6/25/15: A God Among Beasts

Tags

Al Ramrus, alternate ending, Barbara Carrera, based on a book, Bob Ozman, Burt Lancaster, cinema, director's cut, Don Taylor, Dr. Moreau, fighting animals, film reviews, films, Fumio Demura, genetic engineering, Gerry Fisher, H.G. Wells, horror, horror films, House of Pain, human experiments, Island of Dr. Moreau, island paradises, John Herman Shaner, Laurence Rosenthal, literary adaptation, mad scientist, mad scientists, man vs. nature, manimals, Marion Rothman, metamorphosis, Michael York, Movies, multiple writers, Nick Cravat, Nigel Davenport, playing god, primal instincts, Richard Alan Simmons, Richard Basehart, romance, science-fiction, shipwrecked, The Island of Dr. Moreau, tropical island

Exceptionally handsome and austere, if rather too reserved to ever really catch fire, Don Taylor’s adaptation of H.G. Wells’ classic mad scientist tale, The Island of Dr. Moreau (1977), occupies a middle position in the storied property’s history in more ways than chronologically. Neither as sweaty and nightmarish as the original 1932 version nor as silly and fundamentally strange as the 1996 version (featuring an outrageously over-the-top Marlon Brando in one of his final performances), Taylor’s film features lots of good performances from an established cast of old pros, beautiful tropical locations and just enough tension to prevent the whole thing from feeling unduly inert. There may not be many surprises here (aside from the laughably abrupt ending in the “director’s cut” version) but c’mon: where else are you going to see Elmer Gantry and that perpetually on-the-run Logan finally square off?

While it might seem that shipwrecked sailor Andrew Braddock (Michael York) has stumbled into a bit of luck when he finds himself on a beautiful, tropical island, the type of said luck might be up for debate. After all, Dr. Moreau (Burt Lancaster), the ruler of the little Pacific paradise, seems like a nice enough guy, if a little odd and driven: ditto for his second-in-command, the gruff Mr. Montgomery (Nigel Davenport), who seems to be more than capable with his ever-present rifle. Moreau’s servants, including the strange-looking M’Ling (Nick Cravat), are nice enough and his beautiful, young ward, Maria (Barbara Carrera) is certainly easy on the eyes. A beached sailor could do a lot worse, no?

As it turns out, however, all is not quite as rosy as it seems on first blush. Montgomery becomes very cagey when Braddock tries to get more information about the assorted flora and fauna on the island, only replying that there are “all kinds (of animals)” on the island and cautioning the sailor to avoid leaving Moreau’s compound after dark. He also hears strange moans, groans and almost animalistic noises coming from various rooms after dark, all of which point towards the “good” doctor being involved in some rather shady doings.

In no time, Braddock has stumbled upon the truth of Moreau’s little island paradise: the doctor has been experimenting with a serum that gives human qualities to animals, turning the affected creatures into things that could best be described as “manimals” or, perhaps, “humaninmals.” When Braddock meets the beast-men, he’s also introduced to their complex society and system of “Laws”: “Never walk on all fours;” “Never eat meat;” “Never hunt man;” and, perhaps most importantly, “Never shed blood.” As Braddock learns, any beast-man who violates the “Laws” receives a one-way ticket to the infamous “House of Pain,” which isn’t so much an Irish-American hip-hop crew as a make-shift torture chamber.

The problem with playing God, of course, is that it has a tendency to turn one into a megalomaniac. Such, unfortunately, is the case with the brilliant Dr. Moreau, a ground-breaking genetic researcher whose isolation from the rest of the world and role as ‘creator” have combined to make him a little bit loopy. As Braddock finds himself falling in love with the exotic, beguiling Maria, he also begins to get the notion that good ol’ Moreau isn’t quite done with his experiments: if the hapless sailor isn’t careful, he might just find himself part of the mad scientist’s “family” on a more permanent, terrifying basis!

As director of big-budget “event pictures” like Escape From the Planet of the Apes (1971), Damien: Omen II (1978) and The Final Countdown (1980), Don Taylor is an old-hand with this sort of thing, as is evident by his assured, non-flashy grasp on the material. The generally slow pace works to the film’s favor, allowing Taylor to craft the kind of oppressive, almost Gothic atmosphere that’s so important to the original book’s almost Poe-like sense of dread. Despite the leisurely pace, the film does maintain plenty of tension, particularly once all hell (literally) breaks loose in the film’s final act.

