REVIEW [Movies]: “Outland”

5 07 2010

On Jupiter's moon he's the only law.

So. I’ve not watched “High Noon,” the film to which “Outland” (1983) is partially indebted. I was, however, moderately familiar with “High Noon”‘s premise: a sheriff reluctantly (and without the support of the townspeople) confronts a quartet of villains. “High Noon” was filmed in real-time, a relative novelty for 1952. In that case it worked because the film’s central plot concerned Sheriff Kane (Gary Cooper) awaiting the train that would deliver the villains. “Outland” employs no such technique, but it does sufficiently transplant “High Noon”‘s theme of greed and graft and the sometimes solitary pursuit of justice.

Sean Connery plays O’Niel, a federal marshal assigned to a mining facility on the Jovian moon Io. After a series of gruesome miner deaths, he discovers a corporate conspiracy: many miners have been consuming an illicit drug that increases productivity but induces psychosis as well. Evidence seems to point to operations manager Sheppard (Peter Boyle) who attempts to bribe O’Niel when confronted with accusation of supplying the drug. O’Niel places Sheppard under surveillance and later overhears of the impending arrival of goons hired to kill O’Niel.

I’m not aware of what motivated the reluctance of the townspeople in “High Noon,” but in “Outland,” the miners seem to have been enticed (off-screen) with something resembling revenue sharing. Any criminal prosecution of the facility’s administrators would certainly inhibit profitability, but I didn’t understand how these average miners would not assist O’Niel. Their co-workers were dying, indeed, killed by a corporation seemingly unconcerned with their well-being. Granted, mining is a dangerous job; space mining particularly so. I can’t think of another movie about mining where something didn’t go wrong.

tangent: Even “October Sky,” which was as much about mining as it was about space, included a disaster.

I thought that these miners would realize the insidious lengths to which their employers would chase a profit and revolt against them, but much of “Outland”‘s drama stems from this ideological difference, and the movie spends its first two-thirds with O’Niel conducting sci-fi detective work (read: doing stuff with computers).

tangent: I couldn’t reconcile how O’Niel (a Scotsman) and his wife (a Briton) produced a son who spoke with an American accent. Evidently, the film’s producers dubbed one over during post-production (think: Aunt Beru in “Star Wars”).

For a movie that’s almost thirty years old, the intensity of its action sequences hold up, although getting there’s a drag. Pacing could have been more consistent. O’Niel’s investigation advances in a perfunctory way and with the usual story beats, but as soon as he discovers that a hit-squad’s been sicced upon him, he (and the audience) simply wait for them to arrive. It’s during this (down)time that O’Niel unnecessarily ties up some loose narrative threads: he captures (or kills) two of Sheppard’s collaborators.

Although “Outland” could be dismissed as possessing a procedural plot, it’s not without merit; its production design is quite impressive. It possesses that singularly important quality of any decent sci-fi flick: its world appears lived-in. Sure, O’Niel matches wits with an assassin in a greenhouse the size of fifteen football fields, but the greenhouse looks like it could actually work.

tangent: Production Designer Philip Harrison and Connery would work together again on the set on “Never Say Never Again,” considered the only “unofficial” James Bond movie as it was produced by Warner Bros. and not EON Productions.

“Outland” is available on DVD and Netflix (streaming video).


REVIEW [Books]: Bow Down to Nul

10 04 2010

It seems that fifty years ago the only recommendation an author needed for his latest work was his own. Indeed, on the cover to Bow Down to Nul is emblazoned the following: “Galactic empires have always intrigued me . . . .” Author Brian W. Aldiss, Englishman, “had the chance of seeing at first hand, the uneasy relationship existing between ‘imperialists’ and subject races in India and Indonesia,” as he notes in the coda. This might seem to inform his work, add depth to what appears (judging by its cover) vacuous genre fiction. Rather, it sets reader expectations too high (“Here’s a work from someone who knows!”) and the text struggles to escape its claim to contextual authority. In other words, its boring.

Earth is “a Class 5c World in System 5417 of Galactic Administration Sector Vermillion,” and its facilitators, corrupt, remain unwilling (even after nearly 2000 years of subjugating our planet) to recognize the various “Earthian” languages; they understand them as dialects. But this isn’t the most egregious form of planetary mismanagement.

The novel’s inciting incident is a letter drafted by Nul whistle-blower Wattol Forlie, recently sacked from his administrative position (“Third Secretary to High Hiscount Chaverlem Par-Chavorlem, Galactic Commissioner”). The letter is received by Signatory Armajo Synvoret, who decides to investigate Forlie’s formal (previously drunken; see: prologue) charges. What Synvoret finds is a planetary population sublimated to Nullian bureaucracy. At this point in my reading, I paused to consider Aldiss’s credentials. If the author had first-hand knowledge of and experience with British imperialism in its final stages, then perhaps this book (albeit metaphorically) might reveal what led to its demise. Rather, Aldiss spends much time with establishing the forms of administrative corruption on Earth and the lengths to which the current administration is willing to cover its tracks.

