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Peter Bradshaw on sci-fi
Science fiction has produced some of cinema's boldest and most
glorious flights – in every sense. Sometimes patronised as kids' stuff,
the genre seeks to look beyond the parochialism of most realist drama:
to see other worlds and other existences, and therefore to look with a
new, radically alienated eye at our own. Maybe something in the
limitless possibilities of cinema itself spawned sci-fi.
George Meliès's A Trip to the Moon (1902) was one of early cinema's
biggest hits. In the middle of the 20th century, sci-fi inhabited the
B-picture world of monsters and rockets and intuited a "red scare"
anxiety about aliens. At the end of the 60s, Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A
Space Odyssey broke through into a new level of poetry and wonder. Films
like Dark Star and Alien worked a satirical, pessimistic darkness into
sci-fi, but George Lucas and Steven Spielberg together expressed its lighter, more hopeful strain.
In the 21st century, the Wachowskis' The Matrix sequels and
Christopher Nolan's Inception have explored new, interior landscapes:
the inner world of the mind may be the genre's new frontier.
10. The Matrix
The Matrix is a teenage boy's dream. There's action, fighting,
cutting-edge special effects, murderous robots, evil authority figures,
an overriding pseudo-conspiracy theory and, most wonderful of all, an
ineloquent social outcast who eventually becomes a flying kung fu Jesus.
What's missing? Girls in skin-tight PVC catsuits? Nope: The Matrix has
those, too.
By cherrypicking as many key ingredients from action films as they
could (the us-against-the-machines mentality from The Terminator, the
wire work from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and the star from Johnny
Mnemonic), and shooting it through with a timely dose of pre-millennial
unease, the directors single-handedly managed to reinvigorate an entire
genre. The sight of Arnold Schwarzenegger
lunkheadedly charging through armies of ineffectual goons started to
look embarrassingly tired. The Matrix marks the point where fans
demanded more – they wanted to see themselves on screen. And that's why
the casting of Keanu Reeves was a masterstroke. He might be pretty, but
he's no one-man army. Plus: Neo is totally an anagram of "One". Woah. Stuart Heritage
9. The Terminator/Terminator 2: Judgment Day
A $7m outlay brought spectacular returns of over $70m for James
Cameron's first great sci-fi action thriller, which spawned a
three-sequel franchise, a powerhouse directorial career, and made
robotic, former iron-pumping Teuton Arnold Schwarzenegger an unlikely
80s superstar. A time-travel thriller, whose closed-
circuit-in-time
mechanism is a straight lift from Chris Marker's La Jetée,
its more cerebral notions – man versus machine, grey matter versus
computer, past versus present versus future – are cleverly pondered
alongside some of the most visceral and exciting action sequences ever
filmed. And the monster, unstoppable and remorselessly murderous, can
take on the voices of others, and later (in the sequel), even adopt
their outward fleshly appearance, allowing it to take on the form of
LAPD cops, step-moms, pet dogs, and who knows what else.
The follow-up, made for zillions more dollars, was a smash on a far
larger scale, offering a metal-based morphing psycho robot (Robert
Patrick) and a more sympathetic Schwarzenegger cyborg, this time
assigned to protect, not destroy future rebel leader John Connor (Edward
Furlong). One of the most likable aspects of this and several other
Cameron features is his eagerness to put a tough, resourceful and sexy
woman at the head of the cast – look at the muscle tone on that Sarah
Connor in Judgment Day! – and never permit anyone to rescue her.
State-of-the-art in their day, they still pack a knockout punch. John Patterson
8. Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Steven Spielberg revived and revitalised the alien-invasion genre
after the 50s rush of raygun-wielding creature features. In his luminous
1977 special-effects extravaganza, he saw alien contact as a gateway to
new knowledge, new experiences and a higher consciousness.
Its suburban hero Roy Neary (Richard Dreyfuss) is both an everyman
and a prophet, a family guy who is haunted by sounds – the film's
signature five-note whale call – and images of a rock formation in
Wyoming, to the horror of his wife and their children. Spielberg flirts
with thriller conventions, though this is ultimately a cosy ride,
lightened by a spirit of evangelical zeal concerning Neary's obsession,
while the encounter itself plays out like an intellectual version of the
rapture, in which only true believers are taken by the sylph-like
visitors.