The Island of Dr. Moreau looks great thanks to cinematographer Gerry Fisher’s eye for the natural beauty of the Virgin Islands locales. Fisher was behind the camera for such films as Ned Kelly (1970), Aces High (1976), The Ninth Configuration, Wolfen (1981) and Highlander (1986) and he turns in some genuinely beautiful, almost burnished images here. Throw in a nicely evocative score by journeyman composer Laurence Rosenthal and Taylor’s film easily holds its own, craft-wise, with something like the Philip Kaufman version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978), another high-point in ’70s film adaptations.

While some critics have taken Lancaster’s portrayal of the titular scientist to task, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it: it’s certainly a stronger, more nuanced take than Brando’s ludicrous representation. If Lancaster’s Moreau falls short of the massive deviance of Charles Laughton’s original performance, however, it’s certainly not without its benefits. For one thing, Lancaster’s Moreau ends up being the most sympathetic of the three film versions, thanks to a typically understated performance by the master thespian. I also liked the complex relationship between Moreau and his “creations” here, a complexity born of Lancaster’s ability to play the scientist as both “insane genius” and “over-protective father.”

For his part, York does a great job as the shipwrecked hero: coming just a year after his iconic portrayal of Logan in Logan’s Run (1976), York has the “qualified hero” thing down pat and is able to turn Braddock into a massively likable presence. He also has great chemistry with Carrera, which gives their characters’ burgeoning romance the kind of resonance it needs to really carry weight. While Carrera doesn’t, technically, have a whole lot to do as Maria, her character gets some nice emotional beats in the final third, even if the “director’s cut” of the film robs her of her big “payoff” scene. As far as Nigel Davenport is concerned, it’s always nice to see the veteran British character actor in anything and his take on Montgomery is solid as a rock, studded with some truly biting quips and rejoinders.

If anything really lets Taylor’s version of the story down, aside from the less feverish pace and some rather pedestrian makeup effects (none of the manimals really look like specific animals: they all just have a sort-of generic “hairy/horned/animal” look that’s technically proficient but thoroughly uninspired), it has to be that ending. The readily available version of the film (listed as the “director’s cut,” at least on the version I saw), does away with the original “twist” ending, replacing it with a suitably choppy, “happy” ending that not only makes little sense but also calls attention to itself by virtue of the sloppy editing. While the “original” ending was certainly no brilliant shocker (if you can’t call it fairly early on, I’m guessing that you’re not really paying attention), it fit the film nicely and would have ended things on a suitably bummer finale. The “new and improved” version, as it were, will probably only send audiences out with a smile on their faces if they’re one of the aforementioned viewers who aren’t really paying attention in the first place.

Despite some minor issues and some very wonky science (if you think too hard about the logistics at work here, none of the film makes any sense whatsoever), The Island of Dr. Moreau is a consistently well-done, evocative and thoroughly entertaining film. While I still prefer the 1932 version (you just can’t beat Laughton in batshit crazy mode), the 1977 version is still a perfectly acceptable way to spend a rainy afternoon. If you’ve never had a chance to visit this particular tropical paradise before, grab your sunscreen, a floppy hat, a daiquiri and prepare to chill out with a collection of the grooviest manimals under the sun. If you can’t get down with that, buddy, well…maybe you really do belong in the House of Pain, after all.

2/8/14: If We Can’t Have It, Neither Can You

Tags

a-tests, Academy Award Nominee, Academy Awards, atomic tests, Best Feature Documentary nominee, Bikini Atoll, cancer, documentaries, documentary, island paradises, John Smitherman, Marshall Islands, nuclear radiation, nuclear weapons, Operation Crossroads, Radio Bikini, Robert Stone, The Manhattan Project, U.S. Navy, World War II

It’s always interesting to look back on simpler times, especially as regards technological and scientific breakthroughs. We take so much for granted nowadays (television, the Internet, cars) that it seems almost unfathomable that there could ever be a time when these inventions were just a twinkle in our collective eyes. The first unveiling of these things must have been a heady mixture of terror and wonder: terror at the infinite gaping maw of the unknown, wonder at the infinite possibility of the world around us. If something like television must have initially seemed awe-inspiring, how must the first nuclear weapons have seemed?

