Silent Running (USA, 1972)
Directed by Doug Trumball
Starring Bruce Dern, Cliff Potts, Ron Rifkin, Jesse Vint

It's long been fashionable for film reviewers to slag off films for being sentimental. The problem is not so much the notion of sentimentality in and of itself, as the context and manner in which it is applied. Criticising Steven Spielberg for being sentimental is simultaneously apt and foolish - apt when it meddles with or cheapens a dark subject matter, as with Schindler's List, but foolish when it is complimentary and integral, as with E.T. or Close Encounters.Silent Running's reputation has suffered from a similar stigma, namely that a grown-up science fiction film with serious thematic intentions cannot bow to something as feeble as human emotion. The clichéd view of 1970s science fiction, created by 2001 and cemented by Solaris, is one of a cold, clinical, existential world where any concession to audience emotion is strictly verboten. But while such an approach worked wonders for Stanley Kubrick and Andrei Tarkovsky, Silent Running is still a damn fine film which proves that substance and sentimentality can go together.Doug Trumball made Silent Running in direct response to the perceived coldness and clinical precision of 2001. Having created many of the special effects on Kubrick's film, including the iconic star-gate sequence, he sought to make a film about the future of humanity in which computers and apes were not the most human characters. Where Kubrick's films focussed on Mankind, Trumball wishes to look at people as individuals. And where Kubrick balanced Humanity's physical insignificance with its God-like potential, Trumball praises Man's capacity for compassion even in the face of insignificance, disinterest or despair.If one was feel as cold and calculating as HAL, one could easily dismiss Silent Running as nothing more than 'hippies in space'. Being a product of the early-1970s, when America was experiencing the death throes of hippie culture, such connotations are to some extent inevitable. It is undoubtedly true that Bruce Dern's character conforms to popular, if cynical, stereotypes of hippies, from his loose-fitting clothing and drawling delivery to his obsession with nature which many (the crew included) would consider unhealthy.One of the problems with Silent Running from this point of view is its questionable attitude towards mankind in the pursuit of pro-nature or 'hippie' ideals. The position towards technology is ambivalent; Dern yearns for a monastic existence where Man eats the fruits of His own labours, but it is ultimately the machines which sustain the forest. More problematic is the implication that preserving nature is more important than human life, to the point where murdering his crewmates appears to be justified. The film could be making the point that one has to go the hard yards in the name of one's principles, but it remains questionable whether in its content or its presentation.But if we put this immediate concern to the back of our minds, Silent Running's ecological theme emerges as more than a simple choice between Nature and Man, or Man and Machine. It is more prominently a film about harmony, about how the march of progress has made humans overly dependent on technology. Technological progress, including the development of space travel, has increased the standard of living of the astronauts to such an extent that they take their resources for granted.Dern's colleagues no longer care about the forest or the food they eat because they have been living in a world where their every want is met. They behave almost like spoilt children, spending their time racing around the cargo bay and joking around. Dern's position is similar to that of the 19th-century Arcadians like John Ruskin and Henry David Thoreau, writers who warned against the increasing luxury and apathy brought on by mechanical progress. Dern is the Arcadian among the lackadaisical industrialists, still able to enjoy himself but ever watchful of the consequences of progress, and mindful of the alternative which could soon cease to exist.When WALL-E was released three years ago, numerous critics compared the opening section to Silent Running. There is an obvious parallel in the role of robots tending to the Earth (or what is left of it), and in the loneliness of this occupation both practically and philosophically. Like WALL-E, Dern and his droids are going against the grain to do what they believe is right, and both have developed eccentricities through isolation which has caused them to deviate from their original 'programming'. With WALL-E, it is his bizarre passion for Hello Dolly!; with Dern, it is his desire to teach droids how to play poker.Although WALL-E could not have existed without Silent Running, it remains the superior of the two films. Although one of the longer PIXAR efforts, it feels tightly structured and well-paced, while there are long sections of Silent Running which feel superfluous or needlessly slow. This may be down to the involvement of Michael Cimino at a script level; his first writing credit in Hollywood contains the same flaws in pace and emphasis which would scupper him as a director. The poker scene, for instance, feels like it shouldn't be there, or at least like it should be a lot shorter.Parts of Silent Running have also dated quite badly. Peter Schickele's soundtrack has stood the test of time rather well, but Joan Baez' warblings are a distinctly Marmite experience. Some of the dialogue is preachy, with Dern going over many of the same arguments to the point of exhaustion. But to be fair, it is very difficult to sustain a story with a limited number of locations and characters without the luxury of extended dream sequences (Solaris) or multiple versions of the characters (Moon). Trumball may be no Kubrick, but all in all he has done a reasonable job.One aspect which hasn't dated, however, is the special effects. When Trumball was interviewed recently for the Blu-Ray release, he commented that organic, miniature or optical effects date better than CG visuals because they are more "photo-realistically impressive", i.e. have weight and tactility. The external shots of the Valley Forge are shot from the correct perspective so that we aren't conscious of them being model shots, and the explosions look and feel both realistic and custom-built.The most illuminating special effect, however, is the three drones which Dern uses to tend to the forests after commandeering the Valley Forge. The drones, inspired by characters in Tod Browning's Freaks, were created by double amputees walking on their hands. This and the facial structures of the drones create a human-like movement which we can recognise and use as a starting point for empathy.What makes Silent Running remarkable, and ultimately successful, is the strength of its emotional pull. The tactility of the special effects, the honesty of the script and the tender nature of the final act has the same effect that the ending of E. T. does; you feel as though you have earned the right to blub your eyes out because of how well the characters have been formed and how much you have enjoyed their company. Much like The Man Who Fell To Earth, the emotional weight of the characters allows us to overlook or forgive any narrative shortcomings and enjoy having our hearts broken.Silent Running remains an underrated and underappreciated science fiction film. It's not without its flaws, whether narrative or otherwise, and it has to take a back seat to 2001 both in ambition and in execution. But what it lacks in awe and spectacle it makes up for in heartache, coupled with a good-natured and welcome intelligence. WALL-E may have since surpassed it, but it remains compelling viewing.

