Our ongoing series reviewing the greatest Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror movies. Note that these reviews may contain spoilers.

Directed by: Kurt Maetzig
Written by: Stanislaw Lem (novel), Kurt Maetzig, Jan Fethke (screenplay)
Starring: Yoko Tani, Oldrich Lukes, Ignacy Machowski, Julius Ongewe
Original Release: 1960
AKA: First Spaceship on Venus

Reviewed by: James Marshall

Rating: 4 out of 5 Stars

Synopsis: An extraterrestrial artifact is discovered in the year 1970 (ten years ahead for this movie) containing a partially decipherable message from a crashed Venus spaceship (the so-called morning star). Radio contact with Venus is attempted but as the planet remains silent an intrepid crew of eight is assembled and they rocket off to learn more of that otherworld place and its people. On board the crew learns the alien message contains plans of an imminent attack on Earth from our apparently not-so-friendly neighbor. Despite not being able to contact Earth, the crew decides to continue their journey in hopes they can somehow make peace. They’re in for a big surprise.

Review/Commentary: Did science fiction film exist behind the Iron Curtain? With the opening title sequence of The Silent Star running over pitted, blue-tinted concrete one might wonder whether Khrushchev’s regime was responsible for completely stifling the Soviet sci-fi film genre. But once past the title credits this movie manages both to delight and intrigue its audience with rather impressive visuals for its day, as well as offer some surprisingly interesting plot points to carry its story forward.

Adapted from Stanislaw Lem’s novel, The Astronauts, the film seems to draw from its literary source in supporting some of its propositions with the speculative science of its time. Far from the utterly non-scientific contemporary Hollywood monster movies (Giant Gila Monster, 1959) and ultra-heroic adventures (Atomic Submarine, 1959), The Silent Star offers a plausible discovery of the existence of extraterrestrial life on one of our neighboring planets.

Why Venus? In the 1950’s and early 1960’s there was as much evidence to suggest possible life on Venus as there was for there to be life on Mars. Where the West went down the wrong path on flights to and invasions from Mars (Rocketship X-M, 1950, War of the Worlds, 1953), the great Russian bear had its eyes on cloud-covered Venus (Russian science led the exploration of Venus landing Venera probes in the 1960s, and even photographed its lead-boiling oven temperature surface back then).

The Silent Star was originally screened in brilliant Agfacolor on 70mm Totalvision (a competing widescreen format to Kodak and Cinemascope); that we have a quality reproduction of a science fiction motion picture from the Soviets that’s nearly fifty years old is amazing by itself. But considering the world events happening in its day, the plot of joining nations, through representative astronauts (before the word “cosmonaut”), to travel through space and mitigate an offworld threat definitely seems to be a story ahead of its time.

Six years later, in 1966, Star Trek launched its series with an ethnically and sexually mixed bridge crew of the starship Enterprise that then was considered as groundbreaking as it was risky. But here, in The Silent Star, a full half-dozen years before Star Trek, the crew of the Cosmoskrator I (a truly beautiful designed movie spaceship) consisted of a Russian mathematician, German pilot, American physicist, Japanese doctor (a woman, no less), Chinese biologist/linguist, African communications technician, Indian mathematician, and a Polish engineer.

When asked, “Why not just a team of Soviet scientists? It’s their rocket!” Arsenyev, the Soviet Russian mission leader answered, “Landing on Venus cannot concern only one nation. We are not only internationalists in politics. In a peaceful world we don’t keep our successes to ourselves. Take Luna 3 for example, the socialist lunar station. We don’t use it as a military base. Engineers and physicists from all nations work there.”

A plug for Soviet communism? A subliminal cover of the Soviet’s true intentions in the space race? In the real world of the 50s and 60s it’s clear the Americans were publicly open about their successes and failures, whereas the Soviets kept their space programs highly secret – news of Yuri Gagarin’s orbital flight wasn’t released to the world until after its actual launch on April 12, 1961. But politics aside, the movie is fascinating for its depiction of Venus, truly an attempt to convey a mysterious place filled with unknown and otherworld technologies. We don’t see the clunky climbing up and down of ladders, and constant slogging across the surface, our futuristic explorers have their own self-contained truck, rocket and “elasticopter” for jaunts across the terrain.

