The Orion Loop - Soviet science fiction film (1981)

As part of my exploration of Soviet (and Eastern Bloc) cinema, and more specifically science fiction from those territories, I recently watched The Orion Loop, a 1981 Soviet science fiction movie.

Like many science fiction films from the USSR, The Orion Loop deals with the question of extra-terrestrial life and the potential for its contact with Earth and humans. The plot centres on Earth's efforts to investigation a strong radiation source which has been affecting other spaceships on the edge of the Solar System. The ship which is dispatched on this mission is crewed by a mixture of people and their android 'doubles'. Crew members receive 'visitations' from holograms, which seem to be emissaries from an ancient alien civilization. Some of this activity turns out to be connected to a 'galactic virus' which might affect Earth.

In common with many science fiction works generally (and not just the ones produced in the Communist world), this picture examines some Big Subjects, such as man's attitudes to science, reason, and progress.  International solidarity and co-operation are also shown in a positive light. However, the story (the screenplay was co-written by the famous cosmonaut Alexei Leonov) is quite multi-layered.

One of the central themes of The Orion Loop is how humanity should engage with aliens, and how we should give them a chance and regard their intentions as benign, benevolent and constructive. If we give harmony and conciliation a chance to develop, positive consequences may well ensue. Of course, we may infer that these topics were being employed, at least in part, as a metaphor for how the different peoples of Earth should relate to each other.

Part of the sub-text is that we often mis-read or misunderstand what genuinely threatens our well-being or security, suggesting that we devote excessive resources to tackling 'imagined' threats, when something less obvious or less immediately emotive represents a much more insidious danger. We should stop and ask ourselves what is the real reason behind phenomena which we think are inherently hostile, and we should trust people and Nature more. I interpreted the holograms as being a reference to the desirability of learning from history.

That the crew members of the Soviet spaceship have android doubles allows some exploration of 'humans versus machines' issues, with the insinuation that in certain circumstances human creativity and problem-solving and decision-making capabilities would win out. On the whole, however, I don't think that the film makes as much use of the androids as it could have done. The holograms are very well done, though.

It is interesting that the cybernetician is to some extent cast as the villain, and the irrational one. Perhaps the message is that Mankind's fate is in its own hands?

This one is similar in format and style to other sci-fi movies from the USSR, but this is the early 1980s, so it is more polished technically and contemporary looking, although the special effects and production values are nothing exceptional for the period. 

Maybe I am being my usual over-analytical self, but the 'internationalism' angle of these films intrigues me. Here, as elsewhere, it seems to me that the Soviet Union is portrayed as taking the lead and the initiative for the benefit and welfare of mankind.

In a broader sense the film is observing that there are things about the human mind, and the universe, which we still do not fully understand. We must keep working, methodically and rationally, to unlock and harness the universe's secrets.

I would say that The Orion Loop is a movie which is both enjoyable and cerebral. 

A Dream Come True (1963 Soviet science fiction film)

Continuing my exploration of classic Soviet science-fiction movies, I come to 'A Dream Come True', also known as 'Toward Meeting a Dream' (original title:- Mechte navstrechu), which was originally released in 1963. The film was directed by Mikhail Karyukov and Otar Koberidze.

The premise of the story is reasonably straightforward. A spaceship from a distant planet, journeying towards Earth, encounters difficulties and consequently lands on the planet Mars. The authorities on Earth dispatch spacecraft to render assistance and establish contact.

Although the plot is not that innovative, and in places it flirts with corniness, I found it to be quite an affecting picture. Visually it is lavish, and in its relative slickness it does not necessarily conform to our expectations of science fiction movies from that era. The impression is that the budget was above-average for this type of project, and this is reinforced by the quality of the 'special effects'. There is also some highly effective electronic music, courtesy of Eduard Artemyev.

The 'script' and the narrative explore the standard themes from Soviet films from this genre - faith in science and human progress, peace and international solidarity.  As is often the case, Space is employed as a metaphor for events on Earth. 

If there is an underlying message or philosophical conclusion from the story, it is perhaps one of sacrifice for the greater good, and for the sake of knowledge and progress. Also, that we should not assume the hostile or malign intentions of the inhabitants of other planets. I interpreted the level of political moralizing to be comparatively mild and subtle. To be honest, once one has watched a certain number of old Soviet sci-fi movies, some hard-nosed pragmatism and 'realpolitik' would be welcome as a counterpoint to the unremitting diet of 'idealism' and utopianism. 

A Dream Come True contains more in the way of emotion and 'romance' than your typical sci-fi work, and this might alienate some people who prefer a more 'ascetic' and clinical ambience in such films. The tone and aesthetic of the film are distinctly 'early Sixties' in flavour.

This might not be the most cerebral of science fiction films, but it is quite 'rounded', gripping and satisfying as a watching experience. The conclusion to the film does leave a glimmer of doubt, though.

The Mysterious Wall (1967 Soviet science fiction film)

Picking up where I left off in my exploration of Soviet science fiction movies, 'The Mysterious Wall' is a 1967 effort, directed by Irina Povolotskaya and Mikhail Sadkovich.

The story centres on the appearance and evolution of a 'wall' which has appeared, and which appears to possess a considerable electrostatic potency. The film explores the efforts to understand this phenomenon, the discussions between the scientists at the research station adjacent to the 'wall', and how they interpret the 'visions' and hallucinations which it appears to engender.

I really enjoyed the debates among the scientists concerning the wall's properties and its meaning and significance, with some seeing it as a message from extra-terrestrial beings, and others suggesting alternative explanations. 

