Cinema Futura (edited by Mark Morris)

by Steven Erikson

  LORD OF THE RINGS

  (Director: Peter Jackson; starring: Elijah Wood, Sean Astin, Sean Bean, Cate Blanchett - 2001)

  Amanda Hemingway

  When I saw the opening credits of Lord of the Rings, I cried. The opening credits, not the closing ones, though I probably wept again at the end of each movie, and several times in the middle. I cried, not because the film was good or bad, but simply because it was real, it was happening, and I was there to watch. It was my favourite film before I had even seen it through, and Peter Jackson’s matchless achievement was never to disappoint.

  I was eleven when I read the book, getting the three volumes from the library in the wrong order (vol. 2 was out when I wanted it, and I couldn’t wait, so I read the third part second). Purists would say it isn’t Science Fiction, forgetting that when it was first published, in 1954, fantasy as an adult genre did not exist, and baffled critics labeled it SF because they didn’t know how else to define it. The story, after all, encompasses alternate realities, humans and humanoids, men and monsters, and tackles the big issues of ethics and the use and abuse of power which obsessed the likes of Huxley, H.G. Wells, and Marvel comics. The hobbits, however, are the antithesis of the more popular SF heroes – child-like, though not children. They have to be brave and steadfast and loyal because that’s all they’ve got. No magical gifts, no bulging muscles. They are weak and vulnerable and very very human, and we all identify with them.

  Discovering the book was an epiphany for me. I knew immediately this was the kind of stuff I wanted to write: not the pseudo-mediaeval setting and the trappings of legend, but the concept of adult fiction that retained all the magic and adventure of children’s stories. It was even how I wanted to live my life, leaving behind the Shire of my youth (I grew up in the country) to go on an endless journey, a quest, to see cities and mountains and faraway places, to run out of my hobbit-hole without a hat and never look back. Other people wanted a big car, a big house, marriage, kids. I didn’t – which was just as well, since adventure I have encountered in plenty, but I still have little more than the boots I stand up in and the lifestyle of a Ranger with hair-straighteners.

  Over the years I read and re-read the book, finding new things in it all the time, and dreamed of the movie, and discussed it with friends. I saw the disastrous cartoon in the late seventies, and went away saying they needed better special effects, live actors, an unlimited budget. I fantasy-cast the main roles, even picking John Rhys-Davies for Gimli. And then, one day in the nineties, it began. A rumour, a whisper, a frisson down the World Wide Web. Something was stirring in the east. A walking tree was seen on the moors. Lord of the Rings was going to be a film at last – a film like no other, three in one go, taking years to make, costing more than the GDP of a small nation. Cast lists circulated like conspiracy theories: Ethan Hawke as Aragorn (too young), Uma Thurman as Eowyn (hmm). I remember my sister phoning me once with what she claimed was the final cast, with many names I didn’t know, and concluding ‘someone called Andy Serkis as Gollum.’ I punched the air. Yes! Some time before I had seen a dire production of King Lear at the Royal Court, which featured several famous actors looking deeply embarrassed. The director, for some reason, had decided to put the Fool in drag – an unknown who teetered on stage in a twinset and four-inch heels and proceeded to electrify the audience. His name was stamped on my memory: Andy Serkis. With still no idea of what the effects department could do, I knew he could play Gollum. He was an actor who could do anything.

