Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Monday, December 06, 2010
CULT MOVIE REVIEW: Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985)
Before he was simply Hollywood's modern-day "Mad Mel," Australian actor Mel Gibson was genre cinema's Mad Max, a futuristic hero and "man with no name" dwelling in an apocalyptic, and then, finally, post-apocalyptic world.
In terms of narrative structure, the three Mad Max films of the 1970s-1980s (Mad Max [1979], The Road Warrior [1981] and Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome [1985]) chart an interesting and highly artistic parallel trajectory.
Both human civilization itself and Max's original persona as a decent family man collapse at approximately the same time, in the violent, emotionally-searing Mad Max.
Then, in the absence of law and morality arises much chaos and violence (Road Warrior). Oil is scarce. The law fails. Nobody trusts anybody on the desolate highways of the future, and survival -- not morality -- proves paramount. Max loses much of his humanity in this world, but manages to hold onto a kernel of it.
Finally -- at last -- the process of re-building and achieving redemption begin in earnest in Beyond Thunderdome, both for the individual man, Max, and for all of mankind too. There is hope. Civilization starts again, and it lights the way home for the road warriors...
It's a terrific story/character arc, played ably and movingly across three very strong and memorable genre films.
Yet Mad Max fans still debate with passion which film in the action-packed trilogy from George Miller (and the late Byron Kennedy) remains the finest. Like many, I prefer the middle part of the trilogy, the absolutely unsentimental, unrelenting The Road Warrior, by a wide margin.
When I reviewed that film here on the blog back in 2008, I called it "one of the ten great action films of the last thirty years," and highly commended "the aura of danger, anxiety and uncertainty" in the landmark, "startling" effort.
I still feel the same way. The Road Warrior was one of those rare theatrical experiences (not unlike The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Last House on the Left) in which actively-engaged audience members felt there was a real danger they might be see something truly unpleasant, or decorum-shattering, on screen. The movie felt downright dangerous.
Interestingly, critics and audiences tend to be sharply divided on the (for now...) final entry in the pantheon, Beyond Thunderdome. Critics, including Roger Ebert, praise the third film extravagantly, whereas audiences seem markedly less enthusiastic about this 1985 effort.
I understand the reasons for both reactions, and in some ways, Beyond Thunderdome is a sharply schizophrenic film.
On the one hand, Beyond Thunderdome is a movie that vividly creates a unique and highly-cinematic world -- Bartertown -- and then memorably populates that environ with an entourage of fascinating, flamboyant characters .
These include the sexy villain, Aunty Entity (Tina Turner), and her strange, colorful entourage. These retainers possess memorable names such as Scrooloose, Dr. Dealgood, The Collector, and Ironbar, and this element adds to the film's sense of fun, and wickedness.
In terms of narrative structure, the three Mad Max films of the 1970s-1980s (Mad Max [1979], The Road Warrior [1981] and Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome [1985]) chart an interesting and highly artistic parallel trajectory.
Both human civilization itself and Max's original persona as a decent family man collapse at approximately the same time, in the violent, emotionally-searing Mad Max.
Then, in the absence of law and morality arises much chaos and violence (Road Warrior). Oil is scarce. The law fails. Nobody trusts anybody on the desolate highways of the future, and survival -- not morality -- proves paramount. Max loses much of his humanity in this world, but manages to hold onto a kernel of it.
Finally -- at last -- the process of re-building and achieving redemption begin in earnest in Beyond Thunderdome, both for the individual man, Max, and for all of mankind too. There is hope. Civilization starts again, and it lights the way home for the road warriors...
It's a terrific story/character arc, played ably and movingly across three very strong and memorable genre films.
Yet Mad Max fans still debate with passion which film in the action-packed trilogy from George Miller (and the late Byron Kennedy) remains the finest. Like many, I prefer the middle part of the trilogy, the absolutely unsentimental, unrelenting The Road Warrior, by a wide margin.
When I reviewed that film here on the blog back in 2008, I called it "one of the ten great action films of the last thirty years," and highly commended "the aura of danger, anxiety and uncertainty" in the landmark, "startling" effort.
I still feel the same way. The Road Warrior was one of those rare theatrical experiences (not unlike The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Last House on the Left) in which actively-engaged audience members felt there was a real danger they might be see something truly unpleasant, or decorum-shattering, on screen. The movie felt downright dangerous.
Interestingly, critics and audiences tend to be sharply divided on the (for now...) final entry in the pantheon, Beyond Thunderdome. Critics, including Roger Ebert, praise the third film extravagantly, whereas audiences seem markedly less enthusiastic about this 1985 effort.
I understand the reasons for both reactions, and in some ways, Beyond Thunderdome is a sharply schizophrenic film.
On the one hand, Beyond Thunderdome is a movie that vividly creates a unique and highly-cinematic world -- Bartertown -- and then memorably populates that environ with an entourage of fascinating, flamboyant characters .
These include the sexy villain, Aunty Entity (Tina Turner), and her strange, colorful entourage. These retainers possess memorable names such as Scrooloose, Dr. Dealgood, The Collector, and Ironbar, and this element adds to the film's sense of fun, and wickedness.
Even the film's dialogue in the first act is unexpectedly, unremittingly sharp.
"You can shovel shit, can't you?"
That's all really good stuff for the film reviewers to chew on and ponder, no doubt. And as Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome kicks in with a jolt, the pop tune by Tina Turner promises a good, dark, pacey excursion into a world we've been to before, only on a grander, more epic, more edgy scale.
But audiences -- especially those who are fans of the earlier films -- may still end up upset or disappointed with this third film because it very obviously assimilates Mad Max into the Hollywood mainstream action mold.
Suddenly, the lone warrior of the wasteland is countenancing cute, resourceful kids, fighting cartoony villains (like the aforementioned, apparently unkillable Ironbar) and even playing the white knight. That last bit (the white knight act) is a critical part of the overall story arc: Max's step-by-step return to the world of "humanity," and, yes, it must exist. By the end of the Mad Max cycle, we understand, Mad Max must no longer be "mad."
Yet it's still hard to escape the impression that -- in the Darwinian world depicted in The Road Warrior --the Mad Max (and attached kids) we encounter in Thunderdome would simply not survive.
And Aunty Entity would not retain control of Bartertown for long were she to -- in full view of her battle-hardened troops -- let Max survive after their final clash. It's not just that Aunty's decision to let Max live feels like an anti-climax when we desperately desire a stirring action scene; it's that it doesn't ring entirely true with what's been established before.
And so this movie just feels...softer than the previous pictures.
So, you can sense the problem with Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. The first act is stellar, imaginative, even caustic post-apocalyptic nirvana. The last act is pro forma Hollywood nonsense.
Janet Maslin of The New York Times termed Beyond Thunderdome "the most visually spectacular installment by far, with a few innovations - notably the one of the title - that are far more elaborate than anything George Miller, the director, has attempted before...So if it eventually steers Max into the midst of a tribe of primitive children who regard him as their savior, it can easily be forgiven. This film has showier stunts than its predecessors, and a better sense of humor. It also has Tina Turner, in chain-mail stockings."
That paragraph really gets at the central conflict of Beyond Thunderdome.
Redemption comes in the end for Max, "the raggedy man" who chooses sacrifice over belonging (as possible payment for his spell as an amoral wanderer in the wasteland). But what about redemption for the movie? It clearly forsakes its predecessors sense of driving pace, and unromantic view of the human species for a happy ending.
Is this simply the result of narrative closure, and function of the story arc? Or is it a flaw that keeps the movie from fully satisfying those who began the journey with Mad Max?