Radio Bikini, a 1988 Academy Award nominee for Best Documentary Feature, examines the effects of Operation Crossroads on the Bikini Atoll, including the residual damage caused to both the uprooted indigenous natives and U.S. servicemen and scientists. Operation Crossroads was a series of naval A-bomb tests in 1946, mere months after the first atomic bombs were used to level Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Navy wanted to test the strength of warships against atomic power and chose an idyllic, albeit occupied, series of islands in the Pacific. The U.S. relocated the natives to nearby islands, moved scientists and soldiers in, built a base and began conducting test (both above and below water). As a point of reference, the film follows one particular serviceman, John Smitherman, from his time on the project to the present (1983, at the time). Smitherman died of complications related to radiation exposure shortly after the film was finished, so that probably gives you a pretty good idea of what happened.

You see, like any new technology, folks weren’t quite sure what to make of this newfangled nuclear power. As such, the early days of the tests look more like a beach party: everyone runs around in beach-wear (it is a beautiful tropical island, after all), the guys flirt with the girls and everyone gets plenty of ice cream and beer. Seems great, huh? They also all get an up-close and personal view of the a-tests, which later proves to be less than ideal for those involved. For, as we’ve come to accept as part-and-parcel nowadays, the lingering radioactive effects of nuclear tests could become an even more dire heritage than their fiery destructive capabilities. We didn’t know that in 1946, however, but we’d sure figured that out by the ’80s, when nuclear disarmament became a cause celebre.

Radio Bikini is nothing if not sobering and eye-opening, especially once one gets to the final reveal of Smitherman’s condition (I honestly had no idea what was coming and was suitably shocked by the conclusion). The contrast between the care-free, happy days of the tests versus their future impact is particularly powerful: it’s quite illuminating to hear eye-witnesses complain about how they expected the tests to be more explosive and impressive. It’s quite terrifying to witness observers get drenched with (obviously) radioactive water after one underwater bomb test and stand there laughing, as if they’d just come from an amusement park ride. Our current understanding of the terrible power of nuclear power hangs over every frame of the film like a rag-clad grim reaper, reminding us that the majority of the smiling faces on-screen will meet very unpleasant ends.

The other cost of the tests, of course, and the source of much of the film’s emotional punch, is the plight of the relocated natives. This was, after all, their ancestral home and the U.S. government pretty unceremoniously went in and kicked them out. Not only kicked them out but nuked the place, rendering it completely uninhabitable for generations: talk about crappy neighbors! The film does a good job of showing the conflicting emotions of the villagers (they want to help but are never told enough to be genuinely informed) and the way in which the government effectively shunted them to the side. There’s a truly sad scene where we see the military representatives explaining the relocation to the natives. Since the government is filming the scene (presumably for some sort of publicity back home), they do it several times, leading to no end of confusion for the natives. Being told you’re getting kicked out of your home once is bad enough: being told three times because the sound guy screwed up the previous two takes seems like unconscionable torture, as far as I’m concerned.

At one point, the natives’ chief passionately states that he just wants to be able to return to the home of his ancestors again before he dies. It’s a pain that’s obviously shared by the rest of the natives, especially when one considers the paradise they used to live in. They go from ample fishing and foraging in the land they were raised in to scant pickings on neighboring islands as their former paradise is bombed to bits by nuclear weapons. The injustice is pretty palpable and the complete indifference of the various government and military figures we see certainly doesn’t help matters much.

While Radio Bikini is certainly sad and thought-provoking, it also proves to be quite awe-inspiring, as we get up-close footage of the actual atomic tests. I can honestly say that few things in the universe must be as simultaneously beautiful and horrifying as a nuclear explosion. We get to feel a measure (if only an iota) of the awe that the actual observers must have felt as the inferno torched the surrounding area, sending that iconic mushroom cloud up to the heavens. The underwater explosion, in particular, was chilling, especially when one thinks of the widespread effect on the surrounding seas as the huge shockwave pulses for what seems likes miles in every direction. It looks like the apocalypse and must have felt like it from nearby.