As is generally the case when viewing Soviet science fiction, there is a temptation, understandable perhaps, to read some overt ideological or political meaning into every image, or every snippet of dialogue, and it is important not to allow this compulsion to hinder one's enjoyment of the films for their own sakes.

Having stated the above, it is intriguing to note that a film focusing on a 'wall' was made in the Eastern bloc during the 1960s. Presumably the powers-that-be thought that the movie's overall philosophical orientation outweighed the importance of any perceived critique of 'walls' as a concept.

More broadly 'The Mysterious Wall' appears to concern itself with questions of the possibility of there being intelligent extra-terrestrial life, and what the effects and implications of discovering such life would be. Also, I sensed that the the makers were posing questions about possible centralized attempts to control the scientific agenda and keep 'mavericks' under control, and about the attendant struggles between various factions within the system. 

One interesting question which appeared to me due to this picture was whether the Soviet authorities would have found the appearance of alien beings desirable, and how it would have fitted into their worldview, and their sense of their own primacy or supremacy.  

I liked the film, all in all, as it has a pleasingly organic flavour, and it is not marred by a compulsion to 'do special effects'. The plot and the atmosphere are enough.  There is an interesting insinuation, to begin with, that the scientists already 'in situ' at the research base adopt a 'space station mentality', evincing a separateness. I would have liked this element of the plot to be developed more fully.  The hallucination or 'dream' sequences are nicely done, and are arguably more polished than the rest of the film.

So, this is not a startlingly original film, and the subjects which it explores are by and large standard science fiction fare, but the dialogue comes across as sincere, rather than corny or patronising.

A well made and interesting science fiction movie.

First Spaceship On Venus (1960 film)

Having acquired a pronounced taste for classic Eastern European science fiction movies, I recently watched First Spaceship On Venus, which is an English-language version of a East German/Polish film called The Silent Star (a literal translation of the original title).  The picture is based on a novel written by Stanislaw Lem.

The story begins when it is discovered that a "rock fragment" found in the Gobi Desert is in fact a "flight recorder" from a spaceship which has made contact with Earth.  After it is determined that the spacecraft in question must have originated on Venus, the authorities resolve to launch a mission to that planet to investigate matters further.  Once there, some startling findings are made.

Some portions of the movie have a semi-documentary flavour.  I was impressed by the fast-moving style, which is evident from the outset.  The editing and the vibrant narrative ensured that the attention of this viewer was maintained.

The message, especially in the early stages, is one of international co-operation, of mankind operating in unity to address its challenges and its hopes. I found this aspect of the film to be uplifting rather than preachy or conceited, as it is delivered with such transparency and directness.

Indeed, I was attracted by the broader ambience of the film.  The narrative felt organic and measured, and the cinematography was inventive and sharp. Of course, the special effects lived down to the standards which we expect of science fiction movies from that epoch, but they are by no means the most embarrassing or primitive which I have seen.  The diverse cast of characters on board the Venus-bound spaceship make for some interesting dynamics.

Needless to say, as a film made in Eastern Europe at the height of the Cold War, issues such as peace, nuclear annihilation and so forth assume considerable prominence.  Without giving away the plot, it seemed to me that to some extent, Venus was being held up as an example of what could occur on Earth if we do not recognise our folly.

In fairness, I was expecting more of a moralistic tone than was actually the case. The usual science fiction ruminations about the misuse of science and knowledge receive an airing, but in comparatively low-key fashion.

The one thing which surprised me was the ending, which felt vaguely lacklustre, although the part where the surviving crew members give their assessment to the assembled well-wishers is quite moving and dramatic.

So, in conclusion an intriguing and well made film, which moves along at an agreeable pace, poses some valid philosophical points unobtrusively, and does not outstay its welcome.

News From Nowhere - William Morris

During my adult life I have tended to read fewer fictional works than I would have preferred, and generally those novels which I have enjoyed have been of the more "philosophical" variety, including some utopian and dystopian science fiction. William Morris' 1890 novel News From Nowhere pretty much corresponds to these tendencies of mine.

In this novel, a man falls asleep in Victorian London, and apparently wakes up in a future society which styles itself as a socialist utopia, and which is agrarian in character.  He is given a tour of this "new world" by the people who he meets, and this takes in boat journeys along the River Thames.

Even allowing for the times when the work was composed, I found the writing style to be an acquired taste. Although not quite archaic in its flavour, in places it may be difficult for some to follow and even understand. Of the novel itself, I was pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable and absorbing I found it.

The fact that the new society outlined in this book is agrarian in nature means that it probably made more sense back in the late nineteenth century than it does to a twenty-first century audience raised in an age of globalization and rapid technological progress. Despite this, some aspects of the utopia envisaged here are very much relevant to our own modern concerns and problems. Perhaps Morris was prescient and astute in observing that technology does not necessarily emancipate the people, or rather is not allowed to emancipate the people.

Whilst the agrarian society portrayed in News From Nowhere seems impractical and implausible to us in our hi-tech world, and the old arguments concerning incentives and competition remain very valid, facets of this utopian vision are worthy of consideration and scrutiny, as part of piecemeal social and economic reform to improve our world and make it more humane, stimulating and equitable.

One feature of the novel which I found slightly disconcerting was the revelation, or insinuation, that all the people were happy, and that they evince a certain kind of serenity.  This seems unlikely and even undesirable.  A place where there is a uniformity of expressions and moods sounds to my antennae like more of a dystopia!