Rating:
Verdict: An underrated sci-fi heartbreaker

Wild at Heart (USA, 1990)
Directed by David Lynch
Starring Nicolas Cage, Laura Dern, Diane Ladd, Willem Dafoe

You know you've arrived as a filmmaker when a bespoke adjective is created to describe your work - Gilliam-esque, Kubrickian, Lynchian and so on. But with this honour comes the danger of said filmmaker producing films which consist of familiar images or elements, without the narrative or thematic cohesion which earned them the label in the first place.Wild of Heart is only partially guilty of this, not being one of David Lynch's strongest or most cohesive efforts. Although its thematic unity is never in doubt, and its central narrative is easy enough to follow, it ultimately amounts to a series of strange and memorable moments which punctuate his loose reworking of a road movie. While episodic and baggy, it contains moments of Lynch at his absolute best, and even at its worst is nothing short of unforgettable.Just as Lynch saw Eraserhead as his version of The Philadelphia Story, so Wild at Heart could be described as his take on The Wizard of Oz. Lynch has acknowledged its influence throughout his career, and his most recent works, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire, have incorporated visual or narrative references to it throughout. But whereas these films are Lynch works with little nods to Oz thrown in, this is a full-on marriage of the two, as Lynch takes all the touchstones of L. Frank Baum's story, adds plenty of violence, cranks up the creepiness (if that were possible), and makes the central relationship more emotionally raw and raunchy.The parallels between the two works are candid from the outset. Lula is Dorothy, thrust into a strange world that is "wild at heart and weird on top", and sustained only by Sailor's companionship and the promise of returning to something she can recognise. Sailor in this interpretation is an amalgam of Dorothy's companions: he may not be much of a coward, but he certainly lacks brains, and his capacity for love doesn't extend much beyond devotion. Alternatively, these two represent different aspects of Dorothy, contrasting Sailor's self-confidence with Lula's sensitivity.The Oz references extend far beyond the permutations of the central characters. Diane Ladd makes a convincing Wicked Witch of the West, following Lula's/ Dorothy's every move, cursing the fact that the couple are still together and getting further towards their goal in spite of all her schemes. The long road to California doubles for the yellow brick road, and the car crash featuring Twin Peaks star Sherilyn Fenn could be a nod to the poppy fields, which disorientate and threaten to destroy the heroes. Fenn later turns up as a literal manifestation of the Good Witch Glinda, reflecting that the couple's perseverance and desire to help her were both the right choices to make.Lynch described the central theme of Wild at Heart as "finding love in Hell". He creates a dark and violent world all around the characters - a world populated by car crashes, robberies, betrayal, infidelity, sex, violence and various undignified ways of dying. With all the supporting characters having at least one foot rooted in the grotesque, Sailor and Lula become our natural focus, as people with at least part of their sanity intact who desire more than anything else to escape, by whatever means.This atmosphere of aggression and theme of feeling trapped is reinforced by Lynch's choice of music. Working with Angelo Badalamenti, who has scored all his work since Blue Velvet, Lynch blends the laid-back 1950s sound of Chris Isaac's brilliant 'Wicked Game' to some very aggressive speed metal, the latter of which foreshadows his work with Marilyn Manson on Lost Highway. It's an oddly effective blend, depicting the violence and possible redemption which confront the characters.Music plays a key role in demonstrating the mental conflict of the central characters. In one great scene, Lula tunes through all