by Alex Kane
After boldly following Kal-El aboard General Zod’s Kryptonian warship, Lane carries out her single biggest contribution to the film by discovering how to defeat the superhuman invasion force; but it’s Jor-El’s consciousness, the mind of a man, who shows her—and then the rest of her efforts take place off-camera, while the audience is spoonfed some more flashy shots of Superman fighting Zod and making a catastrophic mess of Metropolis in the process.
Even from a less critical, more—(sigh)—traditional view, Kent’s inevitable relationship with Lois Lane ultimately feels thoughtless and forced; they appear to care for one another simply because that’s what they’ve always done. Not because there’s any genuine character development taking place between the two, or because the story serves to build their love.
When you’ve got an actress of Amy Adams’s caliber at your disposal, that’s more than a little disappointing, frankly. But that’s no fault of the performers. Doubtless the unquestionable demands of the studio kept the script and final edit as lean and fast-paced as possible, leaving little room for more than a few minutes’ worth of genuine humanity and on-screen chemistry. So why have a love subplot at all? Save it for the sequel.
As it stands, Lois Lane in Man of Steel is left utterly objectified. Despite a few good lines—and some truly awful ones (“If we’re done measuring dicks . . .”)—and regardless of how convincing Adams is in the midst of what must have been an ocean of greenscreen. An object of affection, and a damsel to be rescued when the plot demands more overdramatized peril.
Last night, my inner child felt ready to proclaim to the world that cinema had found its new Greatest Superhero Film of All Time, superior to the works of Nolan, Snyder’s own Watchmen, and the now-classic Donner outings. But I can’t ignore the trivialization of women’s roles in popular entertainment any longer. What might have been a near-perfect, grand vision is marred by the absence of anything new, commendable, or progressive. Man of Steel plays it safe in its political message—and does a great disservice to twenty-first-century notions of gender.
Ten SF Novels Deserving of Film Adaptations
More Recommended Reading that’s Bound to Hit the Big Screen (Eventually)
Science fiction and fantasy are taking over the realm of the Hollywood summer blockbuster, no question about it. Marvel Studios is gearing up to launch the Avengers franchise into space with the forthcoming Guardians of the Galaxy film, Neill Blomkamp’s about to wow audiences with his sophomore full-length feature, Elysium, and Christopher Nolan’s next movie is a high-concept SF epic called Interstellar. Roboticist-cum-novelist Daniel H. Wilson’s works seem more or less destined for film. And let’s not forget about Ernest Cline’s nostalgia-heavy Ready Player One.
We certainly have plenty to look forward to. Between the Ender’s Game film adaptation, slated to be released this November, and that of Cherie Priest’s alternate-history, zombie steampunk novel Boneshaker, I think it’s safe to say we’ll all have plenty to geek out about in the coming months—and years.
So: what other science-fiction and fantasy novels deserve the movie treatment?
Here are some of my own ideas about what stories might look great (and benefit the field by broadening its audience) on the silver screen.
1. Leviathan Wakes (The Expanse) by James S. A. Corey
This one’s got a cast of characters you can’t help but love—the Rocinante has just the sort of memorable crew that belongs in a space opera tale of this scale, and even the bit players along the way seem to live and breathe the processed air of this richly-drawn world coauthors Abraham and Franck have dubbed “The Expanse.” Not to mention the diabolical alien presence that reveals itself about halfway into the story. If some studio goon actually greenlit the Battleship movie, why can’t we have Leviathan Wakes? Give it to Oblivion director Joseph Kosinski. Or Ridley Scott, James Cameron—really any of the usual suspects. SyFy reportedly has a television adaptation in the works, with Thomas Jane rumored for the leading role.
2. Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor
Okorafor manages to believably bridge the two most polarized elements of speculative film: a plausible future world, and magic. The author does so by drawing no clear distinction between spirituality and metaphysics, nor between primitive technology and sorcery. It’s all in how the reader chooses to explain the narrator’s harrowing story—and that’s half the fun. The mysticism feels authentic. But it’d be significantly darker than pretty much anything in its genre, given its subject matter. Harry Potter it ain’t. David Fincher could make it into the film of his career.
