Stanley
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey is absolutely, indisputably a one-of-a-kind movie.
It is a cinematic masterpiece, and more than that, one of the greatest films ever produced.
So
the simple and apparent fact that must be acknowledged and embraced regarding
the Peter Hyams sequel -- 1984’s 2010: The Year We Make Contact -- is
that it is not in the same class.
Kubrick’s
film was part science fiction, part art film, and part “ultimate trip”
head movie, and 2010’s ambitions are,
well, if not smaller, then at least a great deal more direct.
When
approaching 2010, one must, therefore, dispense with the
perhaps-unreasonable expectation that the enterprise is going to rival, or even
near the majesty and awe of its 1968 predecessor.
Because
a funny thing might happen once you jettison those personal expectations (or,
perhaps, your memories of 2001).
Another
truth looms ever more apparent.
2010:
The Year We Make Contact
is still a very good science fiction film, though of a markedly different
style.
Where
2001:
A Space Odyssey took man to the precipice of his own future, and to the
next step of his very evolution, the sequel is very much about who man is “now”
(in 1984, essentially).
Where
2001:
A Space Odyssey offered a commentary on how man’s tools could overwhelm
his life, and his environs (remember the white-on-white minimalism of the
production design…) 2010 instead reveals man grappling with his still-human nature:
the propensity to fear that which he doesn’t understand, and to go to war over
territory or ideology.
2001 paid some attention to that
idea, certainly. One scene in the space station lounge saw Heywood Floyd meet
some Soviet scientists, and they questioned him about all the secrecy on
Clavius. The scene hinted at on-going rivalries and distrust between Super
Powers.
Similarly,
the orbiting nuclear platforms depicted in A Space Odyssey suggested that war
and hostility had survived and endured to the 21st century. Man’s
competitive nature -- apparent from the moment
the ape-man tossed a bone-weapon into the air at the dawn of the species --
was thus seen as unchanged.
Yet
in Kubrick’s film that idea was merely a note in a great and elaborate symphony.
In
Hyams’ 2010, by contrast, that note underlines and even dominates the
entire composition. It does so in faithful, earnest adaptation of Clarke’s 1982
literary source material, as well as in a brutally honest reckoning with the political
details of the early 1980s.
In
many ways, 2010 is thus the “hot” to 2001’s “cold.”
The
snow-blind whites, minimalism and yet
majesty of the space station and other settings in 2001 have been replaced,
largely, in 2010 by cluttered, smoky control rooms bathed in suffusing red
alert lighting.
And
the sequel’s characters -- instead of
showcasing smooth, emotionless efficiency as Frank Poole or David Bowman did --
experience outbreaks of panic, fear, homesickness, and even…humor.
If
Kubrick’s film took a big step back from the characters and attempted to
observe the long arc of man’s development with a sense of cerebral detachment,
Hyams’ film instead examines man at this juncture with passionate, colorful,
up-close strokes.
When
considered in such terms, 2010: The Year We Make Contact might
be viewed as a pretty strong and, yes, wholly valid complement to Kubrick’s
film. It is both a faithful continuation of the franchise’s overall narrative,
and at the same time an apparent commentary on the visionary world envisioned
by Kubrick.
It’s
almost as if this sequel applies the brakes -- the aerobrakes? -- in response to 2001’s flights of
imagination and futurism.
It
says, instead, Hold
on! We’re not quite there yet.
The
famous black Monolith may have judged Bowman ready to evolve into a star child,
but for now, the rest of humanity remains mired in conflict and
self-destructive impulses.
Absent
entirely in 2010: The Year We Make Contact is Kubrick’s sense of
“order in the universe,” the amazing compositions which suggest a God’s eye
view of the cosmos.
Missing
as well is the feeling that we humans are part of a long, ongoing process of
development, moving from our “dawn”
to “the infinite and beyond.”
The
sequel substitutes such awesome visions and ideas with a direct, teletype-style
message to mankind (from the aliens…), transcribed by HAL. “All
these worlds are yours except Europa. Attempt no landing there. Use them
together. Use them in peace.”
In
1984 -- soon after The Day After (1983) aired on television, and at the height of
East-West Cold War tensions -- the Klaatu-esque message of this film really
resonated, at least with my teenage self. It was less “grand,” perhaps, “less
cosmic” than Kubrick’s intellectual musings, but perhaps 2010’s direct approach
was the very thing that audiences needed to hear at that moment in history.