The film is also as close as Spielberg gets to social comment, and
the ending – expanded for the 1980 "special edition" – sees Neary, after
an unpleasant grilling by the government and the military, turning his
back on a US where Watergate and Vietnam were still recent and painful
memories. Damon Wise
7. Star Wars
The original Star Wars (let's not bother with this Episode IV: A New
Hope subheading nonsense) lays its cards on the table with its opening
shot: a gigantic, evil-looking spaceship chasing down a far smaller
craft.
Like the rest of the movie, you could watch it with the sound off
and completely follow what was going on. It's the purity of the story
that has made this film endure, the classic themes handed down through
the ages. It may be dressed up with robots, spaceships and trash
compactors, but it's the old-as-time hero journey – George Lucas
has said he consciously modelled his screenplay on Joseph Campbell's
study of comparative mythology The Hero With a Thousand Faces.
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In
the cynical 70s, the notion of making a movie that mixed Kurosawa and
Flash Gordon must have sounded as ludicrous as it does today. The film
industry wasn't ready for such an ambitious technical feat (at such a
modest budget) as Star Wars, so Lucas changed it by bringing in untested
youngsters from experimental and indie movies, or from fields like
industrial design. Lucas had a talent for mixing disparate influences
and making them fit perfectly. He shepherded together acting stalwarts
like Alec Guinness
and Peter Cushing, experimental film-makers like Adam Beckett (who
supervised the effects), and military uniform historian John Mollo; it
would otherwise be inconceivable that these people would have all worked
on the same project.
Much has been made of Lucas's repeated direction to his cast ("Faster
and more intense") or that the dialogue was easier to type than say.
Guinness, Cushing and James Earl Jones
give it all the gravitas it needs, with the younger members fitting
their roles perfectly: Mark Hamill's wide-eyed earnestness, Carrie
Fisher's dignity and, perhaps best of all, Harrison Ford looking so
mortified and embarrassed to be there. For audiences it resulted in a
film unlike any before or since. Phelim O'Neill
6. ET: The Extra-Terrestrial
After 1977's Close Encounters (see no 8), director Steven Spielberg
reversed the alien encounter formula to wonder not what we would make of
them but what they would make of us. The result was this 1982
blockbuster, which eclipsed even the original Star Wars and received nine Oscar nominations (winning four) – a feat unheard of for a film with such overt sci-fi content.
Despite its genre trappings, ET balanced its fantasy content with an
Academy-pleasing dose of sentiment, played out in the home life of
Elliott (Henry Thomas), a lonely 10-year-old whose parents are
separating. Little time is spent revealing where the film's ET has come
from, or how he came to be left behind. Instead, Spielberg focuses on
the film's unlikely-buddy story; the middle child of three (Drew
Barrymore is the sweet but clingy younger sister, Robert MacNaughton the
cynical teenage big brother), Elliott takes in the ET as the friend and
confidant he doesn't have.
Largely filmed from an adult-waist-height perspective, the film
prioritises this world of children and indulges them in their harmless
naivety. So when the mean-minded authorities find out about the presence
of ET, the effects are doubly shocking. The faceless hordes of
uniformed, flashlight-toting militia make an intimidating and brutal
sight. After a light-hearted first half, the film takes a plunge into
darker drama in the second, when ET is captured and quarantined. Pale
and half‑dead, the creature draws uncanny performances from its child
cast, and the religious parallels in ET's subsequent "resurrection" have
never gone unnoticed. However, they are likely accidental; Spielberg
has said he sees his film more as a "minority story" about two outsiders
who join forces in isolation.
There is also more than a hint of fairytale about ET, notably in the
film's final, famous chase sequence, in which Elliott takes to his
bicycle with ET on the handlebars and soars, Peter Pan-like, up into the
sky. As in Close Encounters, there is a healthy scepticism about
authority on show, but ET: The Extra Terrestrial is a less worldly film.
Like much of Spielberg's work, it was heavily influenced by his
parents' divorce and based on an imaginary friend he created at the same
age as Elliott. "A friend," he said, "who could be the brother I never
had, and a father that I didn't feel I had any more." DW
5. Solaris
Andrei Tarkovsky
started work on an adaptation of Stanisław Lem's philosophical
science-fiction novel in 1968 in an attempt to find a popular cinematic
subject. After the usual labyrinthine negotations with the Soviet
authorities over the script, what emerged was a space film unlike
anything before or since. Lem's novel posited the existence of
solaristics; the study of an outlying star system that had bizarre
effects on human psychology. Tarkovsky took this idea, and turned it
into a dreamlike interrogation of faith, memory and the transfiguring
power of love.