Redemption comes in the end for Max, "the raggedy man" who chooses sacrifice over belonging (as possible payment for his spell as an amoral wanderer in the wasteland). But what about redemption for the movie? It clearly forsakes its predecessors sense of driving pace, and unromantic view of the human species for a happy ending.
Is this simply the result of narrative closure, and function of the story arc? Or is it a flaw that keeps the movie from fully satisfying those who began the journey with Mad Max?
Welcome, to another edition of Thunderdome!
Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome finds former policeman and family man Max (Gibson) wandering in a seemingly endless desert, driving a team of camels on his converted automobile...now no more than an old-fashioned wagon. A plane dives from the sky and unseats Max from his vehicle. The plane's pilot, Jedidiah (Bruce Spence), jumps into the driver's seat and rides away, leaving Max behind.
Max survives and heads to Bartertown, a nearby outcropping of "civilization" in the desert. He hopes to find Jedidiah and re-claim his property, but instead becomes the pawn of Auntie Entity (Tina Turner), Bartertown's benefactor.
In particular, Entity wants the "King Arab" of the town's energy-producing facility, "Underworld" dead for his repeated attempts to assert authority over her and "embargo" the town's energy. But killing Master (Angelo Rossitto) is harder than it sounds because he is protected by a body guard, the hulking "Blaster."
Auntie strikes a deal with Max to kill Blaster inside the town's arena, a "hall of justice" called "Thunderdome." Max wins the battle, but finds that Blaster suffers from Down Syndrome and possesses "the mind of a child." Holding on to his code of ethics, Max refuses to kill Blaster, and is -- for "busting a deal" -- sent into the wilderness on a horse, gulag-style.
In the desert, a tribe of orphan children find Max and worship him as their lost leader, Captain Walker. These "Waiting Ones" believe that Max can lead them home to civilization, to the city, but are in for a disappointment when Max tells them the truth; that nothing of mankind's previous civilization remains intact.
When a group of children led by Savannah Nix (Helen Buday) make the trek into the wilderness anyway, Max must rescue them, and, once again, survive the dangers of Bartertown.
In the months and years following Max's rescue of the children, Savannah and the survivors of "The Waiting Ones" remember men like Max...hoping that they too will return to civilization at last.
"I know you won't break the rules, because there aren't any."
One arena where you can't fault George Miller and George Ogilvie's Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome is the creation of an intriguing, visually-distinguished, post-apocalyptic world.
From the film's first aerial shot (looked to be lensed from low planetary orbit, so you can actually see the curve of the Earth...) to the first reveal of Bartertown (a swooping Louma crane shot...) and beyond, this sequel is vetted in extraordinary and dazzling visual fashion. The imagination and ingenuity of the production designer, Graham Walker, is on full-display throughout. And cinematographer Dean Semler captures all the details -- both droll and dirty -- with aplomb.
What remains special about this Mad Max world is how it effortlessly seems both funny and realistic. The entrance way to Bartertown, for instance, is a crowded tunnel where "The Collector" greets newcomers and assesses their skills, followed by a weapons drop-off point.
After that pit stop, it's daylight...into pandemonium. There's the humorously named "Atomic Cafe," a peddler hawking fresh water ("what's a little fall-out?"), the "House of Good Deals," and towering over everything, the imposing, palatial residence of Aunty Entity.
Oh, and there's a little place called Thunderdome, a stadium that has entered the American pop culture vernacular in a permanent way (referenced on Mystery Science Theater 3000 and in other productions.)
You already know the rules....there aren't any. Two men enter...one man leaves.
But Thunderdome is fascinating for two reasons. First, the "why" behind its very existence in Bartertown is compelling: the survivors of this world's nuclear apocalypse realized that killing leads to warring and that warring was "damn near the end of us all." So here -- perhaps wisely -- violence is limited to this one, awful place. Beyond it, blood lust has no place in Bartertown. Allegedly, anyway.
The second scintillating aspect of Thunderdome is the orchestration of Max's fight inside it. The combatants are strung-up on elastic bands and fight in mid-air, reaching for weapons (such as chainsaws and mallets) at the upper apex of the dome. So Max and his opponent, Blaster, whirl, fly, bounce, dip and spin in battle, and it's pretty exciting stuff. Not to mention staggeringly original.
This is how Time Magazine critic Richard Schickel described the locale: "Thunderdome is both hall of justice and cultural center for Bartertown, presided over by Aunty Entity (Tina Turner), purring like a tiger and claiming she has created civilization's highest flowering since nuclear devastation. Indeed she has, if an imitation of late 20th century city life--all junk, improvisations and random brutality--is your idea of civilization. Thunderdome brilliantly clarifies that irony. Its high-bounding excesses of action simultaneously satisfy and satirize the passion for heedless viciousness that so profoundly moves the action film's prime audience, urban adolescent males."
In other words, the Thunderdome setting provides both the setting for a fantastic, inventive action sequence and a context for some social commentary on our world in the 1980s; the world in which American Gladiators was later born; a world in which action stars such as Stallone and Schwarzenneger were tops at the box office.
Late in the Thunderdome sequence, Max is introduced to another compelling element of Bartertown's law: The Wheel. As in, "Bust a Deal, Face the Wheel."
Here, Max faces random justice in front of a giant spinning wheel that satirizes in shape and form the titular Wheel of Fortune (1983 - present) from the popular TV game show with Pat Sajak and Vanna White. Only here the selections on the wheel are matters of life and death: Gulag, hard labor, acquittal, death, Aunty's Choice, forfeit goods, etc.
"Justice is only a roll of the dice...a turn of the wheel," stresses Dr. Dealgood, importantly. Once more, I should stress that this legal system makes perfect if perverse sense, given the circumstances. The "survivors" in this world didn't make it because they were smart...they survived the apocalypse because of luck. Even Aunty Entity acknowledges this fact...she was nobody until the apocalypse made her somebody. The people of Bartertown believe that fickle fate accounts for their survival and continuance, and the Wheel is a kind of legal expression of that fickle sense of fate or destiny.
In toto, the early scenes in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome -- at Bartertown -- reveal much of value about human nature. Aunty Entity wants complete and total control of the town, and is unwilling to share it with Master in the "Underworld." One can certainly understand why: he's capricious and enjoys her public humiliation.
Still, it's difficult to claim the mantel of civilization in one breath while ordering a hit on "family" the next, as Max points out to Aunty. But thematically, there's something important going on here. As one character states in the film, "no matter where you go; there you are." Mankind -- no matter his aspirations; no matter his new forms of government -- remains the same breed; the same ambitious animal. Even after a world-war and wholesale destruction of the planet surface, Bartertown is still a savage place.
Everything about Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome's first act is filled with invention: the location, the camera-work, the nature of Aunty's entourage, the social commentary, and even the significance of Max's role as the outsider (the film literally compares him to Eastwood's "man with no name" at the inception of the Thunderdome fight).
These are the reasons why critics adore the film. And in addition to all these accomplishments, it also achieves a difficult balance in terms of the sequel format: Thunderdome spins new and interesting territory out of the franchise world rather than simply recycling and revisiting familiar elements from it.
It's the Story of Us All...
Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome finds former policeman and family man Max (Gibson) wandering in a seemingly endless desert, driving a team of camels on his converted automobile...now no more than an old-fashioned wagon. A plane dives from the sky and unseats Max from his vehicle. The plane's pilot, Jedidiah (Bruce Spence), jumps into the driver's seat and rides away, leaving Max behind.
