pentagon to give his opinion on the matter. So far, so “ok.” In the process of doing so, however, he freaks out and begins to sexually assault a stenographer. Apparently, this has something to do with the Loc-Nar, though the how and why are unclear. Oh, and this assault is played for laughs, so, now we drift into the offensive. Then a tube breaks through the roof and sucks up the scientist and the stenographer into a spaceship, where we find out the scientist is a malfunctioning android created by another robot. Why the android was placed on Earth is never explained. Then they take off, with the stenographer still with them. Then the stenographer goes off an sleeps with a robot, while two space pilots get stoned, fly their ship, and ultimately crash land. Then the stenographer agrees to marry the robot, as long as it is a Jewish ceremony.

Now, you might believe that I have just described the basic, raw story with no finesse or actual attempt at describing the plotting that the actual filmmakers provide. You would be wrong, as the film provides no actual sense of relationship between the different parts of the “story” at any time. Even the basic idea of cause an effect isn’t present, let alone more complex forms of relationships between different elements of a given tale. And I would have been satisfied with basic cause and effect; it is not as if I went into this film expecting anything more than a collection of pulp tales. And this form of “storytelling” happens throughout the entire film, including the framing narrative, as the film follows the same pattern over and over again: sex, death, sex, gore, sex, murder, more sex followed by sex, a woman riding a dragon (surprisingly, that isn’t a sex scene), followed by more death. Oh, and the Loc-Nar exploding for some reason.

Part of the film’s narrative problems likely stem from the background of the screenwriters. The duo behind this film is Len Blum and Daniel Goldberg, of Stripes and Meatballs fame. Now, I dig Stripes and think the original Meatballs was fun though flawed, but how on Earth did anyone think that these two were the duo to write a sci-fi anthology film? Both Stripes and Meatballs were far from being tightly plotted films, with the scripts just setting up scenarios for Bill Murray and crew to be funny as possible in. While Heavy Metal does make attempts at comedy, most of the stories are played straight. Due to this, the limits of Blum and Goldberg’s skills as writers are revealed, as each segment comes off as little more than half baked sketches, waiting for an improve team to come in an fix them up.

The main blame doesn’t rest with the writers however: they didn’t hire themselves, and it wasn’t their decision to move forward with the script as it was. No, those responsibilities rest with producer Ivan Reitman as well as director Gerald Potterton. Why didn’t one of these two take a moment to read the script an realize what a piece of garbage it was? I don’t mean to insult the writers, but I have a hard time imagining that anyone would have thought producing the film was a good idea if the script is close to what ended up on screen. Potterton doesn’t really direct so much as he allows the film to spiral out of control, and Lord knows just what on Earth Reitman was up to during the making of the film.

Worse, these filmmakers took plenty of talented people down with them; Elmer Bernstein of Ghostbusters fame; comic greats Neal Adams, Howard Chaykin, and Bernie Wrightson, who worked on the film’s design; and the cast, which includes John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Harold Ramis, Eugene Levy and John Vernon. Everyone here deserved better material to work with than they received, and it is a great pity to see such talents wasted on this project. With any luck, I at would hope that they were at least able to make car payments with the cheques from this film.

While the film has little in the way of saving graces, it would be wrong not to give credit where credit is due when it comes to the design of the film. While the finished film is poorly animated, the design work is fascinating and beautiful in its ugliness. Most notable however is the soundtrack, which is perhaps the best remember aspect of the film, as it features music from Journey, Sammy Hagar, and Devo amongst others. The music is a nice distraction from the rest of the film, and thankfully the soundtrack is available to be listened to apart from the film itself. The same however does not seem to be the case for Bernstein’s score, which only sparingly appears but is still quite wonderful when it is allowed to shine through.

I could end this review by calling the film adolescent trash designed for 13 year old boys, but I would like to give 13 year olds a little bit more credit than the filmmakers of Heavy Metal give them. Animation fans may want to check it out for curiosity’s sake, but everyone else would be better off with a Ralph Bashki film. And I not particularly a big Bashki fan.