The plot stretches science a bit with its energy speculations, but that’s what sci-fi is supposed to do. And at its core, it delivers a commentary on the misuse of atomic weaponry, containing numerous references of Hiroshima with both the Japanese and American crew members having their own direct experiences linked to that event.

Though much can be accepted, given a wide margin for a film of its time, there are a few facets that might strain one’s suspension of disbelief. To be sure, the events and pacing all flow in a rather contrived manner with the continuity at times becomes rather stilted, and the build up of tension is often predictable.  The acting is better than the directing, for the most part. Perhaps the censored writing is what limited the directing to show only what was allowed by the bureau. Imagine an environment where the writers and directors are already micromanaged by the studio heads who are beholden to the political powers above them.

History shows the crew to be a little extreme. NASA sent astronauts to the moon; they didn’t send engineers and scientists along with them. On a much longer interplanetary trip to Venus (or Mars) maybe the crew would be larger. Even so, there was no hint of training for the crew, and the Cosmoskrator I carried a massive computer along with them as well as a heavy operating table and a few vehicles to boot. Weight (mass) obviously wasn’t a problem for its power plant unlike earlier rocketship movies, (The Woman in the Moon, 1929 Destination Moon, 1950, When Worlds Collide, 1951), where weight was everything and part of the plot.

One humorous challenge they face is the possibility of meteors changing course and crashing into them – what? How is it possible for a meteor to change course without some force to act on it?

But the film does have a prediction of a tracked robot down pretty well. Omega looks somewhat like the US Army’s PakBot first used in Afghanistan in 2002. He’s a bit more advanced than a simple bomb-sniffer, though. Having the ability to forecast the weather and play chess at a master’s level to rival Deep Thought.

In all, for the chance to peer behind the old Iron Curtain nearly fifty years later and watch an East German/Polish sci-fi movie at their highest production capability makes for great entertainment for nostalgic sci-fi film buffs. Don’t compare the original version to its cut and dubbed First Spaceship on Venus release – they’re not the same.

The format is NTSC DVD (region 1), German with English subtitles.

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Directed by: Fred M. Wilcox
Produced by: Nicholas Nayfack
Written by: Cyril Hume (Screenplay), Irving Block and Allen Adler (Story)
Starring: Walter Pidgeon, Leslie Nielsen, Anne Francis
Original Release: 1956

Reviewed by: James Marshall

Rating: 4 ½ out of 5 Stars

Synopsis: Space cruiser C-47D and crew jumps down from lightspeed near the planet Altair IV, lightyears from Earth, to re-establish contact with the Bellerophon, a ship of colonists that disappeared some 20 years ago. From the surface, Dr. Morbius (Walter Pidgeon) warns them to stay away, yet Captain J. J. Adams (Leslie Nielsen) lands anyway. They are met by Robbie the Robot who invites them to Morbius’ home and upon meeting Morbius, Adams, along with “Doc” Ostrow (Warren Stevens) and Lt. Farmer (Jack Kelly), learn the fate of the Bellerophon crew – all were killed, not long after they began colonization, ripped apart by some type of supernatutural force, sparing only Morbius and his wife who later died of natural causes. Then Altaira appears, Morbius’ beautiful daughter, imediately grabbing the attention of all the space-weary officers, her bold curiosity and niavete making for potent attraction.

The night goes bad once they return to their ship, and their initial efforts to make an interstellar two-way radio are dashed as an invisible monster invades, destroying the key transmitting device and killing a crew member. Adams and Doc Ostrow return to Morbius to seek answers. Not only does Morbius reveal the great secret of the Krel, an alien race that inhabited the planet eons ago, by showing them a Krel learning center and their huge power generation plant still operating below ground, but romance blooms between Adams and Altaira.

Despite a cordon of defenses, the ship is again attacked and several crew members are killed. Adams determines he must get Altaira and Morbius off the planet to safety and back at Morbius’ home Doc Ostrow discovers the great Krel machine manifests Morbius’ nightmares into reality. Doc Ostow dies for his revelation and Morbius finally becomes aware that his subconscious is the murderer responsible for the deaths of colonists and crew. In his dying breath Morbius has Adams throw the switch that self-destructs the Krel machine and the planet, leaving Altaira with Adams who captains the star cruiser and surviving crew back home to Earth.