Max survives and heads to Bartertown, a nearby outcropping of "civilization" in the desert. He hopes to find Jedidiah and re-claim his property, but instead becomes the pawn of Auntie Entity (Tina Turner), Bartertown's benefactor.
In particular, Entity wants the "King Arab" of the town's energy-producing facility, "Underworld" dead for his repeated attempts to assert authority over her and "embargo" the town's energy. But killing Master (Angelo Rossitto) is harder than it sounds because he is protected by a body guard, the hulking "Blaster."
Auntie strikes a deal with Max to kill Blaster inside the town's arena, a "hall of justice" called "Thunderdome." Max wins the battle, but finds that Blaster suffers from Down Syndrome and possesses "the mind of a child." Holding on to his code of ethics, Max refuses to kill Blaster, and is -- for "busting a deal" -- sent into the wilderness on a horse, gulag-style.
In the desert, a tribe of orphan children find Max and worship him as their lost leader, Captain Walker. These "Waiting Ones" believe that Max can lead them home to civilization, to the city, but are in for a disappointment when Max tells them the truth; that nothing of mankind's previous civilization remains intact.
When a group of children led by Savannah Nix (Helen Buday) make the trek into the wilderness anyway, Max must rescue them, and, once again, survive the dangers of Bartertown.
In the months and years following Max's rescue of the children, Savannah and the survivors of "The Waiting Ones" remember men like Max...hoping that they too will return to civilization at last.
"I know you won't break the rules, because there aren't any."
One arena where you can't fault George Miller and George Ogilvie's Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome is the creation of an intriguing, visually-distinguished, post-apocalyptic world.
From the film's first aerial shot (looked to be lensed from low planetary orbit, so you can actually see the curve of the Earth...) to the first reveal of Bartertown (a swooping Louma crane shot...) and beyond, this sequel is vetted in extraordinary and dazzling visual fashion. The imagination and ingenuity of the production designer, Graham Walker, is on full-display throughout. And cinematographer Dean Semler captures all the details -- both droll and dirty -- with aplomb.
What remains special about this Mad Max world is how it effortlessly seems both funny and realistic. The entrance way to Bartertown, for instance, is a crowded tunnel where "The Collector" greets newcomers and assesses their skills, followed by a weapons drop-off point.
After that pit stop, it's daylight...into pandemonium. There's the humorously named "Atomic Cafe," a peddler hawking fresh water ("what's a little fall-out?"), the "House of Good Deals," and towering over everything, the imposing, palatial residence of Aunty Entity.
Oh, and there's a little place called Thunderdome, a stadium that has entered the American pop culture vernacular in a permanent way (referenced on Mystery Science Theater 3000 and in other productions.)
You already know the rules....there aren't any. Two men enter...one man leaves.
But Thunderdome is fascinating for two reasons. First, the "why" behind its very existence in Bartertown is compelling: the survivors of this world's nuclear apocalypse realized that killing leads to warring and that warring was "damn near the end of us all." So here -- perhaps wisely -- violence is limited to this one, awful place. Beyond it, blood lust has no place in Bartertown. Allegedly, anyway.
The second scintillating aspect of Thunderdome is the orchestration of Max's fight inside it. The combatants are strung-up on elastic bands and fight in mid-air, reaching for weapons (such as chainsaws and mallets) at the upper apex of the dome. So Max and his opponent, Blaster, whirl, fly, bounce, dip and spin in battle, and it's pretty exciting stuff. Not to mention staggeringly original.
This is how Time Magazine critic Richard Schickel described the locale: "Thunderdome is both hall of justice and cultural center for Bartertown, presided over by Aunty Entity (Tina Turner), purring like a tiger and claiming she has created civilization's highest flowering since nuclear devastation. Indeed she has, if an imitation of late 20th century city life--all junk, improvisations and random brutality--is your idea of civilization. Thunderdome brilliantly clarifies that irony. Its high-bounding excesses of action simultaneously satisfy and satirize the passion for heedless viciousness that so profoundly moves the action film's prime audience, urban adolescent males."
In other words, the Thunderdome setting provides both the setting for a fantastic, inventive action sequence and a context for some social commentary on our world in the 1980s; the world in which American Gladiators was later born; a world in which action stars such as Stallone and Schwarzenneger were tops at the box office.
Late in the Thunderdome sequence, Max is introduced to another compelling element of Bartertown's law: The Wheel. As in, "Bust a Deal, Face the Wheel."
Here, Max faces random justice in front of a giant spinning wheel that satirizes in shape and form the titular Wheel of Fortune (1983 - present) from the popular TV game show with Pat Sajak and Vanna White. Only here the selections on the wheel are matters of life and death: Gulag, hard labor, acquittal, death, Aunty's Choice, forfeit goods, etc.
"Justice is only a roll of the dice...a turn of the wheel," stresses Dr. Dealgood, importantly. Once more, I should stress that this legal system makes perfect if perverse sense, given the circumstances. The "survivors" in this world didn't make it because they were smart...they survived the apocalypse because of luck. Even Aunty Entity acknowledges this fact...she was nobody until the apocalypse made her somebody. The people of Bartertown believe that fickle fate accounts for their survival and continuance, and the Wheel is a kind of legal expression of that fickle sense of fate or destiny.
In toto, the early scenes in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome -- at Bartertown -- reveal much of value about human nature. Aunty Entity wants complete and total control of the town, and is unwilling to share it with Master in the "Underworld." One can certainly understand why: he's capricious and enjoys her public humiliation.
Still, it's difficult to claim the mantel of civilization in one breath while ordering a hit on "family" the next, as Max points out to Aunty. But thematically, there's something important going on here. As one character states in the film, "no matter where you go; there you are." Mankind -- no matter his aspirations; no matter his new forms of government -- remains the same breed; the same ambitious animal. Even after a world-war and wholesale destruction of the planet surface, Bartertown is still a savage place.
Everything about Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome's first act is filled with invention: the location, the camera-work, the nature of Aunty's entourage, the social commentary, and even the significance of Max's role as the outsider (the film literally compares him to Eastwood's "man with no name" at the inception of the Thunderdome fight).
These are the reasons why critics adore the film. And in addition to all these accomplishments, it also achieves a difficult balance in terms of the sequel format: Thunderdome spins new and interesting territory out of the franchise world rather than simply recycling and revisiting familiar elements from it.
But something goes dramatically wrong in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome's final act. The movie's intellectual, harsh-minded tone gives way to a sort of Hollywood-ish blockbuster mind-set which stresses easy humor and pat solutions over invention and social commentary.
Cute kids dressed as native warriors take center stage, and the movie attempts to derive humor from their misunderstanding of pre-apocalypse technology (like phonograph records). This is the "Ewok Paradigm" that also, to some extent, scuttled Return of the Jedi (1983), though admittedly on a lesser scale.
What's the problem? Well, again, it's all about tone. Suddenly Mad Max is a figure of fun and humor, running into a hallway of armed goons, and then running back in the opposite direction towards camera (like Han Solo on the Death Star in Star Wars). Or worse, punching a bad guy through a vent grate in a moment timed for broad comedy instead of thrills and intensity.
Suddenly, bad guys are getting decked with pots and pans by crockery-wielding tykes. And a dark, monstrous bully-figure like Ironbar morphs before our eyes into a live-action Wily Coyote, surviving deadly incident after deadly incident unscathed until all sense of reality around the character bleeds away, sacrificed to callow, crowd-pleasing visual jokes (like an upturned middle finger as his last gesture of defiance).