Tarkovsky begins his version of the story with some of the most
magically earthbound images ever filmed, as his protagonist, a
psychologist called Kelvin (Donatas Banionis), contemplates his garden.
He then embarks on a voyage to the space station circling Solaris, there
to investigate the reports of eccentric behaviour of previous visitors.
Kelvin undergoes an ordeal by memory, as Solaris' psychoactive
properties trigger the reappearance of his dead wife, Hari (Natalya
Bondarchuk). The space station becomes a place of mysterious hauntings
and apparitions. His colleagues hardly inspire trust, and Kelvin
attempts to make sense of what is happening to him as he retreats
further into an internal world.
Tarkovsky was barely interested in Lem's main preoccupation: to
theorise about what might constitute alien life. Solaris, and its
apparently animate "oceans", are simply a conduit to, and
externalisation of, deeper spiritual matters. It's fair to say that no
other director can have got anywhere near the mystic uplift of this film
- and that includes the Steven Soderbergh remake with George Clooney.
Lem didn't like the way his novel had been adapted; Tarkovsky himself
considered it a less than successful film. But the clarity and beauty of
Solaris ensures its majesty lives on. Andrew Pulver
4. Alien
Alien is a perfect storm of talents: Dan O'Bannon and Ronald
Shusett's lean screenplay; Derek Vanlint's moody cinematography; Jerry
Goldsmith's haunting score; Brian Johnson's miniature effects, and a
cast including Sigourney Weaver, Harry Dean Stanton, Ian Holm and John Hurt.
The most noticeable and revolutionary work on this film was, of
course, on the design side. O'Bannon had previously worked on Alejandro
Jodorowsky's ill-fated adaptation of Dune (a project that also fell
through Ridley Scott's grasp). For that he had assembled an incredible
assortment of artists, who he regrouped for
Alien, with talents such as
Moebius from the Métal Hurlant magazine, Ron Cobb from Star Wars and
Swiss artist HR Giger. Years before, Giger had a vivid nightmare where a
lavatory and surrounding plumbing came to queasy, pulsating life – and
so his "biomechanical" style was born. His creations were bizarre,
organic machines and his designs for Alien, such as the huge derelict
spaceship the astronauts investigate, seem as much grown as constructed.
Alien uses a similar story framework to the 50s cheapo monster flick It! The Terror from Beyond Space,
but adds so much to it that it becomes a far deeper film. There are
plenty of subtexts at play here, such as having the lead role played by a
woman (the script just used surnames in a non-gender specific manner),
or the male Kane giving "birth" to the creature in the still-powerful
"chestburster" scene. However you approach it, this is a wonderfully
immersive and terrifying film. It was such a shock to the system when it
was released (and a huge hit to boot) that you can still see its
influence in countless sci-fi and horror films decades down the line. PON
3. Blade Runner
Most directors who have finished a science-fiction film tend to
choose something a little more down to earth for their next project. Ridley Scott, coming off Alien, launched himself into something even more stylised and visually dense.
Based on Philip K Dick's novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
and borrowing the title from William S Burroughs, Blade Runner follows a
detective called Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) as he hunts down a group
of replicants. These synthetic humans – almost impossible to discern
from the real thing – have escaped from one of the "off-world" colonies
and returned to Earth. Deckard's mission is to "retire" them, but the
reason behind the replicants' return is interestingly emotive: they wish
to lead their own lives, as is the right of any sentient being.
Blade Runner, notoriously, was completely misunderstood when it was
released. Ford was an action man and audiences could be forgiven for
thinking this was going to be a sort of Indiana Jones and the Flying
Police Car. It wasn't helped by the clumsy voiceover and coda that the
studio insisted upon.
Now, though, there's no denying its classic status. There are several
versions available, each showing that with even a few minor
differences, this film can be read in different ways. (Is Deckard a
replicant? Even Scott and Ford can't agree.) Designer Syd Mead also
pulled his weight. Mead was a visual futurist, a designer of advanced
concepts for companies like Chrysler and Philips. However, it is Rutger
Hauer's final speech, as the dying replicant leader Roy Batty, that
people remember the most. It's an emotional end, adding unexpected
heartbreak to a film that may have seemed almost baffling at first
viewing. PON
2. Metropolis
Although many sci-fi films followed, none have had the lasting,
seemingly self-regenerating appeal of Fritz Lang's silent classic –
perhaps because, after its Berlin premiere in 1927, it is arguable that
no authoritative version of it has ever really been established.