3. Crystal Rain (The Xenowealth Saga) by Tobias S. Buckell
I don’t know who would be the ideal director for Buckell’s Xenowealth novels (Crystal Rain, Ragamuffin, Sly Mongoose, and The Apocalypse Ocean). Anybody from Kathryn Bigelow (Zero Dark Thirty) to Anthony Hemingway (Red Tails) could potentially do artistic justice to this fun but harsh postcolonial universe, which is equal parts steampunk and galaxy-spanning space opera.
4. Arctic Rising by Tobias S. Buckell
Another one by Buckell—this one far more timely and realistic. I could see this ecological technothriller becoming a kind of zeitgeist work, in which the line between industry and government becomes further blurred by the boom in new resources, and new ways to go about getting them. Plus, it’d be big-screen really nice to see a story about climate change and technology that’s not entirely apocalyptic in nature.
5. Mainspring (The Clockwork Earth) by Jay Lake
I enjoyed this idiosyncratic steampunk (clockpunk?) novel for its confidence and unique vision. The tale of a young apprentice going out on a quest to save the world isn’t exactly groundbreaking stuff—but it’s a mythic story that includes clockwork angels, an Earth whose axis winds and ticks like the movement of a clock, and dirigibles. Somebody like David Fincher or Martin Scorsese could turn this already beautiful novel into a visual masterpiece.
6. Old Man’s War by John Scalzi
According to the author’s Whatever blog, this one’s already in development—as a television series titled The Ghost Brigades, after the novel’s first sequel. Wolfgang Petersen’s name was attached as a likely director at one point, but the author reports that the script is being rewritten as we speak, so that leaves open the possibility of someone else taking the helm of this one, depending on what happens through the rest of pre-production. Anybody who’s read the book knows this one is tailored to fit the mold of big-screen cinema, and I think it’ll be loads of fun.
7. Fuzzy Nation by John Scalzi
But this one could be even better. I like Redshirts a great deal, as well, but Scalzi’s touching homage to golden-age SF author H. Beam Piper reads like a far superior version of James Cameron’s Avatar, on a more intimate, more believable scale. And there isn’t a single character in the novel who wouldn’t blow audiences away, given a few solid casting choices. The novel brings the pop-culture cousinhood of the Fuzzys and the Ewoks full circle with a little tongue-in-cheek reference to Return of the Jedi, and in today’s very postmodern, somewhat jaded entertainment world . . . honestly, I think this courtroom drama in space would kill at the box office.
8. The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi
Hard to think of a more memorable vision of the future than Bacigalupi’s debut novel. His young adult works may be more likely to receive the eventual big-screen treatment, but there’s something deeply profound about the story of Emiko the windup, a genetically engineered sex slave in a world ravaged by rampant “genehacking” and various resultant foodborne plagues. Either the Wachowskis or Danny Boyle could turn this haunting vision into a believable reality. Who knows—it just might happen someday.
9. Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente
Here’s a beautiful mythpunk fairy tale that begs for the animated treatment. Try and imagine the folks behind stop-motion masterpieces like Coraline or Frankenweenie bringing this book to life. Or Hayao Miyazaki, who did the sublime animated adaptation of Howl�
��s Moving Castle. Not that this book couldn’t be filmed; I just think that its marvelous witches and spirits, and all the shapeshifting that goes on in the novel, would look stunning in mostly grayscale, old-school animation.
10. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
This is the book I’m reading right now, and I can’t believe it’s been out for so long without being adapted into some form of visual medium. It’s an inevitability, I think—but let’s hope like Hell it gets the witty, literate treatment it truly deserves. Before the End Times come and wipe our slate clean, we should all be so lucky to see so many angels and demons working in harmony to bring about Armageddon. Maybe Gaiman could collaborate with Kevin Smith on the script, and then get Todd Phillips to direct? Or Edgar Wright? I don’t know. Who could truly do a masterwork like this one justice?