Some of the language used, and the arguments advanced, are quite persuasive, certainly of the evils of 19th century society and its contemporary industrialism, but whether this means that the agrarian route was a practical and workable solution is another matter entirely.  Perhaps there is a gap in the market for someone to write a novel where a person falls asleep in a 21st century environment and wakes up in a future libertarian socialist set-up?  Maybe we are currently at a similar stage, "spiritually" if not materially speaking, as the Victorians were?

I was heartened that some form of "explanation" was offered as to how the old society of "commercial slavery" gave way to the brave new world, but I found myself wanting more.  For example, what was the full human cost of the transition?  In fairness, we are left wondering whether our hero's "experiences" were from a dream, and some minutiae may not have been imparted in such a dream....

Moving on, I was intrigued by one of the central tenets of this utopia; the notion that work can be pleasurable, and vice-versa, and of the idea that the barriers between work and art can be eroded. Weren't we once told that technological advances would allow people more time and space to indulge in stimulating and rewarding artistic, intellectual and leisurely pursuits?

My interpretation of the utopia proclaimed in this work was that it was too uniformly "nice", with little time for dissenting voices, which appeared to be treated with disdain. The tone of the characters seemed to me unduly smug and complacent, with scant allowance for the co-existence of philosophies or the possibility of syncretism. People in that situation may be too comfortable and serene to notice anything sinister or insidious in their midst. In addition, I think there was too easy an assumption that the old habits and vices would simply disappear or fade away.

Much play is made of the populace of this future community being at one with nature, and loving life as opposed to fearing death. Surely we can incorporate some of the more desirable elements of Morris' vision in our future, by way of gradual, rational reform, and the application of reason, if we put our minds to it, without dispensing with some of the dynamic forces which propel human progress?

Overall, I liked this novel much more than I had anticipated beforehand.  It is more "literary" than I thought it might be, and it is well worth a read.

World On A Wire - 1973 movie

World On A Wire (German: Welt am Draht) is a 1973 German science-fiction movie, directed by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, and based on a novel by Daniel F. Galouye.  I recently watched this film, and found it both interesting and thoughtful.

The story revolves around a research institute, which houses a supercomputer.  The computer generates an "artificial world", a kind of electronically simulated environment. The chief scientist dies in mysterious circumstances, and there follows a series of unusual events and intrigues surrounding his successor.

One of the first things which I noticed about this picture is its pronounced "Seventies" aesthetic, in terms of stylings and decor. Personally I find such things very appealing, especially the austere and minimalist architecture, furnishings and so forth. There is also adroit and impressive use of mirrors in several scenes.

In all honesty, the general narrative is not of striking originality, but the minutiae are thought-provoking and clever. The movie explores the standard, well-worn science fiction themes concerning the uses (or misuses) of technology and science, and also the nature of reality and perception. Unlike some films of its ilk, it does not moralize with undue vehemence, but it does pose questions about whether scientific research and progress should fulfill a socially beneficial and benevolent function, and it examines the thorny issues of the conflicts between scientists and bureaucrats/politicians, the extent to which the boffins should be controlled and supervised by the "civilians", and the dangers of technology being subverted by commercial or private interests.

There is quite an ascetic flavour to the film overall, with a mild sense of disorientation heightened by music and sound affects, which are sometimes incongruous in nature.

Without giving away too much, as the movie progresses we get an impression of the blurred lines between "reality" and the simulated world. Elements of the plot I found rather ambiguous, and the latter stages of the work are confusing, but they do serve to exercise and stimulate the grey matter.

An interesting film.

Eolomea (1972 film)

My odyssey through Eastern European science fiction continues with Eolomea, a 1972 film which I believe was an East German/Soviet/Bulgarian co-production. It was directed by Herrmann Zschoche, and based on a book by Angel Wagenstein.

The plot concerns the disappearance of some spaceships and the severing of communications with a large space station. An investigation is instigated by the authorities on Earth, and a series of curious events unfolds.  "Eolomea" refers to the name of a mysterious planet which it turns out is the ultimate objective of clandestine manoeuvres by space personnel.

The first thing to say about this one is that it appears to take a while to get going, or at least for a large part of its duration it appears to be going nowhere. There is lots of rambling dialogue, apparently about nothing in particular.  Towards the end, however, it all begins to make sense, and I found myself identifying with some of the characters on a human level, because of the care taken to exhibit their traits and concerns.

In the final analysis, I enjoyed it. A genuine story, not just a series of scenes put together for "philosophical" purposes.  Not a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, but a reasonably engrossing watch.  There are some flashback sequences, and these are initially a little confusing, but they do add to the overall effect of the story.

As is almost standard in sci-fi stories of the time, the tale is related against a backdrop of international unity and co-operation, with the goings-on at the beginning of the movie under the scrutiny of some kind of "space council", with representatives from all over Earth. I liked the performance of Cox Habbema as Professor Scholl, the leader of the investigation and the subsequent expedition to the space-station Margot.

Overall, then, an interesting movie, which is less flashy and ostentatious than most of its genre.

Per Aspera Ad Astra - (1981 Soviet film)

Continuing my exploration of Soviet science fiction films, I duly moved on to this intriguing work from the early 1980s (also known as Through The Thorns to The Stars), directed by Richard Viktorov, and based on a novel by Kir Bulychov.

To summarize the plot, a space expedition inspects a crippled spaceship, and recovers a beautiful female humanoid (Neeya), bringing her back to Earth for analysis and evaluation. She suffers from some memory loss, but it also emerges that she possesses mysterious and special powers.