  Tension mounted like the wait before a long-expected party. And then the millennium arrived, and on its heels the first installment finally hit the screen. The film unfolded over three years in a constant ebb-and-flow of excitement and anticipation. There were plot changes, but they worked. There were flaws. I would have loved a go at the screenplay, which, though largely brilliant, had a few awkward lines, and Sam’s speech at the end of The Two Towers, which is truly terrible. But any great work has flaws. (Think the gravediggers in Hamlet, or the scene with Hecate in Macbeth.) The actors, known and unknown, became immortal. New stars were born, new effects effected. Armies marched across the screen in numbers never seen before, thousands and tens of thousands: Elves and Men, monsters beyond the dreams of Jurassic Park, orcs with very bad dentistry. The artists John Howe and Alan Lee brought Tolkien’s imagination to life, creating those incredible moments when the film showed me a scene I already knew, long before, from thought or dream. The winged Nazgul, Gandalf’s hat, the halls of Moria, that first sight of Minas Tirith. Christopher Lee’s Saruman, with his white hair and ‘deep darkling eyes’, so exactly fitting my mental picture it almost hurt. And then there were the surprises, characters who acquired a new dimension, new depth. Frodo in the book is a little too good to be true, but Elijah Wood gave him both charm and charisma. Boromir is far from likeable, but played by Sean Bean he became sympathetic and sexy. Aragorn is a complex, many-layered hero; Viggo Mortensen made him flesh-and-blood. Beginning the first film with a synopsis was a high-risk strategy, synopses being generally dull, but Cate Blanchett’s commentary showed what a really great actor can do with voice alone. And so on.

  I could continue for pages – but you were there, you saw it, and whether you liked or loathed it you had to be impressed. I saw each movie about five times at the cinema and bought the full-length version on DVD. I even watched the background stuff, something I would normally consider boring matter for film nuts. This was a project that was made with passion and dedication and that painstaking attention to detail which someone or other once said is the mark of genius. Only this wasn’t just one genius, it was lots of genii, genius on every level, from the smallest item of costume to the largest battle scene. No other movie will ever be like it, because no other story can inspire in quite that way. Every single person involved put heart and soul into their work, and it showed.

  By the time The Return of the King came out, I knew Peter Jackson & Co. would not, could not fail. In the cinema, the lights dimmed, the muttered conversations ceased. But I wouldn’t have heard them any more. I couldn’t smell the popcorn, or feel the edge of my seat. The screen blurred as the tears streamed down my face. I was in Middle-Earth, and the greatest adventure of them all was coming alive at last…

  THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA

  (Director: Larry Blamire; starring: Fay Masterson, Andrew Parks, Susan McConnell, Brian Howe - 2001)

  Elizabeth Massie

  I grew up in Virginia during the 1950s and 60s, Child Number Two of four, born to a watercolorist mother and journalist father. In true Southern style, many of the parents who lived in our town were strict about what they allowed their children to do, to hear, and to see. My cousins couldn’t believe my father not only permitted us to drink soda, but had crates of Dr. Peppers delivered to our house every other week. There was an ‘art room’ in our house where we could paint whenever we wanted. And we were allowed to watch horror and science fiction movies on television on Saturday afternoons, The Twilight Zone on Friday nights (and then Way Out during its brief, fourteen-episode life span), Alfred Hitchcock Presents on Sunday nights, and The Outer Limits on Monday nights. My very proper Southern grandmother was horrified. My equally proper Southern aunts whispered that no good could come of it.

  Of course, good is in the mind of the beholder. To me, growing up with visions of monsters, aliens and ghosts dancing in my head and nipping at my heels was the best, if not at times the spookiest, way to grow up. My imagination was fired on all cylinders, not limited to the here and now, the tangible and the sensible. Because, c’mon, there are other planets with other beings! There are terrifying creatures in forests, oceans and caves! There really are things that go bump in the dark and things that want to take over your mind and/or body! And little did I know that other kids around the country were also growing up with the same influences, the same fascinations, and the same peculiar imaginations.

  Few imaginative offerings are more fun, raw, earnest, often clunky and
blatantly desperate/hopeful/creative/cautionary than a science fiction movie or show from the 50s or early 60s. A weekends’ viewings of Robot Monster, Plan 9 From Outer Space, Them!, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Blob, Teenagers From Outer Space and Earth Vs. the Spider will make that clear in short order. Certainly the movies now often seem clumsy, over-blown, heavy-handed, or downright silly. Yet we were a different audience then. Our movie-going psyches were not as ‘mature’ or demanding as they are now. During those mid-twentieth century years we were caught up in the wonders and dangers of the space race, practicing survival drills for when the Soviets dropped an atom bomb on our heads, and wondering what science was up to behind our backs. These movies explored and exploited our fears in the most entertaining of ways.

  Larry Blamire grew up in the same era I did. He obviously watched and loved the same movies I did, and then some, and then some more. Those films inspired him to write and direct his own movies, the first of which was The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra.