One thing’s for sure: it’ll be a thrill to watch what lands in theaters over the coming decade, as the field of fantasy and science fiction continues its global invasion of the multiplex.
The Cabin in the Woods
Yanking Down the Zipper on the Monster’s Back
I’ll try and keep this spoiler-free, because I think it goes without saying that spoilers can be the film buff’s bane, but I will need to at least hint at a few key aspects of the story in order to properly criticize it in the manner I intend to. Which is to say, I didn’t really enjoy the film all that much on an artistic or intellectual level. Critical reception and popular opinion across social media had both set my expectations high, and in the beginning of the film I felt that the script was poised to deliver . . . but things fell apart pretty quickly.
I believe that a good horror film ought to bring the monsters of our innermost darkness to life both on the screen and in our hearts; but all The Cabin in the Woods seems to do is yank down the zipper on the monster’s back, exposing the pale, hairy ass underneath.
It doesn’t show much love for the genre. And that’s a big strike against it, in my book.
Maybe I’m too jaded, or even a liar masking his own jealousy or insecurities as a creative individual, but I feel like a lot of these high-concept, chain-o’-nonsense-surprises films feel a little soulless. They lack the grit and believability that are the requisite of true, visceral terror—something that the horror genre, particularly in film, is especially lacking these days.
It’s not that Cabin doesn’t have its smart or entertaining moments. There is a certain moderate tension that persists throughout the film, more or less holding the audience’s attention, but it can’t ever make up its mind whether it is a high-brow comedy or a horror film. It succeeds only, I’m afraid, as a comedy. That’s what I find most disappointing.
And so much of the plot relies on, well, me not revealing the big spoilers that would utterly ruin the entire thing for you. It’s all one massive curtain—which, by the way, you can see straight through the minute the film starts.
Hell, the first time you see the trailer, if you’ve a keen eye and a rudimentary understanding of the genre and the metafictional obsession that has grown to dominate the imaginations of horror cinema’s once-great masters. Like that bloody but disgraceful mess Scream 4, The Cabin in the Woods suffers from the reality that the well-meaning audience member is constantly thumped over the head with reminders that she is in fact seated in a movie theater, sipping a six-dollar Coke and comfortably distanced from even the slightest whiff of danger or alarm. Munchin’ on that Buncha Crunch.
I dunno. Maybe this is a phase, in which I’m not allowed to enjoy contemporary horror films with quite the same kind of . . .
Wait, no. Scratch that. I watched Ridley Scott’s 1979 film Alien last Thursday night, and damn, that’s a movie, folks. Thirty-three years later, and the H. R. Giger creature is scarier than anything Hollywood has managed to dream up since. Honest.
Like I said to my little brother on the way outta the theater, what audiences know—have known for decades—hasn’t quite reached filmmakers’ ears: It ain’t what you show that’s scary; it’s what you don’t show. It’s what the audience thinks it saw, what it imagined.
Hence the phenomenal effectiveness, and deserved success, of a film like Alien.
So please, enough with the gimmicks. To hell with the no-holds-barred-anything-goes expansion of scope, realism, and so-called “artistic freedom.” Set some boundaries. As the film’s stoner-cum-hero says, you gotta draw a line in the sand somewhere. Keep a touch of harsh reality, just a dash of subtlety. Rules and mystery, silence and things left unsaid, leaving that curtain down . . . these things will keep the illusion alive.
Richard Jenkins’s character? Well, he just won’t. Nor will the colossal meta-narrative technique of “The Director” and holograms and wagers with the boogeymen of other nations. And don’t even get me started on the imagery in the opening credits and constant bludgeoning of the audience with obvious one-liners and allusions that give away the big “surprise ending” as early on as the opening scene, for chrissakes.
Sorry to rant, but I’m so tired of being disappointed by a genre that is so dear to my heart, that is so chock full of potential. I wish we could put the cliches and failed attempts at cleverness to rest in favor of originality, atmosphere, and believable, human characters. Trust me: Romero and Lovecraft won’t mind if we leave the zombies and elder gods behind in favor of artistic invention. They’ll thank us for not killing the genre.