Originally clocking in at two hours and 33 minutes, Metropolis has since
become a movable feast, with new scenes and scores – Giorgio Moroder
issued a derided, colour-tinted synth version in 1984 – that have kept
Lang's epic current.
For its time, the film was a milestone, innovative miniatures and
camera tricks to create its city of the future, taking two years to
shoot and bankrupting its producers (in modern money, the budget was
close to $200m). But the real key to its longevity is its thematic
content: more a warning than a romance, it deals with issues of
modernity that have never gone away. Class conflict is its main thread:
when Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), the idle son of a rich businessman,
discovers the primitive conditions the city's workers are living in, the
scenes of a dehumanised proletariat – a cast of more than 30,000 extras
– still have power today. Lang's fetishising of machinery scarily
foregrounds the cost of heavy industrialisation. But what many remember
most is an extraordinary sequence in which the woman who pulls the
scales from Freder's eyes – Maria (Brigitte Helm), a good-hearted
workers' rights agitator – is kidnapped and replaced with a sinister,
violence-inciting robot double by evil scientist Rotwang, at Freder's
father's command. This hydraulic beauty, with cantilevered breasts,
morphs into a wide-eyed, unblinking Maria in a moment of pure magic.
Many of Lang and writer Thea von Harbou's original subplots have been
lost. But even in its shortest form (90 minutes) Metropolis remains a
timeless tale. Though made to fit a genre that showcases the
possibilities of the future, Lang's film never loses sight of its rights
and wrongs. DW
1. 2001: A Space Odyssey
When 2001: A Space Odyssey was first released, few would have
predicted it would still be feted nearly half a century later. In fact
few would have tipped it for even short-lived glory. At its premiere –
its premiere – there were 241 walkouts, including Rock Hudson, who
asked: "Will someone tell me what the hell this is about?"
Even its champions were stumped. "Somewhere between hypnotic and
immensely boring," thought the New York Times; "Superb photography major
asset to confusing, long-unfolding plot," reckoned Newsday. But
bafflement was the intention, explained its creators. Said Arthur C Clarke,
whose 1948 story The Sentinel was the starting point for Stanley
Kubrick (Clarke's novelisation postdated the film): "If you understand
2001 completely, we failed. We wanted to raise far more questions than
we answered."
A cop-out? Far from it: 2001 is magisterial. Its impeccable
serious-mindedness is nothing to scoff at; what some saw as ponderous
now seems merely prescient. It was both the last space-travel movie shot
before men actually landed on the moon, and the first to turn a genre
that had been the preserve of B-movie cheese into the highest form of
art.
It looks not just as fresh as the day it was made but as fresh as the
day you first saw it: iffy ape costumes aside, it's one of the few 60s
movies that stands up to contemporary technical scrutiny. At the time,
it must have marked a quantum leap forward: suddenly, space seemed
credible. To watch even now is to be awestruck: all those exacting
details (the 700-word instructions for using a zero-gravity toilet), the
pacing – at once lulling and urgent, the audio – soaring Strauss
waltzes spliced with dead air. In space, of course, no one can hear you
speak.
And so to the difficult matter of what on earth it's about. On a
bare-bones level, it concerns three artefacts: one left on Earth at the
dawn of man by space explorers keen to steer the evolution of the apes,
another buried deep in the lunar surface, and programmed to signal word
of man's first journey into the universe (in Kubrick's words, "a kind of
cosmic burglar alarm") and the third in orbit around Jupiter – another
alarm, this time for when man breaks out of his own solar system.
And that's what happens in the film, when a team of five men (three
in hibernation) jet off to investigate the second. But the mission goes
awry – arguably the fault of the chatty command computer, Hal – and the
sole surviving astronaut is swept into a force field that hurls him on a
journey through the galaxy. From there it's to a human zoo, built from
his own subconscious, where he ages fast, dies, is reborn and enhanced –
"a star child, an angel, a superman" (said Kubrick) – before returning
to Earth to advance evolution.
2001 is a film whose ambition is only matched by its achievement in
pulling it off. It was the world's first – and perhaps only –
metaphysical exploration of the workings of humanity, from the beginning
of time to the far-flung future, and it's small wonder sci-fi has never
really recovered. It has really only been going backwards, relying
either on splashy effects or psychological conundrums handled so tritely
that they barely seem related to 2001 at all.
Some complain that it is chilly, inhuman. Perhaps. But the dying song
of Hal, warbling out Daisy Bell (A Bicycle Made for Two) as his plug is
pulled, must be one of the most haunting scenes in cinema, mechanic or
not.