Bluntly
worded, 2010 tells its audience this: you can’t evolve and be “a star
child” until you grow the fuck up.
The
astronauts of the film -- men and women from the United States and the Soviet Union -- are at the
vanguard of that growth, and become the very symbols for man’s ability to, even
in dire circumstances, to evolve beyond basic tribal instincts.
So
if 2001
concerns what man will one day become, 2010 suggests how he needs to get
there, through the end of war and petty conflict.
“My
God, it’s full of stars.”
Nine
long years after Discovery One went silent near Jupiter, and Dave Bowman (Keir
Dullea) was lost approaching the strange, alien monolith, the Cold War on Earth
has grown hot.
The
Soviet Union and the United States of America tussle over the resources and
loyalty of the Third World. A problem in
Central America, in Honduras, grows ever worse, and the United States threatens
a naval blockade.
Meanwhile,
Dr. Heywood Floyd (Roy Scheider) is asked to spearhead a mission to Jupiter, to
re-activate the HAL 9000, nd then
determine the nature of the mysterious Monolith.
Unfortunately,
the Russians will beat the Americans to the derelict Discovery One, so an
accommodation --- a joint mission --
is broached by the competitors.
Floyd
and an American team consisting of computer expert Dr. Chandra (Bob Balaban),
and Discovery One designer Walter Curnow (John Lithgow) thus board the Russian
craft, Leonov, under the command of Captain Tanya Kirbuk (Helen Mirren) for the
journey. In turn, they will share their
findings about the Monolith.
Leonov
begins its long space journey, and takes a detour to Europa, where chlorophyll
-- an early sign of life -- has been
detected. A probe is sent to examine the
surface of Europa, but is destroyed by an unknown force.
Later,
the Leonov conducts a difficult aero-braking maneuver on approach to the
Discovery, and Dr. Chandra revives HAL.
Meanwhile,
on Earth, an entity resembling Dave Bowman begins to appear to the astronaut’s
surviving family members. He tells them
that something wonderful is going to
happen, and soon.
Tensions
on Earth grow exponentially worse, and at the same time, HAL warns the crews of
the Leonov and Discovery One that this area of space is becoming dangerous
because of a strange “storm” of Monoliths in the atmosphere of Jupiter.
With
the storm expanding, and the outcome unknown, the two space crews must put
their ideology and suspicion behind them to survive and escape this region of
space.
“We
should each be treated with appropriate respect.”
2001:
A Space Odyssey
raised many questions about the universe, mankind’s evolution, and even the
reasons why the HAL 9000 went berserk.
2010:
The Year We Make Contact
makes no bones about the fact that it is in the business of providing answers.
For
instance, early in the film it is established that the final reports regarding
Discovery One and the Jupiter Mission failure left its readers with “a good amount of questions.” Just like some members of the audience for 2001. Later, Floyd reveals, in voice-over, very detailed information about the
Monolith “controlling” everything in
nearby space. He seems to know a lot about it.
If
the sequel boasts any substantial flaw it is that it feels both conceived and executed to
satisfy those who were unsatisfied by 2001: A Space Odyssey. Accordingly,
the answers just keep on coming.
And
yet, if you were unsatisfied by 2001, you didn’t really get the
movie, did you?
Leaving
that issue aside 2010 takes great artistic pains to “ground” all the proceedings in terms that
its audience would easily comprehend. For example, Floyd feels guilt and remorse about
sending the Discovery One crew people to die, and so this Leonov mission is explicitly one about his redemption.
“This won’t bring those men back,” or
provide “absolution” suggests
Heywood’s wife.
And
again, one need only note that in 2001, we had no such insight into
Mr. Floyd, or his motivations. He was not humanized in such fashion.
Other
characters are similarly endowed with traits that ground them, or make them more
recognizably human and contemporary. Chandra is prideful at times, and Curnow
undergoes a bit of fear or agoraphobia on a harrowing spacewalk. During the
tense aero-breaking scene, Floyd and an attractive Russian astronaut clutch one
another, out of abject fear.
Even
when Dave was locked out of the Pod Bay of the Discovery in 2001,
he evidenced no such outward signs of fear.
Indeed,
the film’s entire approach to character is best exemplified by Curnow’s line
that he misses the color “green.”
Was
there any green (outside the Dawn of Man segment) in 2001? Was there any explicit longing for it?
What 2010: The Year We Make Contact wants to suggest, then, is that although man may erect a
white-on-white future, he’s not going to like it, and he’s still going to long
for the “green” of terrestrial Earth. He’s
still going to be “man" as we recognize him now.