Later on, Neeya somehow manages to stow away on a spaceship which is bound for her home planet.  The situation there has become dystopian and brutal, with the landscape ravaged and polluted, and controlled by tyrants.

The earlier portion of the movie which is based on Earth is in places quite unsettling, but it also has a wistful charm. The future which it portrays is rather reassuring, as it appears to be based on scientific research, space exploration and progressive universal values. The visuals here are crisp and alluring, and the overall feel of these sequences betrays self-confidence and quiet authority.

The narrative is strong and compelling, but there is ample room for messages about the need to understand aliens and outsiders, rather than being afraid of them, the dangers of people being manipulated and the misuse of science.

I must admit that I enjoyed the second half of the film a good deal less than the first, though I can appreciate that the Light verses Dark motif is impactful. The sequences on Neeya's home planet are occasionally hackneyed, even if the subject matter which is being explored is important and profound. Topics such as human cloning and environmental destruction come to the fore at this stage, in addition to the favourite Soviet topics such as class oppression and economic exploitation.

The ending is somewhat hysterical and clumsy, unlike the cool and assured nature of the early parts of the film, and I gradually lost interest. A word though for the mesmerizing and sympathetic performance of Yelena Metyolkina as Neeya.

In conclusion, an intriguing, well made, but slightly flawed movie.

Planeta Bur (1962 Soviet movie)

In continuing my exploration of Soviet science fiction, I next moved on to Planeta Bur (also known as Planet Of Storms), directed by Pavel Klushantsev, and first released in 1962.

The film revolves around a voyage by three spaceships to the planet Venus in a Soviet mission, and the subsequent adventures and discoveries which the crews experience.

Overall, the atmosphere of the film is claustrophobic, grim and austere, with a tone of foreboding and unease. Venus I guess was, and is, a more mysterious and nebulous concept than the Moon or Mars, and this angle accentuates the apprehension, as the cosmonauts go outside to brave the surface of the planet.

The special effects and general technical quality of the film are pretty good, considering the likely budget and the time when the film was produced. There are occasional lapses in to near B-movie standards as regards props and sets, but in general it holds up, and in truth the realism of the effects is not the main point here.  What is there is perfectly adequate, and more, in conveying the mood and the direction of the narrative.

Soviet science fiction movies do tend to tackle weighty topics, but I find that they come across as more convincing, and less patronizing, in so doing. There are times when sci-fi tries too hard, and emerges as excessively earnest and preachy, but this picture does not fall victim to that failing.

Planeta Bur examines a few big questions, both scientific matters and also ones concerning humans and their relationship with space and space exploration. There is an interesting sub-plot, not uncommon in science fiction, namely the extent to which "normal" rules and commands, adhered to on Earth, are also applicable or practicable once people are in space. This is seen with the decision to proceed even when one of the three spaceships is destroyed.

There is something about scenarios where people are far from home, and forced to co-exist with others. Temperaments are laid bare, and improvisation is important. This film does pose some questions about the role of the individual when set against the need for team-work, the notion of self-sacrifice and to what degree individuals are expendable in extreme circumstances.

One of the scenes which I found affecting was one where some of the cosmonauts start firing on and killing some of the creatures on Venus. This raised the thorny question of what right humans, in their urge to explore space, have to interfere with other worlds.  After all, Venus had not threatened Earth, and they could argue that they were defending themselves.

Planeta Bur explores some fundamental questions about evolution, ancient civilizations and so forth, but I like the way that the debate amongst the cosmonauts is left largely unresolved, leaving much for the viewer on which to ruminate. The presence of a robot permits the standard agonizing about the relationship between humans and machines and technology.

How scientifically accurate or "valid" all this is must be open to debate, but this is science fiction, and of course in the early 1960s much less was known, or perhaps more correctly more was unknown. Having said all this, this film works well partly because the "science" is kept reasonably within the bounds of plausibility and human comprehension.

I think that the minimalist and understated approach to production values and to the storyline suits this film admirably. Also, the dialogue is intriguing, with plenty of dry humour in there, and not just run-of-the-mill sci-fi fare. Things are kept simple, but the movie is gripping and always interesting.

Oh, and the film's ending is wonderful....

Solaris (1972 film)

My recently rekindled interest in science fiction and spaceflight, together with my longstanding affection for European art cinema, led me to check out Solaris, a 1972 film directed by Andrei Tarkovsky.

Based on the novel by Stanislaw Lem, the movie is largely set on a space station orbiting the fictional planet of Solaris, and it examines the crew's interactions with a strange and mysterious ocean on the planet's surface. The major themes explored by the film are the psychological impact on human beings of spaceflight, and also the relationship between science, perception and conscience.

The film is long, and slow, but symbolism and meaning are there in abundance if one looks closely enough, and I found it quite gripping. I empathized with some of the characters, identifying with their alienation, distractedness and confusion. The contrast between the organic, fecund, green Earth and the clinical and ascetic environment of the spaceship is very cleverly underlined.

Special effects are employed sparingly, but where they do appear they are surprisingly good and convincing. Nothing, though, obscures the intellectual and emotional thrust of the movie.  The film looks more "modern" than 1972 somehow, and this might be down in part to the lovely cinematography.

Another element of the picture's impact is the soundtrack music, by Eduard Artemyev.  Part of it is based on a piece by Bach, an organ prelude, and this forms a recurring, and haunting, "theme tune".  Ambient sounds form a subtle, yet unsettling and disorientating backdrop.

I find films set on spaceships absorbing, no matter the overall quality or gravitas of the work. I feel the same way about movies set on submarines. The claustrophobic and captive atmosphere means that arguments are often distilled down to a basic or existential level.

