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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
 Posted - 03/15/2008 : 1:20:19 PM
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In case you haven’t guessed (or read that Shameless Plug thread), this review is a bit of a departure. 2010 is not a bad movie. In many ways, it’s a very good movie. So why review it here?
Meh, variety is the spice of life yadda yadda yadda. But it may be interesting to compare... no, you’re getting ahead of me. Yes, there will be some comparisons between 2010 and 2001: A Space Odyssey. But I’ll try and keep those to a minimum, really singling them out when 2010 all but demands it. Besides, I remember reading that after giving Peter Hyams his blessing, Kubrick basically told him, “Don’t worry about following my movie. Make your own film.” For the most part, I’ll take 2010 on its own terms. Unfortunately, even there it has problems.
Anyway, I was going to make comparisons between Peter Hyams and Stanley Kubrick. WARNING: expect a bit of gushing over Kubrick, and... not a lot of gushing over Hyams. But a quick look at their careers before and after each movie says a lot about both men, and it’s reflected in their films.
YET ANOTHER WARNING: Usually, you can expect me to take a certain perverse glee in ripping apart the, uh, designated victim. Not this time. While I’m gonna pick 2010 apart mercilessly, the review will be more serious in tone, hopefully will show real insight-
(Management: Give it a rest, Brad, and get on with the damn review!)
Oh, and you won’t see me doing that running gag of arguing with “Management.” (Pardon me while I lock that stick-in-the-mud in the broom closet.)
One final thing: I will assume you have seen 2001, and will not go into great detail when referencing it, unless it relates directly to something in 2010. With that, away we go!
And now we look all the way into the future.... 21 months, to be exact
After Leo the Lion’s done a-roarin’, we have a black screen for a few second, then hear a distorted voice saying, “My God! It’s full of stars!”
The film opens with a series of stills from 2001, (accompanied by Gyorgy Ligeti’s “Lux Aeterna”) over which a mission report by Heywood Floyd is typed on screen, giving a Cliff’s-Notes version of 2001 for those not familiar with that earlier film. (Actually, this report details what parts of 2001 we on Earth would be privy to, beginning with the TMA-1 sequence and ending at the point where Bowman disappears.) Well, we’re twenty seconds in, and I have my first nit to pick. The narration states that TMA-1 (or “Tycho Monolith” as it’s referred to here) was found in the Sea of Tranquility. Whonk! Wrong. The Sea of Tranquility is at the equator; the monolith was found near the Moon’s north pole. I have no doubt Hyams substituted the Sea of Tranquility because most laypeople will be more familiary with that spot on the Moon than Tycho. Bad idea, in my opinion. Here’s a term for ya: sequel continuity. Basically, unless the original film is an aberration (in which case, what are you doing making a sequel to it?!), you want to treat it as a sort of bible. The character of Heywood Floyd will be very different in tonight’s movie than he was in 2001, and I have no problem with that. But solid “facts,” plot points, locations, etc., shouldn’t be tampered with unless there’s a good reason. 2010 will have lapses in sequel continuity (I’ll give out a Whonk! when one comes up), some of them understandable or forgiveable, some annoying (such as this one). One lapse will be a serious screw-up. Another SC problem comes up in the prologue, saying that HAL-9000 started to malfunction when the Discovery approached “Jupiter’s two inner moons — Europa and Io.” Whonk! It was made clear that Hal started to go Looney Tunes before Discovery got anywhere near Jupiter. Finally, the prologue states that the last transmission from Dave Bowman was, “My God, it’s full of stars!” I’d give this one more leeway — while he didn’t say this in 2001, there’s nothing that says he didn’t say if offscreen — except that this quote is run into the ground.
The prologue concludes with the mission summary: just about everything in the report ends with “unknown.” Here I go again: Whonk! One of the unknowns is the reason for Hal’s breakdown. Originally, the reasons for Hal going cuckoo were spelled out in 2001. In any case, people would have figured out why Hal went nuts in the nine years since. Anyway, the only things that are known are the big monolith’s location (between Jupiter and Io) and Discovery’s position (orbiting Io).
We go to black, and Bowman’s “My God! It’s full of stars!” comes in again. It’s less distorted, but I didn’t like Keir Dullea’s reading of the line; I preferred the more distorted version.
The opening titles appear, accompanied by “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” by Richard Straus. The sequence plays over a sunrise over the Very Large Array radio telescopes in New Mexico; these shots are quite nice, especially the first one. The last three credits show that it’s based on, yes, the book by Arthur C. Clarke, and written, produced, directed, and photographed by Peter Hyams. If 2001 was Stanley Kubrick’s film all the way, this one belongs to Hyams, for better or worse.