HAL
is newly humanized as well in this sequel. We learn that he is, essentially, schizophrenic,
because of the contradictory orders he received from home base. Instead of acting as a ruthless, cunning
opponent, he becomes here a figure of sympathy, one who even asks if he will “dream” when Discovery One is destroyed.
Finally,
the ghost of David Bowman indulges in behavior that we would consider extremely
human and emotional too. He visits his relatives on Earth. He combs his elderly mother’s hair.
Again,
this kind of material is absolutely absent from 2001: A Space Odyssey,
where even a vid-phone call between father and child feels strangely distant and
unemotional. But 2010 is a different film.
This
film’s modus operandi -- also evidenced
in the desire to create thrilling space action scenes like the space walk or
the aero-braking -- is to showcase
the yin/yang of human emotions or passions.
The environs of the Leonov, the new ship created for the sequel, likewise showcase this
aesthetic. The ship’s control room is always either under-lit and dark, or
bathed in red light. Papers are scattered everywhere, on panels and
tables. The visual aesthetic is much more
Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) than it is Stanley Kubrick’s 2001. And again, that’s because the film wants to
present a realistic portrayal of
emotional, contemporary man in space.
Why?
Well, the film examines man at close-up range. He can be wonderful and good,
seeking absolution, longing for nature's "green," or acknowledging his fears. Or he can bring the world to the precipice of
nuclear Armageddon.
And
again, I feel it incumbent to note as well the apocalypse mentality of the country in
the first Reagan presidency, which forms the cultural context behind this sequel. This
was a time when in public forums Russia was derided as “The Evil Empire,” and
it was announced (as a joke) that bombing Russia would begin in "five
minutes." It was an era in which cabinet
appointees like Secretary of the Interior James Watts declared it was not really necessary to take care
of the planet's environment because Jesus Christ would return in his lifetime, and this
would be the last generation. These words are not my opinion of what happened, they are part of the historical record, and therefore not partisan or biased. These things were said in public, and heard in the public square, by children and adults alike. They were noted.
2010:
The Year We Make
Contact
is very much about that context (as well as the Falklands Island War…),
an environment of distrust and concern about nuclear war in which it becomes impossible to visualize your
“enemy” as another human being, but rather as a godless monster that must be
destroyed.
The
message is made plain in the film terms of the astronauts’ behavior, and their cooperative solution
for survival.
To
endure a disaster near Jupiter, two ships and two crews must literally become
one.
The
Russian Leonov and the American Discovery One must join together and pool
resources -- literally as one ship --
to see a new sunrise. This is the
Monolith’s lesson for the entirety of Earth as well. The two rival super-powers -- if they hope
to claim their stake in space -- must become one. They must treat each other
“with appropriate respect” and recognize their enemy’s common humanity.
The
aliens final message in the film is very on the nose. “Use
these worlds together. Use them in peace.”
If
humans do not do so, the implication is that the Monolith aliens will respond
accordingly. The events on Europa with the destroyed probe reveal that these
aliens will brook no interference with their agenda. Again, this seems highly
reminiscent, at least to me, of The Day The Earth Stood Still
(1951), and its alien ultimatum.
“Join
us and live in peace, or pursue your present course and face obliteration.”
2001:
A Space Odyssey
doesn’t transmit an easily-digestible message like that, which can be stated in a
few simple words, and 2010: The Year We Make Contact does. The two films stand in stark contrast because
of that difference. 2001 coolly asks its audience to interpret its message, and 2010 states
its message, rather bluntly and emotionally, and with some degree of heat and excitement.
In
general, I prefer Kubrick’s approach, but there are times when the 2010
approach becomes a necessity too…especially if you are the parent of a
misbehaving child.
As
such a parent figure (as the Monolith aliens may be to humanity), it is necessary at times
to make certain you are heard and clearly understood
The
message in 2010 is indeed clearly heard and understood. That fact doesn’t make the movie “bad.” It just makes the film a very different kind
of space opera from its predecessor.
Beautifully
mounted, and buttressed with splendid recreations of the Discovery One, and
some tense moments in space, 2010 is a worthwhile film, and a
solid sequel to one of the cinema’s all-time greats. We can remember it that way, in part, because
it sought not to imitate a great film, but to chart its own (if ultimately less
challenging..) territory.
Another way to put it. We may not give 2010 equal respect to 2001, but let us all treat it with "appropriate" respect nonetheless.
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