As a documentary, Radio Bikini is pretty good, helped immeasurably by the fascinating story being told. It is an inherently sad film, both for the actual effects on those involved and the idea that the nuclear age marked a clear turning point from the past, a headlong dive into technological and scientific pursuits that would come to characterize the next 70 years of our existence. At the time, we undoubtedly saw a much rosier future, a much more glorious and exciting atomic era of prosperity and invention. I’m not so sure that the dispossessed islanders saw it the same way, however, and I’m pretty sure Smitherman didn’t, either.

1/20/14: Farewell to Your Future Self

Tags

12 Monkeys, action films, Blade Runner, Boreno, Brick, Bruce Willis, chase films, cinema, closing the loop, Conan the Barbarian, drama, dystopian future, Farewell to the King, Film auteurs, films, grim future, headhunter tribes, historical dramas, hitmen, island paradises, Japanese fleet in the Pacific, John Milius, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, jungle combat, kings, Looper, Movies, Nick Nolte, Rian Johnson, romance, sci-fi, telekinesis, Terry Gilliam, The Big Lebowski, The Brothers Bloom, The Rainmaker, time travel, war films, World War II

After beginning the day with a couple of Oscar-nominated documentaries, I figured that I’d end it with a film where Nick Nolte becomes king of Borneo and Bruce Willis and Joseph Gordon-Levitt share the same face. Welcome to the world I live in, ladies and gentlemen: it’s a strange one.

First of all, take a moment (or two) to marvel at the glory that is the above poster for Farewell the King. Nolte giving his best Blue Steel…burning huts…lots of buff dudes with machine guns…that, my friends, is what we commonly call one kickass film poster. Doesn’t matter what the film is about: a peep at that one-sheet and I’d hightail it to the theater post-haste!

Now that your eyes have been bathed in badassery, let’s take a look at the fella that wrote and directed Farewell to the King: John Milius. You might know him as the guy that wrote and directed Conan the Barbarian (ie: the awesome one) and the original Red Dawn. You might also know him as the guy who wrote the screenplays for Dirty Harry, Magnum Force, Apocalypse Now, Jeremiah Johnson and A Clear and Present Danger. Or perhaps you know him as the creator of the cable show Rome. Barring that, you may know him (peripherally) as the inspiration for John Goodman’s Walter in The Big Lebowski. Now…taking a look at all of these disparate pieces that make up John Milius, can you take a wild guess at what awaits within Farewell to the King? Yes, friends and neighbors: we’re about to enter the mystical kingdom of Testosteronia.

Due to my father, I was a huge fan of Milius before I ever knew it. Growing up, the Dirty Harry series was just about the closest thing we got to the gospels: I’d already seen the entire series by the time I was a pre-teen and I pretty much had the first two, Dirty Harry and Magnum Force, memorized. I was also completely obsessed with sword-and-sorcery stuff by that point, so Excalibur and Conan the Barbarian got watched at least once a day. Add to that my equally hardcore interest in Apocalypse Now and I was, essentially, an intense Milius fan that had absolutely no idea who the dude was. Classic me, as it were.

As far as plot goes, Farewell to the King is equally as gonzo as anything in Milius’ back-catalog. A British officer and his radio operator land in Borneo, during World War II, in order to whip up local support against Japanese forces in the area. They find a friendly response from a local tribe only to wake up the next morning as captives: it seems that these natives might be the kind normally found in old jungle epics. The difference, however, is that those other tribes didn’t have Nick Nolte as their king.

You see, Nolte was an American soldier during the war, taken prisoner by the Japanese but escaped to the jungles of Borneo. Once there, he was taken captive by the local tribe of headhunters, saved from being turned over to the Japanese due to his dreamy blue eyes (no joke: the women of the village stage a revolt because they can “see the ocean” in his peepers…what a dreamboat!), became leader of the tribe after beating their chief at deadly hand-to-hand combat, fell in love and married one of the locals and managed to unite all of the smaller tribes in the area into one mega-tribe (of which he’s chief, natch). Whew! That is one busy Mystical White Man there, isn’t it!

