Movie reviews: Battlefield Earth and more

Originally published June 16, 2000, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1387

I see dead movies…

I can’t help it. Call it an obsession, call it a sickness.

I’m not talking about going to see movies that critics say are stupid. There’s an overabundance of those, and if I spent all my time going to them, I’d never have a chance to see anything good (“good” being a relative term.) I’m not talking about films that are poorly or amateurishly shot, or badly acted, or badly written. I’m talking about the kinds of films that are so over-the-top awful that they can destroy careers and even entire movie studios.

Although, as an aside, I’ve noticed that somehow male leads and directors manage to rise above debacles, whereas studios and female leads tend to be annihilated. One thinks of Showgirls, a movie so frighteningly bad that it was correctly cited as something truly scary in Scream 2. But the one whose career took the biggest nose-dive was star Elizabeth Berkley, despite the poor direction of Paul Verhoeven (who was promptly handed the big-budget Starship Troopers) and howlingly bad writing of Joe Eszterhas (who sold the concept for an ungodly amount of money based—so legend has it—on something he scribbled on a cocktail napkin.)

If nothing else, the film was worth it since it inspired Berkley’s memorable appearance on “Late Night” in which she lap danced on David Letterman (pre-heart condition, presumably), reducing the normally unflappable host to inquiring in a strangled voice, “Can you come back here every night?” Would you pay good money to see Paul Verhoeven or Joe Eszterhas lap dance? I think not. And from what I understand, Showgirls is now acquiring kitsch value and providing amusement for the midnight movie-going crowd… which, let’s face it, could inspire even more entertaining fan participation rituals than Rocky Horror ever did.

Then there was The Last Action Hero, a film that was a huge failure for Schwarzenegger, mostly, it seemed, because it was time—as far as the public was concerned—for him to have a huge failure. I dunno… I kind of liked it, actually. There was staggering evidence of too-many-cooks present, and one deconstructs one’s own genre at one’s extreme peril. But there were enough entertaining lines, interesting ideas, and novel moments (Arnold being dissed by his wife! Calling him a Cro-Magnon with a sloping forehead and crabbing about the humvee. How can you not love a film where Arnold’s being dissed by his real-life wife!?) to make it worth my time. And if nothing else, it mercifully put an end to the obsession with Arnold having to utter catch phrases from earlier films in his later releases. (“I’ll be back. Ha! Bet you didn’t know I was going to say that!” “You always say that!” “I do?”)

And then there was Hudson Hawk, which was… well, actually, that was pretty wretched.

Many people would bring up Waterworld by this point, but I wouldn’t. Road Warrior on the water, the film had gaping plotholes, but hey… it wasn’t boring. Hudson Hawk was boring. And give Kevin Costner points for sticking to his guns and playing the Mariner as someone initially unlikable (trying to toss a child overboard and knocking cold his leading lady), as opposed to most films where he portrays someone likable and I just don’t like him in the role (although for reasons surpassing understanding, I loved Tin Cup even though I don’t like Costner as an actor and golf bores the hëll out of me. Maybe I’m just a sucker for anything with Rene Russo. Hmm. Rene Russo in Showgirls. That would have been interesting.)

And now we have the latest dead movie calling me. It is, of course, Battlefield Earth, which some reviewers are actually dubbing the worst film of the century. If, like me, you’re taking 2000 as the end of the 20^th century, this might actually be an assessment one can defend. If you believe it to be the first year of the 21^st century, well, it seems a bit premature.

I knew going in there was going to be a problem, simply because John Travolta has no idea how to play a villain. He did it right in Pulp Fiction, presumably because he felt his character was at heart a good guy who simply did bad things. He offered no judgment on him. But his subsequent villainous turns in Broken Arrow and, heaven help us, Face/Off, have been almost painful, as he’s stopped just barely short of growing a mustache for the purpose of twirling it. If you want quality over-the-top villainy, you get Dennis Hopper. If you want pure smug menace, send for Alan Rickman. But for God’s sake, don’t get Travolta unless you’re casting Snidely Whiplash (and that boat’s already sailed.) However, since Travolta was a producer on this puppy, no one could gainsay him.