This is a film which demands intense concentration and attention, and it is one where the viewer is rewarded by taking notice of nuances in the dialogue. Science fiction films occasionally emerge as excessively earnest in their examination of profound topics.  Solaris doesn't fall prey to this, and is not as literal or straightforward as many of its Western counterparts.  The movie's length means that the philosophizing is diffused, and the characters appear less anxious to ruminate on the meaning of life and the universe - interesting to note for a film produced in the Soviet Union.

Some of the minutiae of the "science" in this picture are not startling original, but they are fused into a strong and plausible whole.  The various sub-texts are addressed, on the whole, with finesse and sensitivity, and the primary themes are interwoven adroitly.

Donatas Banionis gives an assured performance as Kris Kelvin, conveying authority in addition to a reassuring "everyman" quality. One of those performances which instills confidence in the viewer, and which supports the overall believability of the story.

The film generally explores the question of humanity's purpose in space. Is this to be human, and how should this blend with cold science? One could interpret the ocean on the planet Solaris as a mirror, forcing us to confront our nature. There are also hints about the limits of rationality.

Solaris is an engrossing and stimulating film.  I am just disappointed that it has taken me this long to watch it!

Flash Gordon (1980 film)

I missed seeing this film, produced by Dino De Laurentiis and directed by Mike Hodges, back when it was first released.  I had been due to see it at the cinema with a group of friends, but fell ill at the last moment.  Only recently did I get the opportunity to watch the picture in its entirety.

Some would contend that had the soundtrack music not been part of Queen's catalogue, it might have sunk into genuine obscurity, but I gather that it has attracted a cult following over the years. It is true that its style and elements of its storyline were influenced by Star Wars, but of course George Lucas himself was inspired by the Flash Gordon serials of the past.  The opening titles of Flash Gordon look like an attempt to invoke the comic-strip tradition, and link this film to that heritage.

The first thing to mention is that the movie is visually very appealing, and I'm not just talking about Ornella Muti and Melody Anderson.  The colours are vivid (I was almost reminded of The Wizard Of Oz), the costumes lavish and extravagant, and the special effects impressive for the most part.

The plot is fairly standard "save the Earth" fare, with Flash uniting various factions to take on Ming the Merciless and his imperial designs. There are sub-texts about the need to unite against a common foe, the futility of petty disputes and so forth, but these are kept largely in the background.

Down the years this film has gathered a reputation for its kitsch flavour, although one problem I detected was that it couldn't decide to what degree it should be taken seriously. Also, one or two scenes lack conviction and/or polish, and almost have the feel of rehearsals, with the dialogue being delivered in a half-baked manner. In a way, though, this all adds to the quirkiness of the piece.

The acting I would have to describe as a mixed bag, even allowing for the frivolous tone of the film. Sam J Jones is likeable in the lead role, if a touch wooden. The substance is added by the supporting cast, such as Timothy Dalton, Chaim Topol and Brian Blessed (in his element here!).

Scenes which stand out are the ludicrous but enjoyable and humorous "football" sequence, and the bit where Dr. Zarkov is subjected to flashbacks and attempted brainwashing.

The Mongo imagery and analogies are not especially original, with clear allusions to certain sinister things which occurred in the first half of the twentieth century, shall we say. In the interaction between Flash and Ming, I sensed vague and loose echoes of the Luke Skywalker/Darth Vader dynamic, or perhaps I was looking out too assiduously for such parallels.

Arguably this film goes on for too long, with one or two scenes which act as padding.  On the other hand, we are afforded a view of how the various warring groups come together, and this is not portrayed as straightforward, with trials of strength being endured before all parties see sense.

In the end, I quite enjoyed this movie, for all its flaws.  It has an idiosyncratic charm and identity all its own, and it is easy to see why so many people remain fond of it.

The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress - Robert A. Heinlein

I had been meaning to check out the work of Robert A. Heinlein for a while, but was a little unsure where to begin. Well, I took the plunge by checking out The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, first published in 1966.

Basically, the novel is set in the latter part of the 21st century.  The Moon has been turned into a penal colony, to where Earth's convicts and "undesirables" are transported. A group of revolutionaries, with the help of a "self-aware" computer, seek to overthrow the authority of "Terra" in the lunar colony.

The story is narrated by one of the main characters, Mannie, and he employs a curious Lunar dialect, which may take the reader a little while to become accustomed to. However, once this minor issue is overcome, the book will absorb and captivate.

Only a short way into The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, I found myself rooting for the characters and their aspirations, even if their methods were sometimes questionable. I had emotionally invested in their fate and their destiny.  A diverse bunch, and this engendered some friction, and a strange chemistry.

The scientific and technical aspects of the story were for me secondary in importance, although I am not sure that by 2075 computers will have advanced to the degree envisaged here. To be frank, I'm not sure that I would want them to, either.  In truth, I usually reverted to "auto-pilot" mode when elaborate telephone systems and the vagaries of "Mike" the computer were being discussed.

I was impressed by the way in which justification for the Lunar revolt was presented, not just in "abstract" matters of freedom and self-determination, but by bringing ecological issues, economic liberalization and free trade into the equation. This demonstrated a real confidence on the part of the writer,  and added depth and credibility to the story.

Much of the nitty-gritty of how the revolt was organized is not presented in exhaustive detail, and the reader is invited to use his or her imagination, and to read between the lines. From this perspective, the novel does require concentration and open-mindedness, to grasp the rationale and implications of some of the deceptions which are committed by the "revolutionists", for example. A similar approach may be necessary when comprehending the social structures and customs which are shown to have evolved on Luna.