In an early chapter, the administration on Earth decides to move the entire planetary capitol (and its human occupants). Apparently, Earth’s capitol exceeded Nullian parameters regarding size; think of the fire marshall’s rules regarding maximum occupancy. In the end, the humans win (as we always do) and the spirit of freedom remains vibrant, if constrained, by the rules of committee.

REVIEW [Books]: Plague From Space

29 07 2009

Why is it always influenza?

Why is it always influenza?

Genre fiction doesn’t age well (unless it’s The Scarlet Letter). As our civilization progresses (improves?), so too do our expressions (and concepts) of popular culture. Take, for instance, Lady Gaga, “the most insistent in a wave of pop artists actively questioning the value of an old and often-debated artistic standard: authenticity” (Los Angeles Times, 12 July 2009). Only a few years ago, Gaga’s antics would have been quickly dismissed as fringe art, existing as they do at the crossroads of music, fashion, and celebrity. Synergy is apparently no longer a dirty word; indeed, it’s the lifeblood of emerging stars. “Selling out” has become an accepted, ubiquitous piece of the pop culture phenomenon.

What does this rant have to do with Plague From Space, a “high-tension science-fiction thriller” first published over forty years ago? Absolutely nothing. But I wanted to demonstrate that tastes change, sometimes dramatically.

So too do the narrative styles and methods by which authors convey tension. Like many of his literary contemporaries, Harry Harrison maintained a consistency with the vanguard of scientific development. Despite an excited interpretation of contemporary science, much of Harrison’s story rings true, believable, and accurate.

Deadly cargo!

Deadly cargo!

Plague From Space (alternatively titled Jupiter Plague) is the story of Dr. Sam Bertolli, an intern at Bellevue Hospital in New York City, among the first to discover the titular plague. It arrives, logically, carried aboard an interstellar vessel that crash lands after a mission to Jupiter. Its first victim, Commander Rand, scratches a cryptic message before succumbing: “sick … in … ship.”

What follows is an unevenly tense narrative, one that sometimes gets trapped explaining its character’s actions and feelings through lengthy monologue. Consider, for instance, Dr. Bertolli’s exchange with Nita Mendel (a forced love interest who disappears for nearly one hundred pages soon after this scene):

BERTOLLI — “If you only knew how I loathe starry-eyed and out of focus TV love scenes of young things wallowing in the treacly embrace of love at first sight. I think they have demeaned something uncountably precious by using it for common coinage. I want to be able to say that I love you, Nita, and have you understand it is something vitally different and important.”

NITA — “But I love you too, so I know exactly how you feel. I suppose it is terrible to say, but I’m almost grateful for Rand’s disease and what has happened. Women are selfish, darling. I have the feeling that without the pressure you would just have gone on being one of those silent, busy men, who use their lives up on important things and never have a moment to consider the frivolous unimportance of women.”

TRANSLATION — Rather than adhere to social conventions regarding relationships, Bertolli has acted upon his feelings (thus disregarding masculine impulses as well) and fallen in love; and, for her part, Nita understands the inherent difficulty in his doing so. Romantic, eh?

Plague From Space is littered with such passages meant to (re)establish patriarchy and, because the story is set in the future, misgivings about global governance. Written as it was during the 1960s, one cannot help but read into the narrative and conjure up Cold War America. When it seems a cure is untenable, the U. N. Emergency Council proposes atomizing the spaceship and its surrounding area (roughly 100 miles).

One of Bertolli’s contemporaries voices his (and possibly Harrison’s) frustration:

“I hadn’t realized that the old philosophy of a bomb-waving solution for international problems was still lurking in dark, spider-filled corners of the political mind. Cretins! … They’re operating out of fear–if you can’t run away from the unknown, why just blow it up!”

Harrison’s pacing is, as stated above, uneven. Much of the story is comprised of extended descriptive monologues in which Important People discuss Important Things. When Bertolli, along with a mixed militia of scientists and servicemen, boards Pericles searching for a cure, they make contact with an alien entity, and, despite previously stated misgivings with the efficacy of coerced cooperation, Bertolli strongarms the Jovian into producing a cure.

Author Harry Harrison (1925- )

Author Harry Harrison (1925- )

Harrison uses flashback to reveal the first contact between Earthling and Jovian. If written today, Plague From Space would have interspersed this relationship within the narrative, developing tension along parallel plots. Because Harrison does not employ this technique (and why would he, writing — as he did — over forty years ago), the story lumbers along, and I found myself desperately wishing to be finished with the book (a dreadful admission for an admitted bibliophile).

In the end, Plague From Space is resolved with mysterious circumstances and forces a reader’s continued consideration (think The Twilight Zone). I could have done without constant explanation (my willing suspension of disbelief has previously permitted my acceptance of The Force), and uneven pacing, but (as a fragment of a previous generation’s chosen method of entertainment) the book possesses value.