Battlefield has been inspirational in a way, however. Critics have risen to the occasion, and fans are gleefully passing the top quotes around (my personal favorites being the Variety comments, “The film is all too faithful to its source material, an 819-page doorstop that reputedly sold 5 million copies” and “Costumes are less inspired, with the humans coming off like the dance troupe Stomp! doing a tribute to Mad Max in their tasteful war paint, caveman-chic leathers and Ally McBeal-on-a-bad-hair-day dos.”)

When a film—particularly a genre film—gets as shredded as this one has been, I am absolutely compelled to see it as quickly as humanly possible.

For those few of you who may not be up to speed, Battlefield gives us the planet earth under dominion of the Psychlos, an alien race which sounds like it came from a dream sequence hatched by Robert Petrie from the Ðìçk Van Ðÿkë Show, whom we are told managed to conquer the earth in nine minutes (presumably by making them watch this film.) The Psychlos basically have a corporate structure that was co-opted and done better by the Ferengi years later, and are obsessed with gold for no discernible reason. Then again, to be honest, I’ve never been entirely clear on why we were ever obsessed with it, other than that it’s rare and there’s not a huge supply. On that basis, someone should be able to start a country with a financial system predicated on anything from Pokemon chase cards to supermodels. Usually invaders just want to conquer us because we’re here and annoying, or they’re warlike and we’re just the latest targets, or else we have some mineral or byproduct that they can put to practical use. I suppose to we earthbound moviegoers, we expect an invading alien race to somehow be superior to us, not as dumb or dumber than us.

In short order, lots of stuff blows up very loudly, and every single shot is Dutch-angled, tilted, giving the impression that the way the Psychlos beat us was by knocking the earth to an awkward angle and making everyone fall down.

The thing was… I wanted to find something good about this film, just as I do with other movies that tank big time. I used to think that maybe it was an ego thing. That there was actually something there that critics and others were missing, and I was going to be sharp enough and perspicacious enough to discern what others might have missed. But lately I’ve been thinking it’s something else.

I’ve written a bunch of spec movie scripts of all different sorts, and thus far haven’t gotten any of them off the ground. Had a couple of things optioned, but none of them got anywhere. Some I thought would be a tough sell, others I thought would be sure fire. No luck. I’ve had far better luck teamed with Bill Mumy, and I did a couple of work-for-hires for Full Moon, but the stuff that’s originated purely in my own head and I’ve tried to market… nothing.

The thing is, on some level I know that movies are far more about business than they are art. Yet some part of me wants to believe that there’s a merit system involved. Despite all the horror stories I’ve heard and even experienced, I want to believe that if one is simply good enough, one will get movies made. Therefore, if a movie is bombing big time, I’m there in the audience trying to determine just what it was that made this screenplay better, more deserving, than any that I’ve written. Why are these screenwriters being hired, why are their words being spoken on the big screen. It’s not a matter of jealousy or resentment. It’s a matter of trying to understand. Just as our ancestors looked to the stars and tried to discern patterns which they dubbed constellations, I look at the detritus, the debris, try to strip away what I’m seeing on the screen and seek out that which made the film appealing enough to make in the first place.

In short, I went to Battlefield Earth to try and see for myself if the film had any saving grace at all. If there was anything good about it.

I found three things.

First and foremost… I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. Battlefield Earth cured that. After half an hour, I was out. Drifted in and out for a while after that, and came to for the senses-assaulting last half hour. Came out of the theater feeling totally refreshed.

Second… as near as I can tell, there’s no high profile female leads to have their careers damaged.

Third, the odds are slim that John Travolta will give David Letterman a lap dance.

Embrace the positive where one can.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. He found it interesting that, in doing some quick research online, the E! filmography for Joe Eszterhas does not have Showgirls listed. Maybe he thinks we’ll forget.)