  Instead of trying to make a ‘serious’ 50’s-60’s- style cheesy science fiction film, Larry created a spot-on, hilarious, loving homage. LSOC pokes fun in the best possible fashion without actually making fun. It was filmed in black and white as were most of the oldies. It includes costumes and props that seem right out of the time period they mean to evoke. All the stereotypical characters are there – aliens (‘from outer space!’), a good scientist (who studies rocks) and his good wife (in heels and pearls even as she runs around in the woods), an evil scientist with an evil laugh, a power-crazed skeleton left abandoned in a cave, a sexy woman created from four different forest animals, a three-eyed, babe-snatching mutant, and several hapless victims.

  The story revolves around a special meteor that contains ‘that rarest of all radioactive elements – atmosphereum’ – and the mad scrambles as the main characters try to make it their own. The separate story lines all come together in the end with an impending skeleton-alien marriage and then a battle of supreme dominance between the alien monster (the mutant) and the earth-bound monster (the skeleton.) Does space or earth win in the end? Ah, to tell would be to ruin the fun. Or at least to ruin the fun of the last five minutes. There is so much fun to be had during the entire 90 minutes. That’s what it’s all about.

  The dialogue in LSOC requires special mention. It harkens back to the stilted lines uttered by evil and good characters in the old films, lines that are meant to instruct, enlighten, and fascinate but sometimes just baffle or amuse. Blamire’s skill in mirroring these lines and goosing them up even more is evident in the fact that many people who have watched LSOC come away with many favourite quotes. Here is a small sampling.

  Dr. Paul Armstrong: ‘Seriously, Betty, you know what this meteor could mean to science. If we find it, and it’s real, it could mean a lot. It could mean actual advances in the field of science.’

  Farmer: ‘Stay on this road here, past Dead Man’s Curve, you’ll come to an old fence, called The Devil’s Fence. From there, go on foot till you come to a valley known as The Cathedral Of Lost Soap. Smack in the center is what they call Forgetful Milkman’s Quadrangle. Stay right on The Path Of Staring Skulls and you come to a place called Death Clearing. Cabin’s right there, can’t miss it.’

  Skeleton: ‘Shut up. Stop that giggling. It’s making me uncomfortable.’

  Kro-Bar: ‘Sorry, sometimes my wife forgets that she is not a space alien.’

  Betty Armstrong: ‘Well, I suppose if I had wanted a safe life, I wouldn’t have married a man who studies rocks.’

  Ranger Brad: ‘Well again I didn’t mean to throw a damper. Believe me, that’s the last thing I’d like to throw. I don’t want to throw anything at all really. But when folks are horribly mutilated, I feel it’s my job to tell others. We take our horrible mutilations seriously up in these parts.’

  Animala: ‘Rowr.’

  Lattis: ‘You are different from the other humans. More disgusting, I think.’

  Dr. Roger Flemming: ‘You’ll find much of Earth sharing works this way. It’s really more like I’m sharing…with myself!’

  Skeleton: ‘Do you know how long it’s been since I sat up?’

  Keeping up with some of the best of the schlocky science fiction films, LSOC was filmed quickly, in just a few weeks in ‘the new miracle wonder of the screen, Skeletorama!’ Also keeping up with some of its inspirational predecessors such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Robot Monster, Atom Man Vs. Superman, They Saved Hitler’s Brain and Earth Vs. the Spider, much of the movie was filmed in Bonson Canyon. It has that very handy cave, of course, a cave that in the film is transformed into ‘Cadavra Cave,’ temporary resting place of the diabolical, sarcastic Lost Skeleton.

  After a showing at the American Cinemathéque in Hollywood at the Egyptian Theater, LSOC was picked up by Sony/Tri-Star and had a nationwide theatrical release in the United States in 2004. It is now available on DVD.

  ‘A Masterpiece! Thoroughly entertaining from beginning to end!’

  – Bruce Feld, Film Journal

  ‘An Inspired Delight!’