the radio stations in the car, hearing nothing but bad news. She slams on the brakes, gets out of the car, and starts screaming that she'll go mad unless she hears music. Sailor finds some hard rock, starts screaming too, and they share an impromptu mosh in the middle of the desert. There are big nods to the Elvis back catalogue, with Sailor serenading Lula with 'Love Me' in the club, and finally cementing his love with 'Love Me Tender' during the closing credits.Although these scenes in and of themselves are well-assembled and great fun, they do hint at the big central problem with Wild at Heart. There are so many of these strange little bits floating around the central story that they never quite integrate into a seamless, disorientating whole. Lynch's symbolic imagery and manipulation of colour don't gel quite so naturally with the story and characters as such techniques did in Blue Velvet or Mulholland Drive.The Blue Velvet comparison is the more illuminating, particularly with regard to the amount of time the ideas of the film had to gestate. Lynch had the story and themes for Blue Velvet all worked out in his head before Dune, so that even when he was forced to shoot quickly due to lack of money, he knew how to shoot the robins speech, or the zoom down to the cockroaches, in a way which was seamlessly integral to the story and its themes.Wild at Heart, on the other hand, was rushed into production following the collapse of Dino DeLaurentiis' production company, which delayed progress on both Twin Peaks and Lynch's pet project, Ronnie Rocket. He was given Barry Gifford's novel by friend Monty Montgomery with a view to producing it, and only had two months between buying the rights and beginning to shoot. It is no surprise therefore that the script of Wild at Heart doesn't entirely click; it is, in Lynch's words, "a compilation of ideas."This disjoined feel has the side effect of taking us out of the story during many of the weirder moments. During Jack Nance's cameo, doubling for Toto in yet another Oz reference, you find yourself staring as much in puzzlement as in mesmerism. Some of Badalamenti's musical cues feel oddly overcooked, such as the huge dramatic chord when Sailor pulls up at Perdita's house. The final scene, where Sailor and Lula reaffirm their love, lacks the beauty and irony of Blue Velvet's ending, which manages to be both uplifting and watchful.Despite some self-imposed cuts on Lynch's part, there are many scenes in Wild at Heart which remain problematic. The violence is par for the course for an 18 certificate, even the sight of Willem Dafoe's character losing his head with a double-barrelled shotgun. But the sexual advances of Dafoe's character are deeply disturbing for all the wrong reasons, and the recurring image of Lula's rape doesn't add to the central theme beyond turning our stomachs (as rape should).Ultimately, however, the performances in Wild at Heart are enough to see things through. Nicolas Cage is on startling form, showing that he thrives when given a director who understands melodrama and exaggerated characters. He may be massively over-the-top, but it makes sense, and his Elvis impersonation is great. Laura Dern's unusual beauty fits the Southern belle look of her character, and we believe in her emotional turmoil throughout. And amongst the hysterical supporting case, including Dern's real-life mother Diane Ladd, the stand-out is Harry Dean Stanton, who stands calm in the eye of the storm, looking as bemused as the rest of us.Wild at Heart is not Lynch's finest work by any stretch of the imagination. It has structural deficiencies which were not sorted out in the editing room, and the lurches in tone may prove too much for the casual viewer. But in the moments when it does work - and there are plenty - it is an often joyous reminder of Lynch's power as a filmmaker, telling stories in ways which are frighteningly unique. While no masterpiece, nor an ideal starting point, it is often majestic and always memorable.