Review/Comments: In the hysterical days of the early cold war, Forbidden Planet took a different tack than the angst-ridden alien invasion and bug-eyed monster movies concealing our fears of our Russian foes and atomic holocaust. Phobic hits like Godzilla (released in Japan in 1954) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers (released in 1956), are counterpoints to Forbidden Planet which stands apart as the best science fiction film of the 1950’s.

MGM truly ventured into alien territory with this film; it was radical to break from its more typical biblical and musical fare such as Quo Vadis in 1951 and Singing in the Rain in 1952.  Still, Forbidden Planet has its roots in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Dr. Morbius and his nubile daughter Altaira are patterned after the bard’s Prospero and Miranda. Prospero is marooned on an island searching the deepest powers of magic while Morbius is cloistered on a planet delving into the magnificent science of the Krel, an extinct alien race. Likewise, the plot of visiting men to Morbius’ planet who, shall we say, are interested in the pretty Altaira, has a naive 50’s touch of bawdy old English theatre. Yet, unlike Prospero, Morbius is not consciously focused on revenge, but subconsciously, and from that Forbidden Planet branches far afield from the bard’s tale.

So much about this film is notable and pioneering for early Science Fiction cinema. MGM’s grand launch into sci fi was the first time humans traveled the stars in a flying saucer, rather than a rocket ship – taking the traditional paradigm of aliens in flying saucers and turning it on its head. Forbidden Planet took us beyond our own solar system to another star, Altair, a reaching idea in the mid-1950s when fiction often had our ultimate destinations as the Moon or Mars.  Robot stories in written fiction were popular in the 1940s, and it was in 1942 that Issac Asimov introduced his 3 laws of robotics, hardwired laws to ensure that our anthropoidal machines could not harm us. Robby the Robot exists with Asimov’s 3 laws, and although his bulbous design is dated, Robby garnered his own following as a character.  The trio of three space-navy officers plying the black vacuum and visiting alien worlds (and attractive women) didn’t escape Gene Roddenberry’s creative inspiration, either. It isn’t a giant leap from Forbidden Planet’s “United Planets” to Star Trek’s “United Federation of Planets,” or to see the strange colored backdrops for staged other worlds, and guess which kernel of future vision Star Trek sprang from.  And we can’t leave out the hauntingly weird, and utterly effective “electronic tonalities” produced by husband and wife team Louis and Bebe Barron. Though at the cutting edge of synthesized music, not being in the Musician’s Union precluded them from using the word “music” in their credits and thus disallowed them from any sort of Oscar recognition in music or special effects.

Even so, the timeless genius of this film is that the Krel are never seen, only their architecture and literature remains, while they are described by Morbius as a million years ahead of humanity in technology. They disappeared attempting to achieve the next evolutionary step; using vast atomic power in support of non-physical machinery, they needed only their minds to control the physical world, yet in one solitary nightmarish night the monsters of their subconscious destroyed their entire species. We catch only a glimpse of this horror in the assaults of Mobius’s destructive mental monster while the rest is left to imagination.

The machinery in the basement, a 20 mile cube of it, was supposed to represent the high achievements of the missing Krel (shown in a way not unlike Captain Nemo showing Professor Aronnax the power plant of the Nautilus in Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in 1954), yet Forbidden Planet is as much a story of hubris as it is of achievement. A dichotomy is played out for us, humanity can travel the stars, whereas the Krel achieved interstellar exploration long ago, bringing back creatures from Earth as proof. Yet while the Krel achieved their epitome of civilization, they destroyed themselves. Are we really so much wiser than the Krel or they than us? Morbius wished to control the distribution of the Krel’s knowledge to humanity, yet, in the end, he too was destroyed by it, by one of his own “Monsters from the Id,” as Doc Ostrow put it.

How deep can we take this? Sigmund Freud’s concept of the Id is the chaotic, seething and unrestrained impulse of instinctual desires –the very idea of having such a wicked force as the unbridled subconscious unleashed to wreck havoc as invisible monsters is pure brilliance, and still makes great science fiction over fifty years after its release. It is a concept that looks inside of us as it looks out to our future.