Not to mention, of course, that 2001 provides the most open-and-shut
case for cinema being primarily a visual medium: from the twirling,
dancing orbits to the extended acid(ic) trip at the end, it is, quite
simply, a knock-out. And it features Leonard Rossiter as a Russian
astronaut. The question back in 1968 would have been: how could this
possibly be number 1? The question today is: how could it not? Catherine Shoard
On an average , there are around 250 movies released in India across
all the languages yearly. Out of these films only 10 to 20 movies find
its success.In that too some movies will be good in the regional level
while others will touch the international fans.Unlike the last decade ,
Bollywood films now have considerable market abroad and they are
released in around 500–600 screens spanning 50–60 countries.Some movies
create a big hype but do not make bucks.Unfortunate ones are below..
Neal N Nikki
Neal And Nikki could not launch Uday & Tanisha
First in the list is the 'Neal N Nikki'. This film is
represented as Yash Raj’s greatest flop.Yash Raj banner has been known
for making musical , sentimental family entertainer flicks but intimate
scenes in the film did not quite go well with the audience.
Tanisha and Uday Copra played their lead role. The songs of this
movie were a hit but it could not even made profit to a permissible
level.It collapsed completely due to the bad story line of the
movie.Even the glamor and skin show by Tanisha could not save the film
from disaster.
No Smoking
No Smoking film came and went and nobody knew about it.This film was
done by John Abraham as the lead role. This movie did bot create an
expectation and also at the same time could not succeeded well.
Unfortunately , no one went to the theater and its weird name caused
pretty harm to the movie.
Critics labelled the film as boring and worthless , one critic went ahead calling it 'terrible and copied'.It was also said that 'Black Friday' , Anurag Kashyap's debut directorial film hampered this the film as well.
Mangal Pandey
Mangal Pandey was an eagerly awaited film much of it owes to Aamir's
star power and historical background. It tells us the story of the
historic hero named as Mandel Pandey.The efforts and homework this guy
put for the film has ended in vain after the film is not successful. The
film had taken more than 2 years for filming and post production.At the
end the film is just remembered for the hair style of Aamir Khan.The
idea of Heera Bai (Rani Mukharjee) romancing with a historical hero had
created an uproar and seen as an attempt to tamper historical facts.It
was also the first time when Aamir shed his clean-shaven look to sport a
big mustaches and long hair.
Saawariya
The debut film for both hero and heroine is good in romance but not
in the storyline. The story didn’t click well in the Indian market.
Sanjay Leela Bhansali disappointed after setting a high level with his
previous films.
Mela
Another bad day in Amir Khan’s history is the opening of this film.
The throwback happened in the period from 1980-1990. It has stuck the
cine industry and given a bad name to Amir.The film also had Faisal Khan
- the younger brother of Aamir.Faisal was later on diagnosed with a
mental disorder and there was a legal battle between Aamir and his
father for his custody.
Jaani Dushman-Ek Anokhi Kahani
This flop is from Sunny deol and Manisha Koirala. The expectation on
the film is due to the explanation of the director as ‘a unique story’.
The film was made as a launch pad for Arman Kohli.The
multi star cast film also had Sonu Nigam - the well known playback
singer. The fast drop in film's collection at the box office resulted in
the film being declared a huge flop in just its second week.The film
sealed all the hopes of Armaan Kohli's comeback in bollywood film industry.
Clerk
Director Manoj Kumar has given the failure in the Indian film industry under the name of clerk.
Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag
This film is expressed as the horrible movie from the viewers in the theatres.RVG messed the older successful version Sholay where Amitabh potrayed the role of Babban Singh having shades of Gabbar Singh.The pathetic movie was a disaster at the box office and claimed the title - worst remake Bollywood has ever seen by the critics.
Boom
Audience of this film did not like Big B dancing with girls of half
his age. These drop out has been translated in to bad form in the
movies.Katrina Kaif's first film failed miserably at the box office.The
film with a lost story turned out to be a sleaze due to skin shows.One
of the film critic even described it as soft-porn venture .
Roop Ki Rani Choron ka Raja
Roop Ki Rani Choron ka Raja (Beauty Queen and the King of Thieves)
was a huge flop at the ticket counter.Boney Kapoor who had invested
heavily in the movie suffered a huge loss.The film was dubbed as the
most expensive hindi movie ever made.A rough estimate puts the budget of
the movie around 9 crores.Trade analysts held the poor dialogues , weak
music and storyline responsible for the debacle.