This book has a reputation as a "libertarian" novel,  although I think that conspicuous "preaching" on ideological matters is kept to a minimum.  Rather than being obtrusive, such things are generally woven quite seamlessly into the text, and at appropriate points.

The climax to the novel I found truly gripping, largely because, as mentioned above, I had been drawn in by the characters and the subject matter, and the outcome mattered to me.  The moral questions posed by the story line are not straightforward;they are awkward but timelessly pertinent. My curiosity and my senses had been animated, a good barometer, I find, for how worthy and substantial a work of fiction is.

The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress is well worth a read, and not just for dedicated science-fiction fans.

The Time Machine - H G Wells

Probably the second most famous work written by HG Wells, after "The War Of The Worlds", "The Time Machine", originally published in 1895, is a novella which tells the story of an inventor type who devises a contraption to enable him to travel through time. Once he has travelled about 800,000 years into the future, he finds himself in a world seemingly idyllic and perfect, but things are not what they seem.

The way I interpret it, the "Time Traveller" character is articulating some of Wells' own beliefs, concerns and opinions. It was a good idea to have the introductory chapter (s), where the scientific principles supposedly underpinning and enabling time travel are debated and discussed. This gives the story a grounding of sorts, instead of the reader being asked to totally take for granted outlandish or fanciful ideas. I always like an author to take me with him in this manner.

In the initial descriptions of the Earth in 802,701 AD, I detect echoes of children's fairy stories, in the invoking of a kind of idyllic wonderland, albeit one with a few quirks and incongruities. At first glance, the Time Traveller thinks that he has landed in some utopian communistic, egalitarian paradise. He reflects on the implications of this apparent absence of fear and insecurity.

 

As he accepts that his initial diagnosis has been erroneous, the Time Traveller pieces together the grim reality of the dystopian vision before him. Humanity has diverged into two "species", due to social fragmentation and segregation, encouraged supposedly by the industrial and economic systems of earlier times. The insinuation is that this is all the logical and inevitable outcome of the way things were moving even in the late nineteenth century, suitable extrapolated. Of course, social injustice and the iniquities of capitalism were very much a favoured topic of writers and thinkers in Wells' time, and this was an imaginative means of getting his point across.

In this case, the "aristocracy", as represented by the ebullient but frivolous and shallow Eloi, had become decadent, and were being tormented by the brutalized Morlocks, the subterranean dwellers who had hitherto been industrial fodder. Was the author being prescient here, anticipating the conditions which gave rise to certain proletarian uprisings which were to happen in the twentieth century? Rather than grimly declaring "I told you so", Wells makes clear that such a society would not be worth living in, being characterized by fear, terror and unease.

 

The most resonant part of the equation for me was the notion of the death of the intellect, in exchange for comfort and security, with all its manifold, and insidious ramifications. One can argue whether or not the plot details are more plausible than "The War Of The Worlds", but I found "The Time Machine" more stimulating from a philosophical standpoint, as it contains starker warnings about what man's folly can create. The vision and imagination on display are also more lively and fertile to my eyes, and ironically the fruits are more relevant, even though most of the story is set far far into the future. Whether or not one totally concurs with some of the writer's premises, this is a work to jolt the complacency.

 

The War Of The Worlds - H G Wells

Despite its legendary status I had never got around to reading H G Wells' novel "The War Of The Worlds". Until recently, that is. I found it a most stimulating read, even if it was not quite what I expected.

 

First published in 1897/98, it is divided into two "parts", Book One - The Coming of The Martians, and Book Two - The Earth Under the Martians, although in the actual reading I did not discern any great demarcation between the two sections.

 

The story is told largely through the eyes of the narrator, who is evidently some form of philosopher type, although part of the novel is given over to his own brother's experiences. This method, of relying primarily on one person's eye-witness accounts and recollections, gives the story a rawness and grimness which would have been absent had the tale been related from the perspective of the authorities, or "the establishment" in general.

 

The author's scientific inclinations and interests are evident throughout, and little touches here and there add to the aura of authenticity. Indeed, one gains the impression that much of the text is rooted in science-fact. This strengthens the impact and the sobering nature of the story.

 

"The War Of the Worlds" must have been quite shocking and frightening in its time. The "good news" angle is firmly eschewed, and we are left in little doubt that beings from other worlds might not be too friendly or accommodating, and might not be cute or cuddly humanoids either. Very little sugar-coating takes place. The fact that the initial actions occur in suburbia and what would now be termed "commuter country" adds to the shock element. This could happen anywhere, Wells appears to be hinting.

 

There is very little in the way of "softening up" at the start of this novel, and we are almost straight in to the descriptions of the traumatic events. This only deepens the starkness and disorientation. It also seems quite incongruous to modern sensibilities to be discussing an "alien" invasion which occurred over a century ago, even if it is fictional. The Martians would therefore have to be confronted without computers, aircraft and full mechanization, implements which we associate with most "science fiction" stories set on Earth. It is also curious to hear the chronicling of a disaster of this kind unfolding before the age of mass electronic communication, let alone social media!

 

People, myself included, tend to perceive "The War of The Worlds" in visual and cinematic terms, because of the various screen-based and pictorial renderings and interpretations of the story which have been composed. Reading the novel, the imagination has to be exercised and tapped into. Much more challenging...