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Directed by: John Milius
Produced by: Dino de Laurentis
Written by: Robert E. Howard (creator), John Milius (screenplay)
Starring: Arnold Schwarzenegger, James Earl Jones, Sandahl Bergman, Mako
Original Release: 1982

Reviewed by: James Marshall

Rating: 4 ½ out of 5 Stars

Synopsis: Conan sits rapt as his father tells him the riddle of steel, that although no one’s word can be trusted, steel you can trust. Life and death is Conan’s boyhood world, and this proves true when raiders come and wipe out his entire village. His father is killed and Conan is left to watch his mother beheaded by Thulsa Doom (James Earl Jones), the raiders’ charismatic warlord. Conan is lead away as a boy slave and chained to the Wheel of Pain. Years pass and he grows strong behind the giant milling machine, then he is taken to fight as a slave gladiator. His victories grow numerous until, for untold reasons, his master sets him free. Beset by wolves he discovers a sword and encounters an evil witch who tells him where he may find the cult of Set, snake worshippers linked to the raiders who killed his parents. He meets Subotai (Gerry Lopez), an archer and thief, and together, after meeting Valeria (Sandahl Bergman), another thief, they infiltrate a tower of Set and steal what they can. Their audacious caper gives them wealth and the attention of King Osric (Max von Sydow), the city’s ruler, whose daughter has gone with Thulsa Doom to his far off mountain fortress. Though romantically engaged with Valeria the vengeful Conan sets off alone to the fortress and is captured while attempting its infiltration. He is beaten by Thulsa’s two bodyguard generals, then admonished by Thulsa himself and crucified on a lone tree out in the desert. Subotai finds him and with the help of a wizard Valeria heals him. Soon the three thieves return for the King’s daughter. Inside the mountain fortress they take the princess and fight a fearsome battle, devastating the sanctity of Thulsa’s inner temple. While the thieves flee with the princess on horseback Thulsa lets fly a snake-arrow which pierces Valeria who soon dies in Conan’s arms. Another great battle takes place in the open with Conan triumphant, and he again returns to the mountain, ends Thulsa’s life, and destroys the fortress with fire, thus ending the snake cult.

Review/Comments: “That which does not kill us makes us stronger,” Friedrich Nietzsche’s own words open the film, accented by the pouring of molten metal, the casting and hammering of a steel blade, the forging of a sword. Schwarzenegger linked these together when he said that’s how Milius develops his characters – he casts them and then pounds them into shape. The analogy fits, Conan is a remarkable movie of character development and equally accomplished with its storytelling and directing.

Far from pushing phantasmagorical wizardry, Conan is not only subtle, it’s deep. The riddle of steel is a fable a man in Conan’s world could truly live by. Yes, there is the extreme; we witness magic in numerous forms, from the demonic spirit of the witch whistling through the air as a fireball, to Thulsa Doom’s morphing into a giant anaconda. But much of Conan is grounded in reality, and the leap of faith one must take to believe the magic is just close enough to reality to remain utterly captivating.

The cinematography is tried and true, far from outlandish or even unusually creative. Through mostly standard shots, Milius’s tells a bold, heroic tale that touches our sensitivities while displaying a stark brutality. There’s a historical foundation to Conan’s imaginary world, and Milius worked hard on proving it to the audience. The symbology of snakes, the talk of elemental gods, even the realistic attire lend to a well-developed, believable world. Every item fits the time and the place, despite all of it being make-believe. Steel, as discovered in the archeological record, has only been around for some 4,000 years, yet Milius would have us believe Conan’s world was alive 10,000 years before recorded history. It doesn’t really matter, since watching Conan is far more fun than history.

When it was released the critics who panned Conan as a run-of-the-mill sword & sandal flick completely misjudged the film. Conan has nothing to do with the ancient Greeks or Romans, and its theme and intensity is more closely akin to Apocalypse Now, about a rogue officer turned cult king, than say Harryhausen’s stop motion foray into Greek mythology  The Clash of the Titans. It stands on top in the sword & sorcery genre too, compared to its contemporaries like The Beastmaster, an entertaining though far less involved film, or The Sword and the Sorcerer, which goes very well with popcorn and soda pop.