Jingoism and the Culture of Fear
A Look at the Politics of Star Trek Into Darkness
Having seen Star Trek Into Darkness twice now, and having very much enjoyed it, my aim is to avoid spoilers here whenever possible, for the sake of those readers who might intend to see the film but haven’t gotten around to it yet. That said, if you’re really worried about it, I’d say close your browser now and get to the nearest cinema. It’s a movie well worth your time (and money)—and is perhaps the best space opera film since 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back.
It isn’t perfect, of course. There’s been a bit of backlash over the controversial racebending of one especially beloved Trek character. And Captain Kirk’s womanizing is in full force, despite the six or seven years that have elapsed since the last Abrams Star Trek picture. Damon Lindelof even issued an apology for the gratuitous, half-nude Carol Marcus (Alice Eve) scene.
The film also features a few eye-rolling moments of scientific impossibility played out casually and without alarm or explanation. Not that you really expect a Star Trek movie to be free of such “artistic liberties,” you understand, but nevertheless they are noticeable.
But what I took to be profoundly bold, and dealt with in a tasteful, mature manner, is the film’s commentary on post-9/11 jingoism and the culture of fear that has taken root in the West in the aftermath of George W. Bush’s presidency. There are two principal villains in the film: one alienated from his homeworld, whose motivations are at times hard to grasp; and one who holds high office in Starfleet, whose actions and authority make clear his warmongering agenda.
I’d argue that Into Darkness’s plot is not deeply allegorical, but rather an intelligent exploration of our notions of good, evil, and the whole spectrum between—of our notions of deterministic destiny, choice, and justice.
Back when the news hit of Osama bin Laden’s assassination by SEAL Team Six, I recall feeling a deep sense of dissatisfaction. What had we gained? An alleged corpse. The great CIA story that became Kathryn Bigelow’s 2012 zeitgeist film Zero Dark Thirty. Was it justice? I’m still unsure.
At the time, I was taking a mandatory college course, called Reflections: Suffering, Evil, and Hope. When the professor asked for our gut reactions to the terrorist’s death, I was the minority opinion. The only one, in fact, who was not elated at the news of bin Laden’s death. Later that day, I said to my ethics and philosophy professor, Dr. C. Hannah Schell, “We’re bloodthirsty,” meaning we as a nation. As a Western way of life: Our culture of fear.
Spock (Zachary Quinto) remarks to Captain James T. Kir
k (Chris Pine), in Alan Dean Foster’s novelization of the Star Trek Into Darkness script:
“While I harbor only the ultimate disdain and contempt for the individual known as John Harrison, and desire strongly that he receive the punishment due him, I must point out that there is no Starfleet regulation that condemns a man to die without a trial—no matter how egregious his offenses.” (Kindle e-book edition, Simon & Schuster)
In the final, filmed version of Quinto’s dialogue, Spock instead adds something to the effect of, “—a fact which you and Admiral Marcus seem to be forgetting.”
It seems fairly evident that screenwriters Roberto Orci, Alex Kurtzman, and Damon Lindelof saw the villainous John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch) as an opportunity to explore not only the growing threat of domestic terrorism, but also the problems that arise from institutionalized revenge—thanks, perhaps, to the troubling politics at play in American foreign policy.
When Kirk, Spock, and Lieutenant Nyota Uhura land via shuttlecraft on the barren, warlike planet of Kronos, it quickly becomes evident that the Klingon race is a stand-in for the political and cultural other. Most likely, given the subtext of more or less every quasi-political Hollywood film of the past decade, for the Middle East in particular.
The irony at play in this action-heavy sequence is that Uhura warns of the Klingons’ capacity for torture and murderousness; then, after Harrison intervenes by opening fire upon them in the middle of her efforts at diplomacy, she proceeds to draw the blade of the Klingon warrior in front of her and stab him in the leg.
The Klingons as a group are discovered to be far less of a threat than the former Section 31 agent Harrison, despite Admiral Marcus’s earlier insistence that war with Kronos has become increasingly inevitable. Yet they’re the ones Kirk’s crew has been ordered to attack.