 

The overriding impression which I derived from much of the book was of the helplessness and insignificance of individuals. This is captured with some acuity in the chapter (s) dealing with the narrator's journey from Leatherhead to Maybury. Tripods, thunderstorms, human corpses, empty houses, deserted towns, fear and chaos all make themselves felt.

 

As I read the more harrowing passages, a few random thoughts swirled around my mind. One was whether social cohesion, or lack of it, in any way contributed to Earth's inability to stem the initial Martian tide. The human race was, and is, fragmented along class, economic, nationalistic and tribal lines. Our adversaries may be more homogeneous in these respects. An absence of uniformity, which many of us perceive as an actual virtue in "normal" times, could be our undoing in a time of real crisis and peril. On the other hand, the remote possibility that a real alien invasion will happen is surely not an excuse in itself to undertake root-and-branch social change. If this change is to happen, it should be implemented for other, more earthly reasons, based on other more pressing and mundane factors.

 

In the descriptions of the upheaval and civil collapse in Southern England detailed here, one sees classic symptoms of the beginning of a "dystopian" society, a staple of much later science fiction and other literature. However, there is also the occasional mention of true anarchy, in the form of spontaneous convened committees and elements of self-government.  I wish that Wells had developed these themes more thoroughly here. Whether or not Wells was seeking to be symbolic in the pointed depiction of church buildings being destroyed by Martian contraptions, I am not entirely sure.

 

In this time of adversity, did everyone revert to the hunting and gathering role, with the instinct of self-preservation very much to the fore?  In reality, would the nature and gravity of the threat engender a solidarity of purpose, with tribal differences overlooked?  In this instance, it would seem that government collapsed, leaving no authority to maintain a semblance of cohesion. Was it better therefore to wait for a new equilibrium to establish itself, and a remedy spontaneously arise?  In the event such a remedy did appear, but not from a "man-made" source...

 

I was quite impressed by Wells' descriptions of the physiological and psychological differences between Earth dwellers and the "actual" Martians. The latter appeared to be devoid of the caprices and urges instilled by human digestive and reproductive systems.  I would quite liked to have been one of Wells' Martians, at least for a day!  On the other hand, don't our flaws, imperfections and idiosyncrasies make life worth living?. One could argue that the ultimate demise of the invaders was, in its way, down to the "curious" way in which humans have evolved. That was the acid test....

 

The novel contains some agonizing about mankind's position in the grand scheme of things, in the light of this invasion from further afield. No longer the masters, but just another animal in this brave new world?  This not only tapped into the late 19th century vogue for anti-imperialism and Darwinian theory, but also perhaps a little ahead of its time in these speculations about how our perception of ourselves might shift if confronted by "intelligent" beings from elsewhere.

 

One of the characters, the artilleryman, at one point wonders which types of people would react in which ways to being ruled by the Martians. Some would doubtless acquiesce;anything for a quiet, comfortable and stable life. Some of these people would probably also assist the invaders in subjugating and enslaving the more recalcitrant elements of the remainder of the population. For those who resisted, would savoir faire, flexibility and adaptability be more useful than theorizing and preachiness?

I expected "The War of The Worlds" to contain a lot more moralizing and late Victorian angst. It is only touched on spasmodically, and then the tone is hardly abrasive or pious.

The fact that the Martian invaders were vanquished by a bacterial disease was intriguing. Maybe there is more to "progress" and sustainable civilisation than just technology. The endowments of Nature, and the vagaries of evolution and science, can sometimes prevail over brute force, and even the most insidious enemy is not infallible or invincible. It is quite a comforting thought, in a way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Close Encounters Of The Third Kind

Just recently, feeling at a loose end, I decided to give Close Encounters Of The Third Kind another viewing, and then realised that I had not previously written a blog post about it.

I first the saw the film as a youngster, not long after its release. I was a little overwhelmed by it, both by what appeared back then to be its emotional and philosophical sweep, and by the aspects of the plot which were beyond my comprehension, or simply went completely over my head.  In my more mature years I have come to recognise that behind this lies the secret of the enduring and universal appeal of the picture. It can induce a childlike sense of wonder and awe, but also poses some wider questions.

Another thing which always strikes me is how "timeless" the film is, in the purest sense of that word.  Leaving aside the dubious Seventies "fashions", this film feels like it could have been made now.  The subject matter is just as relevant, if not more so, particularly the mistrust of officialdom.  Public interest (and hysteria) about UFOs was particularly pronounced in the 1970s, but it is still there today, but just not as mainstream in today's fragmented media environment.

So "Close Encounters" possesses several layers, and in keeping with this there is much left to the interpretation and imagination of the viewer.  We are left to draw our own conclusions on many aspects of the plot, and the events which occur.  Some may be red herrings, but others clearly are not.  This is exemplified by the sequence in the air traffic control building. The script does not just rely on the well-worn cliches about "little green men", but introduces additional, less obvious elements which tax the intellect and have the capacity to unsettle, but which help the film to achieve the balance of maintaining both plausibility and immediacy.

Astutely, Spielberg decided to unfurl the story from both the "official" perspective and that of "ordinary" citizens. These days this sort of approach has become rather banal and hackneyed, but back in the Seventies it was still quite fresh. The scenes set in the Indiana countryside at night still have a genuine magic and eeriness about them.

Richard Dreyfuss does a great job of playing the "everyman" character Roy Neary, and of portraying the changes which he undergoes after his "close encounter".   Although I accept that the dysfunctional Neary household is an essential part of the plot, after a while the scenes of domestic "bliss" begin to get on my nerves!  Too much noise and general mayhem for my tastes, and they risk disturbing the ambience of the picture.  On the other hand, the scenes within the Guiler residence are stunning.