There are some folks who dislike the latter half of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome simply because of the presence of cute children in the action, and I understand that objection. Again, looking back to The Road Warrior, there was an absolutely unsentimental and brilliant child character: the Feral Kid. The movie did not play favorites with him, sentimentalize or romanticize him in any way. He was simply a wild child who grew up in a terrible world and who befriended Max.
Beyond Thunderdome works hard to earn the presence of these children in this particular chapter. One child even dies in the film, devoured by a sandstorm in the desert. And I understand why the moviemakers wanted children here in the first place: to represent our future; our tomorrows.
But the children have a whimsical way of speaking that feels tonally out-of-place ("Tomorrow-orrow Land,"), and the movie resorts to squeezing gags out of these children (like learning French, or learning how to drive a car) and it's all just too damn cute.
"Cute" is the last thing that fans of The Road Warrior were seeking in a sequel.
Again, I get it. It's about redemption. It's about Max -- who lost a child himself -- coming to the defense of other children. In that act (and in his final sacrificial move in battle...), Max finally returns to the human race. I appreciate that arc very much; but wish that the obvious humor and terminal cutesies had been more studiously avoided. The same story could have been vetted in less schmaltzy terms. Yep...it's the tone of the thing; not necessarily the story itself that I object to.
And alas, it isn't just the presence of cute children that feels like a bow to Hollywood mainstream in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome's final act, it is also the very resolution of the drama. A railway line conveniently runs out of Bartertown so Max and the children can escape by train, and then the film provides a thoroughly conventional car chase-styled action scene, with the train at the center of the action. This feels like a very, very pale retread of the blazing, sustained tanker truck pursuit at the end of The Road Warrior.
Once more, a point of contrast: The Road Warrior's tanker battle absolutely refused to play favorites. The film's female lead character, played by Farscape's gorgeous Virginia Hey, died ingloriously in that hair-raising, exciting sequence. There was just no sentimentality.
But in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, kids survive a similar assault by heroically wielding iron cooking pans against ruthless, amoral soldiers. It just feels...wrong. Would this technique have worked against Humongous?
On one hand, you don't want a sequel (or a sequel to a sequel, in this case) to repeat everything from the previous film, but the final battle of Beyond Thunderdome feels like Road Warrior-lite. Or more appropriately, The Road Warrior re-fashioned for mass, Hollywood-consumption.
In its last twist -- a return to the destroyed 20th century city -- Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome recovers some from the battle's misstep. This moment has a valedictory, tragic feel. Re-building our civilization must begin, and here we detect the first steps; as well as the romantic, hopeful act of lighting candles to bring the desert warriors back.
It's a nice, emotional closing touch that suggests an optimistic future, but yet -- again -- it's hard to deny that the Feral Kid's closing narration (as an old man) in The Road Warrior achieves the same goal, only with words instead of images.
Also -- and I realize some people with quibble with me on this -- is it right that Max brings down Bartertown at all? I think this is a debatable point. As bad as it surely is, Bartertown is still the best thing going in this post-apocalyptic world. Violence is limited to the Thunderdome, and there is law there...as well as commerce. Order has been carved out of chaos; even if it isn't perfect.
Would it not have been better for Max to somehow bring some checks and balances to the place, so it wasn't simply a tyranny? (And really, isn't that what Master Blaster offered in Underworld in the first place?) Going back to our own antiquity, would we cheer a hero in early human culture who brought down the first civilization, even if it did boast a "draconian" code or sense of justice? I don't think so. Even imperfect steps towards civilization can be vital ones.
The destruction of Bartertown in the film has never rung true to me. Who is to say that Savannah Nix and her brood -- living in a burnt-out shell of a building -- aren't going to be forced to navigate issues of law and order, justice and punishment too? Will their answers be better than Auntie Entity's? More humane? Less pragmatic? The movie never really answers that question in satisfactory fashion; it just uses the symbol of children to suggest innocence and a better tomorrow.
So how do you assess a film with an absolutely brilliant first act and a relatively derivative, by the numbers, Hollywood last act? Well, "this is the truth of it:" the movie works more often than not; and succeeds more so if you consider it as the final, closing act of a grand trilogy. There has to be a wrap-up, and it has to be satisfactory (meaning - happy). We get that in Beyond Thunderdome, even if we don't necessarily want the closure.
So in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome audiences get one of the greatest, most imaginative fight scenes in recent decades, and a fitting conclusion to a terrific post-apocalyptic saga. The downside is that audiences also get cute kids, and Hollywood-styled, crowd-pleasing humor.
Do you want the deal or not?
Saturday, December 04, 2010
CULT TV FLASHBACK # 124: Space Precinct (1994 - 1995)
Just a season after Steven Bocho and ABC-TV brought extreme grittiness (not to mention four-letter words and bare behinds...) to televised cop dramas with the popular NYPD Blue (1993 - 2005), veteran British producer Gerry Anderson premiered his own unique take on the cop genre: the futuristic adventure, Space Precinct.
This one-of-a-kind science fiction TV series from the nineties had roots going all the back to a never-aired pilot film -- Space Police -- in 1986. Covered in Starlog Magazine at the time, the drama starred Shane Rimmer as an Earth cop named Brogan working in a very, very alien environment.
By 1994, when the concept finally went to weekly series, American actor Ted Shackelford (Knots Landing) assumed the role of Officer Patrick Brogan, a family man and officer working in the 88th Precinct in Demeter City, on the distant planet called Altor.
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| The suburbs. |
And -- in an eerie repeat of what occurred with Space: 1999 in 1975 -- absolutely no one knew what to make of the new Anderson drama.
Specifically, Space Precinct aired sporadically in syndication across the United States, often at 3:00 in the morning. It hardly dented the pop-culture bubble.
Apparently, many station programmers weren't certain if Space Precinct was an adult drama, a kid's series, or something else entirely. The adult narratives about drugs ("black crystal") and sex suggested the former. The fanciful alien make-up design and cops-and-robbers-styled action indicated the latter.
Frankly, no one had ever seen anything quite like it.
Just before Thanksgiving of this year, Space Precinct was officially released on DVD here in the States by Image Entertainment. Now, sixteen years after it first aired, modern audiences can judge for themselves the quality of the program.
In brief, I'll state this: if nothing else, Space Precinct is truly a fascinating historical artifact.
Commendably, the miniatures are even used to buttress the series' pervasive and droll sense of humor. In an episode called "Double Duty," an impressive space colossus appears in space over the orbiting precinct house, and is the punch-line to a very funny joke about an alien race seeking its lost queen.
In another episode, there's a whimsical little pizza-delivery hopper that gets pulped during a chase. And in yet another show ("Body and Soul"), the miniature work evokes a kind of anxiety or terror. An impressive space derelict -- covered in space dust -- is discovered crashed on the pitted surface of Merlin's Asteroid.
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| From "The Snake," a booby-trapped Omega Tanker. |
In brief, I'll state this: if nothing else, Space Precinct is truly a fascinating historical artifact.
This is so because the Anderson venture is one of the last sci-fi TV programs to rely almost entirely on miniatures and models rather than CGI in terms of depicting alien space ships and environments.
Much of the episodic action of Space Precinct occurs in a colossal Blade Runner (1982)-styled future metropolis rendered completely in miniature, and often with impressive results.
Across the episode catalog, audiences see the waterfront ("near the anti-gravity processors"), parking decks ("Protect and Serve"), mom-and-pop shops ("Enforcer"), the spires of the Hotel Nirvana ("Protect and Serve"), futuristic crack-houses ("Double Duty") and other facets of the metropolis.