Conan stands above the rest not only in its visuals and storytelling but also in its music. Basil Poledouris crafted the movie score, and its classically orchestrated melodies fit Conan’s world as if the scenes were written for the music and not the other way around. Heart pounding timpani resonates with Conan’s heroism, brash brass expresses his strength, lilting violins and small cymbals speak of his tenderness, and the epic expanses are brought out in sweeping symphony. In all Poledouris has conjured an exceptional score.

So what is so deep about this movie? It starts with the riddle of steel and the underlying truth in its maxim, for what is more trustworthy in a cruel and ruthless world other than cold, unforgiving steel? We find the answer to this perplexing question in a most unexpected source. “Steel isn’t strong, boy, flesh is stronger,” are the words of Thulsa Doom. It is the power of one man’s will over others’, Thulsa’s power over the flesh, his utmost charisma that is siphoning malleable minds to his snake cult.

The words of Thulsa Doom speak to human nature, our desire for something greater than ourselves, and the willingness of those not strong in their own minds to blindly follow a brilliant charismatic. Is Thulsa brilliant? Absolutely – but nonetheless evil. The last encounter between Conan and Thulsa Doom is pure genius in how Thulsa nearly succeeds in manipulating Conan with his words – listen once more to what Doom says to Conan.

There is another unspoken side to this as well. It is the bond of loyalty and friendship that is the power of the flesh, for we see that proven time and again in Conan’s world. Steel is used as a tool between these greater forces where the bonds of friendship are pitted against the snake cult of charisma.

Is Conan deep? Think about it.

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Directed by: Lancing C. Holden, Irving Pichel
Produced by: Merian C. Cooper
Written by: H. Rider Haggard (novel), Ruth Rose (adaptation)
Starring: Helen Gahagan, Randolph Scott, Helen Mack, Nigel Bruce
Original Release: 1935

Reviewed by: James Marshall

Rating: 4 out of 5 Stars

Synopsis: It’s the mid 1930s, a dying scientist’s last wish is for his handsome nephew, Leo Vincey, along with his trusted assistant, Holly, to follow the trail of his ancient ancestor, John Vincey, who was lost in the arctic wilderness of Moskve (Russia) some five hundred years ago. The mystery of the quest is made even more convincing when Leo is seen to bear a striking resemblance to the painted portrait of the long departed John Vincey – he appears one and the same person. An heirloom parchment letter written by the late John Vincey’s wife and a small gold statuette are the only pieces of evidence passed down the generations of a flame which gives eternal life. The scientist’s dramatically timed death seals the deal, and the adventurous Leo and sidekick Holly find themselves in the frozen north to seek this mythical flame of immortality. Sheltering from the cold they meet Moore, an irascible fur trader, and Tanya, his young and beautiful ward. Moore hears their plan to cross the Schugel Barrier, a great wall of glacial ice, and believing gold is the goal blackmails Leo and Holly into becoming their partner. Tanya comes along, and in little time Moore is lost in a tremendous avalanche. Leo, Tanya and Holly are the sole survivors and they soon find themselves in a volcanic labyrinth of caves inhabited by cannibalistic natives. In a fight to not be the natives’ next meal, Leo is knocked unconscious, but as luck would have it all are saved by a high priest of an ancient civilization more advanced than the cannibals’ feral society. They are brought to Ayesha, She-who-must-be-Obeyed, the queen who has commanded for time immemorial the land of Kor, the volcanic oasis cut off from the rest of the world. Upon their presentation the queen allows Holly and Tanya to stay, then shrieks in recognition at the sight of Leo whose unconscious form is the last to be laid before her. Leo awakes to find She has kept the preserved the body of the late John Vincey, and wishes to rekindle the ancient love she had with Leo, thinking he is the reincarnation of John. She offers him immortality, to bathe in the eternal life-giving flame, for his devotion and co-rulership. Leo is tempted, but is then charmed by the lovely Tanya. He has further second thoughts as he learns that She is a ruthless tyrant, stopping at nothing to maintain her power. Leo is faced with a moral dilemma – immortality together with the domineering She, or a mortal life with the kind Tanya. In the end Leo saves Tanya from the certain death of being offered up as a ritual sacrifice, and while fleeing the three travelers witness the eternal flame as it reverses its powers on the immortal She, aging her millennia in but a few minutes and leaving her a lifeless husk.