My other minor quibbles relate to the dialogue in the film, and my old hobby-horse of "crowd scenes".   At times the dialogue is a little messy, and difficult to discern.  Too many people speaking simultaneously, so that occasionally the main point is almost obscured.  As in 99 percent of movies of all types, the crowd scenes do not work, a prime example being that at the railway station in the aftermath of the mythical chemical leak. In fairness, these are minor drawbacks overall.

One of the most intriguing characters is that of the scientist Lacombe, played by Francois Truffaut. He is depicted as more human, altruistic and flexible than the other scientists and governmental representatives, and as such represents an interface with the general public.  Perhaps he was himself secretly contemptuousness of the secrecy and "elitism" which pervaded the official UFO investigations.  Do scientists, as idealists and searchers, have more in common with the masses than with their political masters?  Spielberg was touching on issues which exercise many minds today.

After watching the movie recently, I sought to extrapolate the story in my mind.  After the Mothership had departed, would the encounter have been publicised by the powers-that-be?  What was the ultimate fate of Roy Neary?.  It was fortunate that a sequel was not produced, as these matters can inspire much debate to this day..

The closing sequences, when aliens emerge from the ship, and Neary goes on board, never fail to inspire and uplift, making one feel glad to be alive.  Spielberg has done lots of great things since, but in many respects he has not surpassed Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.

The Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury

Not so long ago I completed reading Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, and posted my thoughts on this blog:

Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

Suitably enthused, I then moved on to another of Bradbury's most noteworthy works, The Martian Chronicles:

The Martian Chronicles is a fictional account of Earth's repeated attempts to colonize Mars, presented as a series of short strories, and examines the effects and ramifications of these events over a number of years.

Many themes are explored throughout this book, often pertaining to the dichotomy between Man's idealism surrounding his journey to Mars, and the intolerance, corruption and arrogance which he also brings with him.

Another message which comes through is that the inhabitants of Earth could learn from the civilizations on other planets, and that they ignore such lessons at their peril. Some human weaknesses could be our downfall in exploring space, including greed, sentimentality and hubris.

In The Martian Chronicles, people have widely differing agendas when approaching colonization of Mars.  Some see Mars as a potential refuge for lovers of liberty, tolerance and peace, while others wish to fashion the Red Planet for their own less benign and selfless motives.

The work looks at the methods employed by the Martians to address the influx of Earth men, from the subtleties of "telepathy" to less benevolent measures as the depredations intensify.  Some uncomfortable and probing questions are posed about what lengths a people should go to in defending their own "territory" and habitat.

Some of the philosophical strands in this book really resonated with me, particularly the desire of some of the Mars colonists to live a simple existence, for its own sake, and not to be in hock to some "end" or spurious "common good".  But at the same time, the question lingers, how far should we be permitted to go in order to secure and preserve our own liberty and richness of life?

Possibly the most fascinating chapters of The Martian Chronicles appear towards its conclusion, when issues of racial persecution, war and human relationships are very prominent. Those who suffer racial discrimination on Earth travel to Mars with hope, but may end up facing the same types of oppressors on their new home.

Many of those who boarded the rockets espoused some ideals about freedom, but acted just as unethically and immorally, and with as much avarice, on Mars as they had done on Earth.  There is an attendant danger that the colonized area becomes as authoritarian and over-regulated as the mother planet. Peaceful co-existence was desired, but on terms set by the former Earth dwellers....

When a major war erupted on Earth, many of the colonists return from whence they came. For all their determination to construct a new life, the pull of historic ties, tribalism and vested interests proves stronger, and they are drawn back to support something which they profess to abhor.

After the exodus back to war-ravaged Earth, the few people left on Mars try desperately to establish contact with each other, but in this context the journey proves more seductive than the cold reality upon arrival. The craving for human interaction proves to be delusive, with the inference that we are best left to reach our own equilibrium, and form relationships "organically". This struck a chord with me, I must admit!

The final chapter is more hopeful, with a group of humans finally severing all ties with Earth, and looking towards the future.

The Martian Chronicles was at times a demanding read, as there is comparatively little in the way of exposition, and intense concentration may be needed to get the most out of it, and interpret all of the imagery.  However, if one persists there is plenty at which to wonder, and with which to exercise the mind.

Space 1999

One of the television programmes which almost totally passed me by during my childhood was Space 1999, the sci-fi series produced by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson of Thunderbirds fame.

Recently I have been watching some of the episodes of Space 1999. The premise of the series is that the inhabitants of Moonbase Alpha are wandering the universe, after the Moon is unexpectedly diverted from its normal orbit around the Earth.

The similarities with Star Trek are undeniable, but Space 1999 is much darker in tone than I had previously realised, tackling weightier philosophical themes than many other programmes of its genre.

Considering that the series was made in the mid-1970s, the visuals and special effects are admirable. The futuristic design and layout of Moonbase Alpha are particularly clever and impressive.

Looking back, both the aesthetic and writing owe something to the Age of Aquarius. Having said that, there is very little in the way of levity, in what was ostensibly a show made for children and teenagers.

No doubt scientifically-minded people will pick holes in the accuracy and plausibility of some of the events in Space 1999. The creators and writers perhaps over-estimated how much space travel, and technology generally, would advance by the end of the 20th century!

Martin Landau delivers a powerful performance as Commander Koenig, whilst I would imagine that Barbara Bain captivated many young male viewers in her role as Dr. Russell!

I now consider myself a Space 1999 fan!