The program's ubiquitous flying cars, or "hoppers," are also small, meticulously-detailed models -- moved about on wires -- and there are some really terrific craft designs highlighted in Space Precinct.
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| Standard issue police cruiser. |
The futuristic apartment complex/space station that orbits the planet is absolutely gorgeous, for instance, and the standard-issue police cruiser -- a multi-engined, fighter-type affair -- is the utilitarian but fun workhorse of the series' action.
Commendably, the miniatures are even used to buttress the series' pervasive and droll sense of humor. In an episode called "Double Duty," an impressive space colossus appears in space over the orbiting precinct house, and is the punch-line to a very funny joke about an alien race seeking its lost queen.
In another episode, there's a whimsical little pizza-delivery hopper that gets pulped during a chase. And in yet another show ("Body and Soul"), the miniature work evokes a kind of anxiety or terror. An impressive space derelict -- covered in space dust -- is discovered crashed on the pitted surface of Merlin's Asteroid.
The big drawback to this old-school special effects approach is simply that the ships/vehicles don't always look entirely convincing while in motion over atmospheric Demeter City. Sometime, it is all too clear you're watching highly-detailed miniatures. In the worst shots, it's one step up from a Godzilla movie of the 1960s. In the best shots, the Space Precinct visuals really do pass muster, even almost two-decades later.
Interestingly, the space-bound chase scenes -- which don't have to deal with rain, fog and other atmospherics of city-life -- are still uniformly excellent today. In keeping with the cops and robbers, daily-life-in-space milieu of the show, these chase scenes, on occasion, even feature the futuristic equivalent of "driver's side air bags" -- inflatable ejection pods used in the event of an accident. Again, the intent of such devices seems to be to evoke bemusement or humor.
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| Anderson-quality pyrotechnics. |
Also, well in keeping with the Gerry Anderson legacy and tradition, every episode of Space Precinct features at least one gigantic, incredibly impressive explosion.
In "Protect and Serve," a futuristic parking deck gets totalled in glorious, fiery fashion; in "Body and Soul" a prototype derelict spaceship self-destructs after a tense countdown.. In "The Snake," a mad bomber detonates a space freighter in the interstellar void, and so on.
Perhaps even more importantly than the miniature effects, the alien creature designs of the series forecast the fascinating approach of Farscape (1999-2003); namely the incorporation of puppets into the mix so that the featured aliens truly seem like aliens...and not just like lightly-retouched humans with rubber ridges on their foreheads or noses. It's a revolutionary approach that differentiates it from its contemporaries in America (namely TNG and DS9).
Perhaps even more importantly than the miniature effects, the alien creature designs of the series forecast the fascinating approach of Farscape (1999-2003); namely the incorporation of puppets into the mix so that the featured aliens truly seem like aliens...and not just like lightly-retouched humans with rubber ridges on their foreheads or noses. It's a revolutionary approach that differentiates it from its contemporaries in America (namely TNG and DS9).
Now, Farscape really and truly mastered this method of creating memorable alien creatures. Space Precinct made the same valiant attempt about five years earlier, but not on such a flamboyant and wholly successful scale.
That said, the aliens featured in this series -- largely a rogue's gallery of cosmic criminals -- are a pretty fascinating and entertaining bunch. After a few episodes, you don't really consciously process the fact that you are actually watching animatronic puppets. Therefore the creature designs -- while initially startling and a little too whimsical for my taste -- ultimately prove effective.
In terms of behind-the-scenes personnel, Gerry Anderson -- as always -- assembled a top flight crew. Here, the late, great cinematographer Alan Hume (Return of the Jedi [1983], Octopussy [1983], Lifeforce [1985], Runaway Train [1985] and A Fish Called Wanda [1988]) shoots several episodes.
Amongst the directors helming individual episodes are such vets as John Glen (The Living Daylights [1987], Licence to Kill [1989]) and Sidney Hayers (Circus of Horrors [1960]. Their expertise is needed and well-deployed, especially because some of the sets (interior and exterior) seem cramped and even impractical for shooting.
Writers on Space Precinct include Marc Scott Zicree, and J. Larry Carroll. Zicree's stories, in particular, are very enjoyable, and successfully transmit the jaunty, almost tongue-in-cheek vibe of the series. For example, Zicree laces his efforts with little in-jokes and tributes to other famous genre programs. In Zicree's "Enforcer" there's a joke about a "bruise the size of a horta's egg," and a passing reference to a crime called a "1701 in progress."
As you'll recognize, these are both fun and knowing Star Trek references.
That said, the aliens featured in this series -- largely a rogue's gallery of cosmic criminals -- are a pretty fascinating and entertaining bunch. After a few episodes, you don't really consciously process the fact that you are actually watching animatronic puppets. Therefore the creature designs -- while initially startling and a little too whimsical for my taste -- ultimately prove effective.
In terms of behind-the-scenes personnel, Gerry Anderson -- as always -- assembled a top flight crew. Here, the late, great cinematographer Alan Hume (Return of the Jedi [1983], Octopussy [1983], Lifeforce [1985], Runaway Train [1985] and A Fish Called Wanda [1988]) shoots several episodes.
Amongst the directors helming individual episodes are such vets as John Glen (The Living Daylights [1987], Licence to Kill [1989]) and Sidney Hayers (Circus of Horrors [1960]. Their expertise is needed and well-deployed, especially because some of the sets (interior and exterior) seem cramped and even impractical for shooting.
Writers on Space Precinct include Marc Scott Zicree, and J. Larry Carroll. Zicree's stories, in particular, are very enjoyable, and successfully transmit the jaunty, almost tongue-in-cheek vibe of the series. For example, Zicree laces his efforts with little in-jokes and tributes to other famous genre programs. In Zicree's "Enforcer" there's a joke about a "bruise the size of a horta's egg," and a passing reference to a crime called a "1701 in progress."
As you'll recognize, these are both fun and knowing Star Trek references.
"It's a Whole New World"
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| The sun sets over Demeter City, on the planet Altor |
Set in the year 2040, Space Precinct follows the busy happenings in Demeter City's 88th precinct, an orbital space station and headquarters for the planet Altor's multi-racial police force.
Twenty-year NYPD veteran Patrick Brogan (Shackelford) has recently transferred to the 88th from Earth, and is slowly adjusting to life on this strange alien planet. He has brought along his wife Sally (Nancy Paul), his son, Matt, and his daughter Liz. Together they live on another space station, the "suburb" orbiting the city-planet "downtown."
At the precinct house, humans, Tarns and Creons work together to police the dangerous city below, which is named for the Greek Goddess Demeter, who -- appropriately -- held power over "the law" and controlled "the cycle of life and death."
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| Officer Castle (Bendix) and Officer Took -- a Tarn -- interview two witnesses. |
For easy reference, the Tarns seen here are sort of "Yoda Heads," three-eyed aliens with telepathic/telekinetic abilities and elfin ears.
By contrast, the Creons are the bug-eyed "E.T. Heads," and seem more like the (Irish?) working-class folk of Demeter City. Captain Podly, a man who pulled himself up "from the street" by his bootstraps, is a Creon.
Brogan's human partner in the precinct is the hot-blooded Jack Haldane (Rob Youngblood), a younger officer who shares a flirtatious/adversarial relationship with the gorgeous Officer Janet Castle (Simone Bendix).