We go to a long shot of the VLA, which I found a bit disappointing. Of course, Robert Zemeckis made it look really big and majestic in Contact, but here it just sits there. Meh. This could be cited as an example of why Hyams never really broke into the A-list; the best directors know how to showboat without annoying the audience (and Brian De Palma THINKS he can do this).
We meet our hero, Heywood Floyd (Roy Scheider! Yay!). Floyd is approached by a man identifying himself as “Moisevitch” (Dana Elcar, with what I thought was a pretty poor Russian accent). This guy is, I assume, the head of Russia’s space agency. Anyway, here’s the exposition: Floyd used to be the head of the NCA (the movie’s version of NASA), until the Discovery mission failed so disasterously. He was drummed out, and is now “a schoolteacher.” Floyd counters that he’s chancellor at a university, but Moisevitch gets in a dig at him, bringing out the fact that Floyd would go back to the NCA in a heartbeat if he could. Anyway, back to the expo. Things are really tense between the US and the USSR (remember, this movie was made in 1984). There’s something going on in Central America that’s never really spelled out, but it doesn’t need to be. The short version: we’re in a pissing match, and it could escalate. At one point, Floyd says, “We didn’t start it.” Moisevitch responds, “We’re scientists, Dr. Floyd. Our governments are enemies. We are not.”
Anyway, more expo. After digging up the small monolith on the Moon, we brought it back home and tried to use lasers and nuclear detonators(!) to open it up, to no avail. Now the US is planning to send the Discovery Two up to Jupiter (nine years after the fact?) to try and find out what happened to the first mission. The Russians are gearing up the Leonov to do the same. The Leonov will get there a year before the Discovery Two is even ready to get started; Moisevitch admits that his government is doing this mostly for bragging rights. The problem: they don’t have anyone familiar with the original mission, the Discovery, or Hal. “Here we have our quandary. We are going to get there first, yet you have the knowledge to make the trip work.”
Floyd isn’t sure this is going to work. Moisevitch says he can spin it pretty well back home, but Floyd’s worried about a Russian ship carrying Americans. “I don’t think our government will allow that if they don’t have to. And they don’t have to.” Moisevitch asks if the US has been checking Discovery’s orbit lately. Then he gets all coy and walks away.
Okay, expo’s done, and the movie’s not off to a very good start. Once they got to the meat of it, Floyd and Moisevitch’s meeting was okay. But this scene is almost six minutes of pure dialogue. Of course, Kubrick would often have expo scenes longer than this, but his gift was making it all seem like it was stuff we needed to know. Here, I’d bet we could pare this scene down to three minutes and not lose anything; it’s pretty flabby. (For example, they could have cut to the next scene right after Moisevitch mentioned the orbit, and it’d be a good deal tighter already.)
Also, while the VLA is a great location, there was no reason for Floyd and Moisevitch to be there. Floyd doesn’t live or work anywhere near there, and it’s clear that he and Moisevitch are strangers, and that Floyd hadn’t planned on that meeting. Bad form.
Next scene. Floyd goes into a large office and sits down at a terminal. The screen shows it’s monitoring Discovery’s orbit. We see Floyd look at it and give himself a little chuckle. Again, I didn’t like this. We’ll learn in a few seconds that Floyd shouldn’t be chuckling at what he sees. This could be cut down to Floyd sitting at the computer and starting to work on it, or better yet, the scene could be snipped altogether. Also, the room is very dimly lit. I’ve never seen an office lit like this; it would be bad for the eyes. Who’s responsible for this? The director of photography. Peter Hyams.
We cut to a park bench outside the White House. Floyd is talking with a bearded black man in a business suit, Victor Millson. It’s established that Millson is now the head of the NCA, and that he and Floyd are on pretty good terms (and here the expo isn’t half bad). Floyd tells Millson that Discovery’s orbit has started to decay, and it will crash on Io before they can get up there. Millson wonders, “How could we be so God-damned wrong about the orbit?” Floyd answers that they weren’t wrong; he can’t figure why Discovery will crash. (This is never resolved; if I recall, the book gave a simple explanation: Jupiter’s magnetic field has slowed the Discovery down a little, causing its orbit to decay.) I gotta say, this makes the NCA look pretty stupid. The Russians have been tracking the Discovery and know it’ll crash. Why haven’t we found out until now?
Millson brings up the political problems now. The President wants to use anti-nuke satellites, meaning he’s gonna put the NCA under military jurisdiction. “And now you want me to go and tell him we want to hitch a ride with those very same Russians.” Floyd’s response: “That’s about it.” I liked the little smile Roy Scheider had here, a little grim humor never hurt.