  – Kevin Thomas, Los Angeles Times

  LILO AND STITCH

  (Directors: Dean DeBlois, Chris Sanders; starring: Daveigh Chase, Chris Sanders, Tia Carrere, David Ogden Stiers - 2002)

  Tony Ballantyne

  Think about what happens to film reviews.

  The reviewer may discuss a film’s good points and bad points; they mention the dialogue, the art direction, the acting, the scenery; they may draw the most elegant conclusions about the text and its meaning – but all for nothing. Because there is a tendency amongst us to reduce all of this down to a number between one and five. It might be five stars, or three tomatoes, or 1 clipboard, but the effect is the same. Reviews line themselves up from Citizen Kane to Plan 9 from Outer Space, and the viewer is left with the feeling that anything below a certain number is not worth bothering about.

  If I had to place Lilo and Stitch on such a scale, it would be somewhere just past four stars. It’s not the best film ever, it’s not even in the top 100, but it is definitely the best family film featuring a dysfunctional alien marooned on Hawaii I’ve ever seen. We should map reviews to the complex plane so that we can take into account other factors.

  Lilo and Stitch was Disney’s first Science Fiction – as opposed to Fantasy – animated feature. It ticks all the boxes to be a credible representative of the genre, visiting familiar themes of alien encounter, culture clash and alienation, and displaying such icons as ray guns, experiments-gone-wrong and spaceships.

  What I love about it is the way that it just works. The animation has a lovely retro feel to it, but with a modern sheen. There is an attention to detail to every scene, none more so than in the opening ten minutes when the eponymous Stitch (the experiment-gone-wrong) escapes from his prison. The complexity of the motion of the machines that first take a blood sample from the unfortunate alien, then try to shoot him as he makes a run for it, still gives pleasure even on the twentieth viewing (and a twentieth viewing is possible if you have kids who keep demanding to watch it). The action of the getaway develops to a climax as Stitch cleverly evades his pursuers and makes good his escape in a spaceship in a scene referencing the famous ‘ships flying out of the screen’ scene from Return of the Jedi.

  Stitch makes it to Earth where he lands in Hawaii and is adopted by Lilo, who mistakes him for a dog – albeit a bad dog. Lilo is an orphan who recognises a fellow outcast in Stitch, and together they develop a bond of ‘ohannu (the ‘ indicates a glottal stop) a Hawaiian word meaning extended family. (Or as Lilo explains it, ‘‘ohannu means family, family means no one gets left behind.’)

  The main part of the film deals with Stitch’s attempt to follow his programming (he was made by the mad Dr Jumba, in order to destroy cities, a directive he is unable to follow on the island’s idyllic setting) and his efforts to avoid recapture by other alien races. The film moves swiftly and effectively between action and comedy, and includ
es some genuinely moving moments, in particular those when Lilo and her sister deliberately aggravate each other and then make up afterwards. The scene where Stitch imitates the Ugly Duckling, lost in the woods, in the hope that his (non-existent) parents will come to find him is particularly poignant.

  Animation story and soundtrack (featuring original music and songs by Elvis Presley) come together in an almost seamless package. I could do without some of the ‘zany’ humour, but this is a children’s film after all, and there are enough sight gags to keep the older viewers happy. (I particularly like the way the one eyed alien continually refers to a stereoscopic View-Master when seeking information about conditions on Earth).

  Lilo and Stitch was extremely well received by critics and public alike, and spawned a number of spin-offs, including a TV series. Disney should be applauded for succeeding in producing a credible contribution to the Science Fiction genre, a film that, whilst unmistakably Disney, features a range of characters quite unlike the standard princesses and heroes of other movies. After all, it is easy to love a beautiful princess with a sweet nature. Lilo is squat and snub-nosed with a nasty temper, but we learn to see what’s lovely in her and that is a far more valuable lesson for kids than anything in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

  But let’s not try and push the film back into the line of one to five. It’s a genuine piece of Science Fiction that can be enjoyed by all the family, and films answering to that description are few and far between.

  MINORITY REPORT

  (Director: Steven Spielberg; starring: Tom Cruise, Max von Sydow, Samantha Morton, Colin Farrell - 2002)

  Steve Mosby