Right off the bat -- in terms of appearance and behavior -- long-time science fiction TV fans will find the banter and relationship between Haldane and Castle highly reminiscent of the Tony Verdeschi/Maya relationship on the second season of Space: 1999. But strangely, the imitation is okay. The characterizations on the show are not deep in any meaningful sense, and the scenes between these would-be lovers add another fun, romantic element to the proceedings.
In each episode of Space Precinct, Brogan, Haldane and Castle go up against criminals in Demeter City, and Space Precinct lovingly and faithfully resurrects every cliche of the cop genre and then updates each for the future milieu.
By contrast, the Creons are the bug-eyed "E.T. Heads," and seem more like the (Irish?) working-class folk of Demeter City. Captain Podly, a man who pulled himself up "from the street" by his bootstraps, is a Creon.
Brogan's human partner in the precinct is the hot-blooded Jack Haldane (Rob Youngblood), a younger officer who shares a flirtatious/adversarial relationship with the gorgeous Officer Janet Castle (Simone Bendix).
Right off the bat -- in terms of appearance and behavior -- long-time science fiction TV fans will find the banter and relationship between Haldane and Castle highly reminiscent of the Tony Verdeschi/Maya relationship on the second season of Space: 1999. But strangely, the imitation is okay. The characterizations on the show are not deep in any meaningful sense, and the scenes between these would-be lovers add another fun, romantic element to the proceedings.
In each episode of Space Precinct, Brogan, Haldane and Castle go up against criminals in Demeter City, and Space Precinct lovingly and faithfully resurrects every cliche of the cop genre and then updates each for the future milieu.
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| Two Creon police officers bracket the station robot, "Slo-Mo." |
In other words, various episodes involve corporate malfeasance ("Body and Soul,") drug dealers ("Double Duty") blackmailing bombers ("The Snake"), con men running protection rackets ("Enforcer") and the ever-popular witness protection and stakeout ("Protect and Serve.")
But, commendably, the writers do their darnedest to marry these cop genre cliches to solid science fiction concepts.
One of the finest episodes, "Body and Soul," turns the bitter hologram replica of a Howard Hughes-type tycoon into a murdering monster with a God Complex, for instance. Another show, "Body Double" uses an Alien-like xenomorph as a mob-land assassin.
Space Precinct also relies heavily on tried-and-true cop cliches for the depiction of its main characters. There's the occasionally wrong-headed superior (the aforementioned Captain Podly) and the cop-with-the-traumatic past (on the bomb squad, no less...), Janet Castle. And Brogan, of course, is overworked, even to the point where he can't take time to enjoy a candle-light dinner with his lovely wife.
But, commendably, the writers do their darnedest to marry these cop genre cliches to solid science fiction concepts.
One of the finest episodes, "Body and Soul," turns the bitter hologram replica of a Howard Hughes-type tycoon into a murdering monster with a God Complex, for instance. Another show, "Body Double" uses an Alien-like xenomorph as a mob-land assassin.
Space Precinct also relies heavily on tried-and-true cop cliches for the depiction of its main characters. There's the occasionally wrong-headed superior (the aforementioned Captain Podly) and the cop-with-the-traumatic past (on the bomb squad, no less...), Janet Castle. And Brogan, of course, is overworked, even to the point where he can't take time to enjoy a candle-light dinner with his lovely wife.
Writing plainly, I can't argue that this sci-fi series is particularly deep, but in a way it reminds me -- in a positive light -- of the first season of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, which was essentially James Bond in Space (or Mission: Impossible in Space).
As was the case there, here you get exactly what you pay for: a cop show set on another planet, with every story adapting the conventions of the cop genre to the weird, futuristic setting.
Two elements of the series render Space Precinct enjoyable. The first is the sense of pace: the series is downright frenetic and action-packed. It never stays put too long in any given scene, so you don't have time to linger on the elements that don't work (largely the human performances and some risible dialogue).
Secondly, if you watch several episodes of Space Precinct back-to-back you will quickly glean a feeling for the program's quirky sense of humor. In the aforementioned "Body and Soul," for instance, there's a talking elevator that quotes Samuel Johnson (!). In "Double Duty", there's the great joke with the bag lady from "Megalon 7" (there's your Godzilla reference...), and it features a special effects punch-line that left me cackling.
In point of fact, some episodes of Space Precinct even do offer a kind of elegant story structure. For example, "Double Duty" is all about the assumptions that people make on a day-to-day basis. Those assumptions are all perfectly reasonable, but nonetheless wrong. In police work, such closely-held assumptions can be dangerous, even deadly.
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| Haldane (Youngblood), Aleesha, and Brogan (Shackelford) |
Two elements of the series render Space Precinct enjoyable. The first is the sense of pace: the series is downright frenetic and action-packed. It never stays put too long in any given scene, so you don't have time to linger on the elements that don't work (largely the human performances and some risible dialogue).
Secondly, if you watch several episodes of Space Precinct back-to-back you will quickly glean a feeling for the program's quirky sense of humor. In the aforementioned "Body and Soul," for instance, there's a talking elevator that quotes Samuel Johnson (!). In "Double Duty", there's the great joke with the bag lady from "Megalon 7" (there's your Godzilla reference...), and it features a special effects punch-line that left me cackling.
In point of fact, some episodes of Space Precinct even do offer a kind of elegant story structure. For example, "Double Duty" is all about the assumptions that people make on a day-to-day basis. Those assumptions are all perfectly reasonable, but nonetheless wrong. In police work, such closely-held assumptions can be dangerous, even deadly.
All three storylines -- A, B, and C -- in the episode transmit this idea. At home, Brogan is worried that his son, Matt, is hanging out with the "wrong crowd."
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| An alien-esque assassin. |
On the job, the "Bag Lady" wanders into the station and tells fanciful stories about how she is actually an alien queen.
And finally, Haldane romances a beautiful, green-haired (!) witness who is mysteriously at the scene of every crime. In each of these tales, we arrive -- along with the characters -- at the wrong conclusion. It's a kind of charming, fun story, in its own strange, distinctly Space Precinct-ish way.
So, sixteen years later, how is Space Precinct? Well, it's kind of a gas. I can't argue that it is consistently or even occasionally deep or meaningful. But on the other hand, it's never boring, frequently funny and rather enjoyable. In other words, the series is entertaining.
Again, my feeling about science fiction series is that they don't all have to be the same. Today, series don't need to be judged against the yardstick of Star Trek anymore.
Space Precinct is a truly weird hybrid, drawing its manic, silly energy in equal parts from cop dramas like Fort Apache: the Bronx (1981) and TV series such as Star Trek, plus the amazing -- if perhaps antiquated -- special effects tradition of the Gerry Anderson canon.
If this description sounds appealing to you, book passage for Demeter City, and make sure your tongue is tucked firmly in cheek and your expectations are stowed safely in check.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
CULT MOVIE REVIEW: Galaxina (1980)
Hollywood has often been dubbed "The Land of Broken Dreams," and considering the tragic fallen star of the space adventure/comedy, Galaxina, one begins to truly comprehend that tag.
Heading into the 1980s, lovely Galaxina star Dorothy Stratten was Playboy's Playmate of the Year, and a celebrated guest-star on Buck Rogers in the 25th Century (1979 - 1981) in the episode "Cruise Ship to the Stars."
Most importantly, the performer was successfully making the difficult leap to "A"-list film projects, a transition that would ultimately be appreciated by movie critics such as Vincent Canby. He noted of Stratten in Peter Bogdonavich's They All Laughed (1981) that she "possessed a charming screen presence and might possibly have become a first-rate comedienne with time and work."