Rating:
Verdict: Wonderful moments with weirdness to spare

The Others (Spain/ France/ Italy/ USA, 2001)
Directed by Alejandro Amenabar
Starring Nicole Kidman, Alakina Mann, James Bentley, Fionnula Flanagan

In my review of The Secret Garden, I said that many films which are held up as British classics are the result of a collaboration between British and international talent - in this case, a Polish director adapting a British book from an American screenplay. It is fitting therefore that the tradition of old-fashioned English and American ghost stories should be most fittingly upheld by an international director, which brings us, (super)naturally, to The Others.At its most basic level, The Others is a stylish and evocative throwback to the classic Victorian ghost stories, which in turn formed the basis for 1960s horror classics like The Haunting and The Innocents. Like the latter of these films, The Others has its roots in Henry James' renowned novella The Turn of the Screw: both revolve around children whom, it is suggested, can interact with a world beyond our own. There are also hints of The Shining in the use of panning shots throughout the house, and in several of the music cues. Alejandro Amenabar borrows from Wendy Carlos in his use of deliberate anti-climaxes following by deep terror.The Others takes place on the Channel Island of Jersey just after the Second World War. The setting is interesting due to the cultural differences between the Islands and mainland Britain, and the fact that they were occupied by the Germans (although Nicole Kidman is keen to point out that none of them made it to the house). Amenabar exploits these differences to quickly create an unsettling, 'other-worldly' feel: we recognise all the hallmarks of 1940s fashion and architecture, but they are so precisely and readily positioned that something doesn't seem right.The film evokes the immediate post-war period very effectively. Although the majority of shooting was done in Spain, the house feels British in every detail. The ornate and elegance furniture, the empty, echoing halls, the pale but elaborate costumes - it is almost too perfect in its recreation of wartime Britain. The film has a very pale visual palette to underscore the age of the characters' environment and the sense of personal and national exhaustion. Javier Aguirresarobe, who later shot The Road, contrasts light and dark to such an extent that it almost feels like sepia, hinting at the chilling revelations lurking in the old photographs.Because of its affection for classic cinematic ghost stories, The Others does contain a fair number of familiar elements. The elderly housekeeper may be much nicer than Mrs. Danvers, but she still has ulterior motives and secrets to hide. In a further reference to Rebecca (which itself borrowed heavily from Jane Eyre), one of the key plot twists concerns the contents or inhabitants of an attic. The use of fog as a meeting point between this world and the next borrows not only from John Carpenter's The Fog but from gothic horror: Susan Hill's The Woman in Black is set in a house cut off by marshland, and the title character first appears after the fog comes in.With so many familiar elements in play, there comes a point where the film has to make its own mark on the genre. It takes a while for it to do so, but it eventually achieves this through both technical proficiency and the substance of its storyline. On a technical level, The Others is very creepy. Amenabar uses the pale cinematography and period dressing to play up all the creaks and shadows (and there are a lot of shadows), and he achieves two really big jumps: one with the door closing on Nicole Kidman's face, the other involving the old woman and the cupboard where the children are hiding.Like all great ghost stories, The Others makes you question whether or not you saw something, and what that something might have been. It shares with The Haunting and The Innocents the device of a central female protagonist who, in one interpretation, has gone completely round the twist. The film establishes Grace as the audience's guide, using her strict values and sense of conviction to unnerve us. During the opening act, her character is set up as someone completely orderly and in control, in contrast to Nell in The Haunting, who was always a little on edge. Hence when the strange noises start to occur, we experience either the act of someone going mad or Grace's genuine shock at seeing her values so deeply questioned.Whereas The Haunting explored possible scientific explanations for the strange goings-on in a dark house, The Others is primarily concerned with the role that religion plays in dealing with or understanding the world beyond this. Grace remarks early in the film that she "doesn't like fantasies": she is a staunch Catholic who takes literally both the teachings of the Bible and, even more so, the Church's views on purgatory. The film's view of religion is mixed - faith in the afterlife is rewarded, while the dogma to which Grace clings turns out not to be enough.When Grace's religious outlook interacts with those of her children, The Others drifts closer to the work of Guillermo del Toro, who directed his own ghost story in The Devil's Backbone and would later produce The Orphanage. An underlying theme of del Toro's work is that of children being able to connect with another world, with some underlying force which adults have chosen to ignore or dismiss outright. When Grace's children say that they don't believe all that they have been taught about God and the afterlife, it's not simply a reflection of a lack of faith. It is a sign that they see the truth, the horrifying magic which Grace denies or avoids; as Roald Dahl wrote in The Minpins, "those who don't believe in magic will never find it".The Others is very smart in tricking us over where the boundaries between the living and the dead lie. In light of its final twist, the reunion between Grace and her husband (Christopher Eccleston) gains an added layer of poignancy; the joy and subsequent strain of reunion becomes overladen with grief and despair. Like The Shining, the film suggests that portions of individuals' souls are imparted into a location or building which has significance in their life, and that after death their spirit returns, as if one's life were recurring in eternity with all by way of meaning plain to see.The Others is also boosted by its great performances. It finds Nicole Kidman in her prime, following up her excellent work in Moulin Rouge! the same year. She has often been criticised for being brittle, but here it is entirely appropriate that she be highly strung: her character is very close to Deborah Kerr's in The Innocents, and she delivers a performance which is almost on a par with that. There are also great performances by the two child actors: Alakina Mann is terrific as the impetuous Anne, and is matched beautifully by James Bentley, who later played Geoffrey Rush's son in The Life and Death of Peter Sellers.There are a couple of flaws with The Others. Although its ideas are interesting and thoroughly explored, it remains just a little too generic: it doesn't develop or advance the genre in the way that del Toro's efforts have done. It is a little too long, being very slow at the beginning and predictable towards the end. And in the scenes involving the medium, it treads a fine line between creepiness and Blithe Spirit, with the deadpan delivery of the medium's observers threatening to tip us over that line.The Others is a stylish and creepy retuning of a classic ghost story. In spite of its flaws it still delivers a satisfying amount of substance and shivers, which have not decreased in the decade since its twist was first revealed. Kidman and her child co-stars are on scintillating form, matched by solid support work from Eccleston and a 78-year-old Eric Sykes. Though it has since been eclipsed by The Orphanage, it still has the power to chill.

Rating:
Verdict: Chilling if a tad generic

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