Review/Comments: Much of the success of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and its many sequels, has been to capture the era of the 1930s when She was actually released. In reality, life back then was adventurous only for the few, the Great Depression had its grip across the world, and escape to the movies was one of limited distractions that lent hope to a mostly struggling audience. Despite its far flung adventure She was not an overwhelming success at its 1935 debut. Powerful period pieces like Mutiny on the Bounty took the top grossing spots, along with Shirley Temple features and comedic dance musicals. The matinee crowd, young and old, apparently got their adventure fix on the many low budget serials that played every Saturday. Yet to its credit, She was able to gain a financial foothold in later releases.

Merian C. Cooper, the man who gave the world King Kong two years earlier in 1933, was at the helm of She. Although She never did come close to King Kong in popularity it’s likely Cooper believed the film would be as great a success as his giant ape feature, and for that he created a lavishly spectacular movie after H. Rider Haggard’s top selling novel (who also penned King Solomon’s Mines). The qualities of She are even more fascinating when taking into account the period the film was released. Cooper broke new ground in telling Haggard’s lost world tale, putting high quality into the fundamental, and today formulaic, action and romance genre, and for this reason its rating is so high. Perhaps now in this twenty-first century, three quarters of a century after its release, the time has come for the film to find the audience it deserves.

Technicolor hit the screen in 1935, and although Cooper wanted a color film the budget didn’t allow for the expensive and experimental process. Instead, She was shot in black and white and its budget was put into vaulting sets, extravagant costumes and special effects. In 2006 Legend Films and Ray Harryhausen colorized She for its modern release by Kino, and that colorization adds to its grandeur – perhaps it’s what Cooper really wanted all along. While the original black and white matte paintings and special effects are astonishing (the dead man and beast in the ice excluded), in its new version shades of gray are transformed into shining gold and a multitude of pastels; suitable for the modern audience.

She is old Hollywood at its best, with towering designs in art deco, costumes of fantasy and cliffhanger action. When the three outsiders are brought to the immortal queen a huge hanging ring is struck like a gong to signal massive lever-worked doors to open. Many other of its sets are equally impressive. The garb of each player was meticulously designed to convey Kor’s mysterious culture, and in one scene Ayesha has a costume not unlike the Evil Queen of Disney’s Snow White which followed in 1937. Though much of it is dated, there are a few action scenes that can get even the modern heart pumping. With his pistol blazing, Leo saves Tanya and levers a flaming brazier of oil onto a stairwell and catches a black robed acolyte on fire. Then, daring a gaping underground crevasse, the three must leap onto a teeter totter rock, their pursuers falling in attempt to catch them – it’s all magnificent action. And when it comes to art, the final dramatic sacrificial ritual near the movie’s end shows off a dance routine suggestive of the bold and jutting movements of Stravinsky’s/Nijinski’s Rite of Spring (Joffrey Ballet painstakingly recreated the dance in 1990, and it has since seen performances by other companies); one wonders if it the pagan dance in She was born of direct or indirect inspiration.

H. Rider Haggard’s novel is one of the greatest selling books of all time, currently with over 80 million copies sold, so the question remains why Cooper would choose to change the book’s original setting in the heart of Africa into having the movie set in the northern reaches of Siberia? Maybe it was to distinguish the world of She as separate from the world of King Kong? Though not set in Africa, King Kong certainly has African elements – black natives, exotic creatures, and a giant gorilla. Though possibly unintended, placing She in the northern frontier was a safe way to assure the two epics didn’t match.

The casting is well done – the harder, more mature and sophisticated demeanor of She verses the youthful, innocent, sweet beneficence of Tanya. She is simply a love story, in the end Leo must choose between two opposed women who love him. It’s a story of morality and mortality, in choosing the right romance. Perhaps Tanya, Leo’s final choice, says it best, that “love is for the young” when faced off against the heartless Ayesha. Or when she says, “What’s the use of living a thousand years if you grow into being cruel and selfish,” as she persuades him from immortal temptation. It’s a romantic tale where love conquers all, Leo and Tanya end up together with Holly enjoying hearth and home. For in the end, regardless of means, what’s better in life but to enjoy it with family and friends by your side? This was equally true in the hard times of the 1930s, and Cooper knew his audience.