Alas, you may recall the unhappy ending of this story.
Dorothy Stratten was murdered in 1980 by her estranged husband, Paul Snider. Almost instantly, Stratten became a household name all right, but as the "true crime" victim in productions such as the TV-movie Death of a Centerfold (1981) starring Jamie Lee Curtis, and Bob Fosse's Star 80 (1983) starring Mariel Hemingway.
Watching Galaxina even today -- thirty years later -- you can't help but mourn Stratten. Galaxina is a low-budget, science fiction romp -- low-brow, raunchy and scattershot -- and yet Stratten's presence is the glue that holds the chaotic thing together. She is on-screen rarely in the first half of the film, barely speaks throughout the second half, and -- as a "robot" -- is not even really called on to emote much.
Yet, Stratten possessed that special something that can make or break a movie star. Even playing an emotionless machine in a bad, low-budget movie, Stratten had that sparkle in her eye, and could readily hold the attention of the viewer.
As for the movie itself, I wish very much I could make some positive comment here, but truth be told, Galaxina is a pretty unfunny, uninspiring, witless affair.
In fact, Galaxina makes me think I was probably too rough on Spacehunter (1983) a few weeks back. By point of comparison, that 1983 film is a masterpiece in forging atmosphere and crafting imaginary worlds. There, at least, there was evidence of some authentic thought and consistency about the movie's larger universe.
No such luck here.
What little of interest exists in Galaxina mostly involves Stratten's performance, and her nice chemistry with co-star Stephen Macht. Even as an adolescent genre sex fantasy in the vein of Barbarella (1968) or Starcrash (1978), Galaxina remains a crushing failure...a bore.
As The New York Times opined "some of the ads for ''Galaxina'' suggest that it is sexy; it is not."
That's a blunt but accurate assessment of the film. I rarely write so negatively about a film -- especially one with a cult following -- but this is a really, really weak movie.
Heading into the 1980s, lovely Galaxina star Dorothy Stratten was Playboy's Playmate of the Year, and a celebrated guest-star on Buck Rogers in the 25th Century (1979 - 1981) in the episode "Cruise Ship to the Stars."
Most importantly, the performer was successfully making the difficult leap to "A"-list film projects, a transition that would ultimately be appreciated by movie critics such as Vincent Canby. He noted of Stratten in Peter Bogdonavich's They All Laughed (1981) that she "possessed a charming screen presence and might possibly have become a first-rate comedienne with time and work."
Alas, you may recall the unhappy ending of this story.
Dorothy Stratten was murdered in 1980 by her estranged husband, Paul Snider. Almost instantly, Stratten became a household name all right, but as the "true crime" victim in productions such as the TV-movie Death of a Centerfold (1981) starring Jamie Lee Curtis, and Bob Fosse's Star 80 (1983) starring Mariel Hemingway.
Watching Galaxina even today -- thirty years later -- you can't help but mourn Stratten. Galaxina is a low-budget, science fiction romp -- low-brow, raunchy and scattershot -- and yet Stratten's presence is the glue that holds the chaotic thing together. She is on-screen rarely in the first half of the film, barely speaks throughout the second half, and -- as a "robot" -- is not even really called on to emote much.
Yet, Stratten possessed that special something that can make or break a movie star. Even playing an emotionless machine in a bad, low-budget movie, Stratten had that sparkle in her eye, and could readily hold the attention of the viewer.
As for the movie itself, I wish very much I could make some positive comment here, but truth be told, Galaxina is a pretty unfunny, uninspiring, witless affair.
In fact, Galaxina makes me think I was probably too rough on Spacehunter (1983) a few weeks back. By point of comparison, that 1983 film is a masterpiece in forging atmosphere and crafting imaginary worlds. There, at least, there was evidence of some authentic thought and consistency about the movie's larger universe.
No such luck here.
What little of interest exists in Galaxina mostly involves Stratten's performance, and her nice chemistry with co-star Stephen Macht. Even as an adolescent genre sex fantasy in the vein of Barbarella (1968) or Starcrash (1978), Galaxina remains a crushing failure...a bore.
As The New York Times opined "some of the ads for ''Galaxina'' suggest that it is sexy; it is not."
That's a blunt but accurate assessment of the film. I rarely write so negatively about a film -- especially one with a cult following -- but this is a really, really weak movie.
"No Ordinary Robot"
Galaxina commences with a Star-Wars-styled title-crawl that announces that by the year 3008, space travel has become routine. As a consequence of "increased traffic," the United Intergalactic Federation is formed, along with a police force. Aboard Police Cruiser 308, "The Infinity," is a robot servant with a very special nature. Galaxina (Stratten) is a humanoid machine with "feelings."
The Infinity is commanded by cranky, arrogant Captain Cornelius Butt (Avery Schreiber) and manned by Lt. Thor (Macht), who believes he has fallen in love with the mute Galaxina. But when Thor tries to kiss the object of his adoration, she sparks and short circuits, and he receives painful electrical shocks.
The Infinity is commanded by cranky, arrogant Captain Cornelius Butt (Avery Schreiber) and manned by Lt. Thor (Macht), who believes he has fallen in love with the mute Galaxina. But when Thor tries to kiss the object of his adoration, she sparks and short circuits, and he receives painful electrical shocks.
After the pursuit of Darth Vader-styled alien in a mask named Ordric (voiced by Percy Rodrigues), the Infinity is ordered by authorities to Alta One to recover a mystical artifact called "The Blue Star." The only problem is that the trip will take twenty-seven years, and the crew will have to be ensconced in cryo-chambers for the duration.
During the long journey, Galaxina makes good use of her time alone. She watches transmissions from Earth and learns to speak and act as a human female so she can be with Thor upon his awaking. She also adjusts her body temperature so she will feel warm to the touch. As far as sex is concerned, Galaxina informs Thor that, well, she can requisition all the appropriate parts...
Once at Alta One, Galaxina is sent on a dangerous mission to retrieve the Blue Star, and is captured by strange humans who worship a motorcycle deity named "Harley Davidson." Galaxina is rescued by Thor, but Ordric returns and takes over the ship...
Once at Alta One, Galaxina is sent on a dangerous mission to retrieve the Blue Star, and is captured by strange humans who worship a motorcycle deity named "Harley Davidson." Galaxina is rescued by Thor, but Ordric returns and takes over the ship...
"What is this Sh_t?"
Galaxina isn't exactly "tension to the fourth dimension" as the trailers promised. There's an unwritten rule in Hollywood that comedies should rarely -- if ever -- be over ninety minutes long, and Galaxina feels like a virtual eternity at ninety-five minutes. In fact, the film feels dull and overlong. .
Another secret to crafting a good comedy is to squeeze the laughs together; to cut out all the stuff between that doesn't work, so that the solid laughs just barrel on, one after the other.
Again, that's not what happens here. There's a lot of dead air, another factor which contributes to the film's lack of vitality.
Galaxina's sense of humor arises from two arenas, primarily. The first arena is the Mad Magazine-style "parody" of genre movie classics. Specifically, the tenor-voiced Ordric and the title scrawl (and flashing laser beams) originate from the then-current Lucas blockbuster, Star Wars (1977).
Secondly, an entire subplot about an alien prisoner called a "Rock Eater" (Herb Kaplowitz) recalls the "it's time to feed the alien" interlude with Pinback (Dan O'Bannon) from John Carpenter's far superior space comedy, Dark Star (1975).