Learoyd (Nolte) is pretty sure that he can just ignore the rest of World War II: after all, he has a pretty wife, several children, a really cool tropical paradise and the complete adoration of his people…why does he wanna stomp around the jungle and shoot Japanese soldiers? As the British officer gently explains, however, just because you choose to ignore the war doesn’t mean the war chooses to ignore you. Before long, Learoyd is thrown headfirst into the conflict, proceeding full throttle down a path that will lead to glorious victory, staggering defeat, mysterious cannibalistic Japanese ghost regiments, betrayal, mean Australians, Gen. MacArthur and, ultimately, sovereignty.

If it couldn’t be handily discerned from the above plot description, Farewell to the King is a deeply silly, if wildly entertaining, film. It operates along the same sort of wish-fulfillment scenario as Costner’s Dances with Wolves (white guy shows up and teaches the natives to be the best natives they can possibly be). It would be a much more offensive scenario if Milius’ film wasn’t so amiable and good-natured. It’s quite obvious that the natives stand head-and-shoulders above everything else (especially the Australians, who come across so loutishly as to make one wonder if this wasn’t some particular bias of Milius’). For one thing, they’re pretty much the only group that never betrays Learoyd (which can’t be said for the British). For the other, the village scenes are shot with such a sense of sun-dappled wonder that, especially as compared to the dreary jungle combat scenes, it pretty clear where the film would rather be spending its summer vacation.

Ultimately, there’s really one main reason to hunt this flick down (unless you happen to be a Milius’ completest or tropical island enthusiast): the marvelous Nick Nolte. It’s quite wonderful to witness Nolte in all of his buffed-out, leonine glory, especially when he manages to take the character to levels normally reserved for the Nic known as Cage. He strikes a terrific balance of level-headed, village elder and wild-eyed Bornean Rambo and it really works. Less successful, possibly by contrast, is the British officer, played by Nigel Havers. Havers spends most of the film looking sheepish, as if he’s constantly preparing to apologize for something. There are times when the approach works for the character but it usually has the effect of making his Capt. Fairbourne somewhat of a non-entity.

So what do you get with Farewell to the King? Well, you get some pumped-up, patriotic, Green Berets-style jungle fighting. You get Nick Nolte as the leader of a nation of headhunters in Borneo. You get some nice drama, a little character development (but not too much, mind you), plenty of action sequences and a simply gorgeous location. You get a loopy performance from John Bennett Perry (aka Matthew Perry’s dad) as Gen. MacArthur. You even get an evil, cannibalistic Japanese military unit, for good measure. In short, you get the full Milius treatment.

While it’s not my favorite genre, I’m definitely someone who enjoys a good sci-fi flick. In particular, I find myself really enjoying smaller, quirkier, more indie science fiction fare such as Primer, Timecrimes, Moon, Europa Report and Cube. I’ve got nothing, really, against the big tent-pole versions: I grew up on Star Wars and enjoyed The Matrix and Inception. There’s just something about a quieter, weirder sci-fi experience that really appeals to me. When I heard that Rian Johnson was going to be trying his hand at a sci-fi film, I knew this would be a must-see.

I’ve been a huge fan of Rian ever since Brick, a brilliant high school noir that also starred Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He followed that up with The Brothers Bloom, a film so magical and wonderful that I had to keep checking and make sure that Terry Gilliam didn’t create it under a pseudonym. With those two films, I knew that I’d be paying a visit to whatever particular world Rian decided to create next. While sci-fi seemed a little left-field, especially after the magical realism of Brothers Bloom, I had faith, faith which was handily rewarded.

Looper posits a slightly dystopian future, a sort of Blade Runner-lite with hover bikes, drone irrigation systems, telekinesis and time travel. It’s not quite the brave new world we might’ve once imagined, however: telekinesis is pretty much handily written off as “a bunch of assholes floating quarters” and time travel is outlawed, used only by criminal organizations as a way of dumping unwanted corpses in the past. We’ve come so far, you see, but stayed so very close to home.