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Directed by: Shinji Aramaki
Produced by: Matt Greenfield, Haruyo Kanesaku, Yutaka Maseba, Fumihiko Sori, Hiroe Tsukamoto, Nobu Yamamoto
Written by: Musamune Shirow (comic), Haruka Handa & Tsutomu Kamishiro (screenplay)
Starring: Amanda Winn Lee (Duenan, English Version), Jamieson Price (Briareos, English Version)
Original Release: 2004, Japan
AKA: Appurushido

Reviewed By: James Marshall

Rating: 4 out of 5 Stars

Synopsis: It is the continuation of non-nuclear World War III, and despite so much devastation the war goes on. The sole survivor of one inconsequential battle – Duenan Knute, an especially adroit woman soldier – is saved from certain death by the higher-tech ESWAT who comes in like the cavalry to the rescue. Duenan has been selected for voluntary service in ESWAT, a tech-elite police unit, dedicated to protect Olympus, an experimental utopian city, from the ravages of the war-torn world on its outside. Yet, more importantly, she has a special mission to stop whoever might want to destroy this new utopia from the inside. War nearly destroyed humanity, and Olympus’ solution is the introduction of an artificial (superior and yet non-reproductive) humanoid species, bioroids, made to live together with humans. Within Olympus all is governed by Gaia, a supercomputer, who is tempered by a council of human elders, yet city operations are managed by a bioroid prime minister and its borders are protected by a human general and loyal human army. Within this pressure-cooker of conflicting responsibilities, a horrific act of terrorist sabotage destroys the life extension facility of the bioroids. Faced with certain genocide Gaia decides to save the bioroids through the “Appleseed,” the secret method that can restore their reproductive ability.

Review/Comments: Though a domestic box office flop, Appleseed is a visual delight and a mind twister of future world complexity. Based on Musamune Shirow’s series of four graphic novels, and an additional sourcebook, the movie has a considerable amount of material to draw from. Musamune Shirow put significant thought into his world, and the screenwriters have taken that work and turned it into an action story laced with edge-of-the-seat intrigue.

Even though one is carried forward by the story, Shinji Aramaki masterfully directed a film of extraordinary visuals. It is his blend of mediums, from matte art to CG to Japanese-styled big-eyed 2D/3D characters, that splash the screen with eye candy. Appleseed is hyper-reality – at times the character imagery is astonishingly gorgeous, and the clarity is absorbing.

The future world that’s brought to focus is matched by Shinji Aramaki’s ability to captivate the eye and the mind. Battle robots, giant walking tanks, humanoid suits of armor in raging combat, that are set in a video billboard-laden, yet fastidiously clean, high rise city are all standards of Japanese manga and Japanese animation. Even so, Shinji Aramaki’s approach to how they’re shown conveys an added sense of realism despite the purely artistic methods and mediums used to show them to us. One simply has to see it for full appreciation, and it is for this that the film deserves such a high mark.

It’s easy to debate every major premise of Appleseed, and quickly find reasons to dismiss the explanations for them. The idea of creating clones who are sterile and incapable of intense emotion (love, passion, jealousy, hate), evokes a cascade of arguments against it – from “human rights” to “what do you think the most sought after clones would be?” Also, the systems of Olympus’ governance are perched upon each other like houses of cards – each unstable as a structure – and together, impossible if the wind blows. All-in-all this makes for good drama, a story rampant with ready-made conflict.

Appleseed is a tale that fits itself perfectly into its own blended form of Japanese art and animation. It would be ridiculously expensive to do completely live action with CGI special effects, and the truth is it simply wouldn’t be worth it. The plot is a challenge for the average popcorn audience, with onion-peeling layers of way-out socio-political intellectualism to tear off between every firefight. There’s a lot of exposition dialog that’s necessary to set up the plot, and if one isn’t really listening an important tidbit will slip past the earlobes and wind up a dimming light and a floating question mark above one’s head.

Still, as one keeps thinking about Appleseed’s illogical premises it becomes apparent that when humans are involved, and at war, critical thinking often goes out the window when it comes to governance and resources – look at Iraq and Afghanistan to see proof of that.