There's also an unfunny but early riff on Ridley Scott's Alien (1979) in Galaxina. Here Captain Butt eats an alien egg during a meal (on a dare, no less), and it eventually returns as a diminutive alien creature that seems to imprint on him as Mommy. If you've seen Spaceballs (1987), you've seen the chest-burster gag done better. In fact, even Stewart Raffill's The Ice Pirates (1984) -- with its messy "space herpes"-- is also a superior variation on the same joke.
Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek (1966-1969) gets a lengthy jab here too, via the presence of a puppy-eared, emotionless bartender named Mr. Spot on Alta One. He even wears the famous blue uniform, albeit with a crooked insignia.
The best, and perhaps most subtle gag in the film involves the weirdo alien culture on Alta One that worships Harley Davidson, a fun twist on the Alpha/Omega Bomb-worshipping mutants of the post-apocalyptic Beneath The Planet of the Apes (1969).
Outside the genre, the general tenor of the film is sort of akin to Animal House's (1978) raunchiness and low-brow humor. One scene set at a cosmic whorehouse called "Kitty's" combines that brand of humor with the aliens from the famous Star Wars cantina. It's actually one of the movie's better scenes, despite the rubbery make-up and bad one-liners.
The second arena of comedy which Galaxina exploits involves non-sequitur and ostensibly funny character names. Captain "Butt," for instance. Another unfunny gag -- repeated until you want to pull your hair out -- involves a heavenly choir launching into celestial hymn whenever a character in the drama speaks the name of "The Blue Star." The dramatis personae actually hear the heavenly chorus in all its angelic glory, and look around, baffled, for the source of it.
Another secret to crafting a good comedy is to squeeze the laughs together; to cut out all the stuff between that doesn't work, so that the solid laughs just barrel on, one after the other.
Again, that's not what happens here. There's a lot of dead air, another factor which contributes to the film's lack of vitality.
Galaxina's sense of humor arises from two arenas, primarily. The first arena is the Mad Magazine-style "parody" of genre movie classics. Specifically, the tenor-voiced Ordric and the title scrawl (and flashing laser beams) originate from the then-current Lucas blockbuster, Star Wars (1977).
Secondly, an entire subplot about an alien prisoner called a "Rock Eater" (Herb Kaplowitz) recalls the "it's time to feed the alien" interlude with Pinback (Dan O'Bannon) from John Carpenter's far superior space comedy, Dark Star (1975).
There's also an unfunny but early riff on Ridley Scott's Alien (1979) in Galaxina. Here Captain Butt eats an alien egg during a meal (on a dare, no less), and it eventually returns as a diminutive alien creature that seems to imprint on him as Mommy. If you've seen Spaceballs (1987), you've seen the chest-burster gag done better. In fact, even Stewart Raffill's The Ice Pirates (1984) -- with its messy "space herpes"-- is also a superior variation on the same joke.
Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek (1966-1969) gets a lengthy jab here too, via the presence of a puppy-eared, emotionless bartender named Mr. Spot on Alta One. He even wears the famous blue uniform, albeit with a crooked insignia.
The best, and perhaps most subtle gag in the film involves the weirdo alien culture on Alta One that worships Harley Davidson, a fun twist on the Alpha/Omega Bomb-worshipping mutants of the post-apocalyptic Beneath The Planet of the Apes (1969).
Outside the genre, the general tenor of the film is sort of akin to Animal House's (1978) raunchiness and low-brow humor. One scene set at a cosmic whorehouse called "Kitty's" combines that brand of humor with the aliens from the famous Star Wars cantina. It's actually one of the movie's better scenes, despite the rubbery make-up and bad one-liners.
The second arena of comedy which Galaxina exploits involves non-sequitur and ostensibly funny character names. Captain "Butt," for instance. Another unfunny gag -- repeated until you want to pull your hair out -- involves a heavenly choir launching into celestial hymn whenever a character in the drama speaks the name of "The Blue Star." The dramatis personae actually hear the heavenly chorus in all its angelic glory, and look around, baffled, for the source of it.
The best touches in Galaxina tend to be throwaway, minuscule ones. For instance, there's one very interesting outer space composition in which an ancient 20th century space shuttle is seen, catastrophically damaged. It tumbles across the movie frame, nose-over-engine, but is left unremarked upon by the narrative and unnoticed by the futuristic characters. The shot is visually well-accomplished, but more importantly it nicely suggests that the universe of the movie has a real, detailed, even mysterious history.
Later in the film, there are also some well-staged shots on the dangerous world of Alta, the "Western"-styled planet of alien human-eaters. Director William Sachs lights all of these scenes with a color filter, in a lush, overripe, almost golden-red hue. In this unnatural alien light, Galaxina appears quite beautiful -- but different -- her blond hair now a deep, attractive auburn. That very look, incidentally -- a red wig on a gorgeous, porcelain-complexioned female -- was later popularized in early 21st century production such as J.J. Abrams' Alias. (2002 - 2005).
I can't really slam Galaxina on its low budget, but still, it is pretty difficult to enjoy the movie when you are constantly noticing, for instance, the Adam West/Burt Ward Batmobile parked outside a saloon on Alta. That kind of touch just takes one out of the action, out of the movie's reality. And even a space comedy requires some sense of basic reality and believability.
The greatest disappointment with Galaxina must surely be the film's poor treatment of the titular character. This android is beautiful and fit, but never really comes across as an independent, self-directed, individual entity. Galaxina demonstrates the capacity to self-actuate and grow, in her decision to alter her body temperature and learn to speak (from TV commercials...) but the reason behind this decision is that she has fallen in love, conveniently, with Thor...the only guy around who is not a complete and total idiot.
Love is a powerful motivating force, of course -- even to robots, apparently -- but movie-goers drawn to Galaxina want to know more about her; about her extraordinary nature. Why has this particular model proven susceptible to human feelings? The movie never tells us. It never even hints at a reason.
Love is a powerful motivating force, of course -- even to robots, apparently -- but movie-goers drawn to Galaxina want to know more about her; about her extraordinary nature. Why has this particular model proven susceptible to human feelings? The movie never tells us. It never even hints at a reason.
It doesn't help, either, that Galaxina hardly appears at all in the first half of the film, except seated immobile in a control chair during cutaways; no more than, essentially, a very pretty mannequin. Or that, when she does get into the action, late in the film, she almost immediately requires rescuing by macho Thor. That sort of traditional damsel-in-distress role hardly seems appropriate for an adventure of the year 3008, and it doesn't do anything to make Galaxina fit the mold of great genre sex icons like the aforementioned Stella Star or Barbarella.
Hell, I would have taken Bo Derek's Jane in John Derek's Tarzan of the Apes (1981).
Basically, you just wish this movie would mythologize, build-up and idolize the Galaxina character. As an action hero. As a space hero. As a gorgeous robot of extraordinary capability. Anything. And the movie steadfastly refuses to do the job. Again, the approach is scatter shot and inconsistent.
Hell, I would have taken Bo Derek's Jane in John Derek's Tarzan of the Apes (1981).
Basically, you just wish this movie would mythologize, build-up and idolize the Galaxina character. As an action hero. As a space hero. As a gorgeous robot of extraordinary capability. Anything. And the movie steadfastly refuses to do the job. Again, the approach is scatter shot and inconsistent.
Today, I suppose that this movie is of interest because it features a tragic star-in-the-making and some good 1980-era outer space effects. If you saw it back in 1980, perhaps you have a nostalgic attachment to boot. But there's not even one well-told joke in this mix. As the ads promised back in the day, Galaxina is indeed "too good to be true..."
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