We meet Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), one of the hitmen known as Loopers, who are responsible for carrying out these contracts. Loopers have it pretty good, all things considered, right up until the time they outlive their welcome. Once this happens, their bosses send the Looper’s future self through the time machine, where the past Looper will, essentially, kill himself, “closing the loop.” At first glance, the mechanics of this seem rather unwieldy, leading one to wonder whether this will be a film akin to Primer (a brilliant film, mind you, but kind of like sitting through a graduate-level physics seminar while still in middle school biology). But fear not, as Joe will later say to himself: “I don’t wanna talk about time travel stuff cuz if we do, we’ll be here all day.” Johnson gives us just enough science to hang our hats on but not enough to hang us, preferring the let the central conflict do the heavy lifting.

And what a conflict. You see, one day, Joe’s future self comes through the portal. Loopers are trained to expect that day and not hesitate: it’s their version of retirement, essentially. Not killing your future self is generally frowned on, as that results in two of you running amok in the same time period. Joe, of course, hesitates just long enough on that fateful day to allow his future self (Bruce Willis) to kick the crap out of him and head for the hills. Present Joe must now track down Future Joe in order to close his own loop, all the while avoiding the shady underworld characters that employ him. Future Joe, for his part, has a mission: he needs to find and kill the mysterious crime boss, known only as The Rainmaker, who ordered his termination, an act which resulted in the death of Future Joe’s beloved wife. If he can do this, Future Joe believes, in can change the course of time and alter the outcome. Present Joe can’t let that happen, leading to a Joe vs Joe fighting extravaganza.

There’s quite a bit more to Looper than what the above indicates but uncovering the film’s many twists and turns is part of its charm. This is a film that manages to not only marry the past parts of Johnson’s short career (the noir-isms of Brick and the magical realism of Brothers Bloom) into a thoroughly cohesive whole but to include wholly new elements to the mix. Tonally, the film really reminded me of Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys, especially once it began to delve into the truth behind The Rainmaker. This is certainly not an influence I could have seen in his earlier films but the parallelism(especially once we factor Willis into the mix) really works and makes me genuinely excited to see what other new tricks are up his sleeve.

As could be expected, JGL and Willis are outstanding. JGL, in particular, deserves special praise for his portrayal of young Joe. There is, obviously, some makeup used to enhance the physical resemblance between the two actors but that in no way should take focus from JGL’s performance. He becomes Willis in such a perfect way, from the way he walks to the way he holds his head and the subtle inflections in his voice, that it’s one of the most dizzying bits of screen fakery I’ve seen in ages. His first appearance took my breath away and it’s impossible for me to think that the same amount of praise and admiration currently bestowed upon Joaquin Phoenix won’t be granted twenty-fold to Gordon-Levitt. It really is an amazing performance, so full of pathos and emotion, yet so subtle, that it reminded me of something I’d kind of taken for granted: Joseph Gordon-Levitt is one hell of an actor.

As is Willis, of course, channeling the same kind of wounded intensity that made his performance in the aforementioned 12 Monkeys so riveting. Cocky, self-assured Bruce Willis is a mighty kickass dude. Quiet, brooding Bruce Willis, however, often makes for a better film. His interplay with JGL is great, especially in a diner sit-down that seems to parody the inevitable “meeting of the twins” scene in like-minded films. I still buy Willis as an action hero, to a point, and Looper makes sure not to cross that point in any manner as egregious as the Expendables films. For his part, JGL convincingly pulls off the action-oriented material, leaving one to hope for more roles like this in his future.

As a whole, the film works exceptionally well. The special effects scenes, especially one involving a bonkers version of one of those “assholes floating quarters” doing a whole lot more than that, are excellent and many of the kinetic fight sequences reminded me of the fights in The Matrix, although much less flashy. There are some really deep issues explored here, issues that help make the powerful ending particularly resonant. Rather than being brazenly manipulative, the ending comes organically from the journey that Present Joe has been on, allowing it to seem more natural than mechanical.

At the end of the day, I found myself liking Looper quite a bit, maybe even more than Inception, despite the more ambitious scope of Nolan’s film. Like Brick, Looper is a tightly-plotted examination of loss, responsibility and moral obligation, a film that is not afraid to ask (or answer) some pretty big questions. It also manages to wrap science fiction into a noir cloak in a way not seen since those fabled attack ships were on fire, somewhere over by Orion.