So, here’s the crew Floyd has picked out. First off is Walter Curnow, the man responsible for designing the Discovery. He’s far and away the best man for figuring out how to get the ship started up quickly. Then Floyd will be going. Millson asks how he’s gonna sell that. Floyd says, “We lost some good men up there, and I’m the one that sent them. I have to go.” Well, it’s a good reason for you personally, Heywood, but it doesn’t give Millson a good argument to take to the Prez. But this is glossed over and we go to the third man: Chandra (we learn that his first initial is “R,” but never find out his first name), Hal’s creator. Floyd’s not sure whether they can trust this guy, but they don’t have much choice The scene ends with Floyd and Millson figuring out how to convince the Prez. Floyd is the one who comes up with ideas, and Millson mainly nods his head, liking the way Floyd thinks. This is the first instance of a mantra the film will take: Floyd Is Always Right. For now, it’s okay, but it’ll be a problem later.
The scene isn’t too bad, but the composition of the shots is a problem. It’s very loose, having both men on one side of the screen and lots of dead space on the other. Why did Hyams frame the shots this way? I suspect it was because he had Arthur C. Clarke do a Hitchcock-style cameo as a man sitting on another bench feeding the birds. The loose framing allowed Clarke to be in most of the shots. Sacrificing good composition for a “hey look it’s....” moment ain’t a good idea. (Seriously, this scene is one of the few I’ve seen in a 2.35:1 film that actually looks better panned and scanned. We lose Clarke, but the shots are much tighter, keeping the focus on Floyd and Millson.)
Cut to an office at the University of Chicago, where we meet Chandra (Bob Balaban). Chandra banters with his latest creation: SAL-9000. Sal has a glowing blue eye, as opposed to Hal’s red eye. I’m not sure why I didn’t recognize her voice for a long time; it was only after looking on the IMDb that I learned that Sal was played by Candice Bergen. She did a very good job of imitating Douglas Rain’s inflections and pacing. The expo goes on too long again, and it is pure expo. Still, we can see that Chandra has a great deal of affection for his beloved computers. Also, it’s just as well we introduced him early; in many ways, Chandra will end up the central character here (and Bob Balaban’s performance is spot on). Chandra is going to do a dry run of disconnecting Sal and reconnecting her and making sure she’s all right. Sal shows she has a sly sense of humor, making a subtle wisecrack at Chandra’s expense. She then asks Chandra, “Will I dream?” Chandra answers, “Of course you’ll dream.” The only reason this scene is here is for that line. Hyams will bring this line up again at the end, and he had to set it up early. Basically, he painted himself into a corner. But I did like the look of apprehension on Chandra’s face when he prepares to disconnect Sal. He’s not afraid of her; he’s afraid of hurting his “daughter.” Not bad.
Next, we see two dolphins swimming through what looks like the ocean.... until the camera rises up out of the water in one take, and we realize that the dolphins are in a large pool inside Floyd’s house. Way cool shot. (But was it worth it? I’ll go into this in the Afterthoughts section.) Anyway, we meet Floyd’s wife Caroline (Madolyn Smith) and their young son Christopher. It’s clear Caroline is a good deal younger than Floyd (in her early thirties, to Floyd’s late forties), and it might qualify for a Whonk! moment, but this will be handled very nicely in a scene later on in the film.
Caroline acts like a woman who has settled into a comfortable life with Floyd. She wonders why Floyd is so quiet tonight, until he tells her, “I’m going on the flight.” Take-off is in four months. Smith acts this scene pretty well, acting like a woman suddenly frightened by what’s ahead. She gets up and staggers into the kitchen. There’s a little banter between Floyd and Christopher that works pretty well. Give Scheider credit for his understated performance. Caroline drops her wineglass, shattering it. A cliche, but it works pretty well. (Madolyn Smith’s career in Hollywood never seemed to really take off. I don’t think she had the sparkle necessary to put her on a plane with, say, Julia Roberts, but during the early eighties she struck me as a pretty good actress, not to mention a very pretty lady. It’s too bad she didn’t have at least more character parts.)
I swear on my life, this occurred to me literally thirty seconds ago, as I was typing that last paragraph. Maybe this was an intentional reference to 2001, maybe it wasn’t. But that breaking wineglass was awfully similar to the elderly Dave Bowman being a little clumsy at dinner near the end of 01.
We dissolve to a montage of scenes. The first is of Floyd on the beach, working on an Apple //c computer. The //c was pretty state-of-the-art at the time, and I’m sure Apple liked the product placement. Anyway, you could buy a small flat-panel monitor for the //c (as shown here) and a battery to make it one of the first truly portable computers. Problem was, I’ve seen that monitor; it was okay (barely) for text displays, but it was horrible at showing graphics. Well, it shows some forward thinking, having a home computer being used outside the home.... but, um, I don’t recommend you plop that thing on the beach. Let’s see, sand, salt from the air... Nope. Not a good idea.
The rest of the scenes show Floyd at home, basically being a regular guy, relaxing with his wife, exercising with his son, and so on. Normally, stuff like this would be pure filler, but I liked this. It’s a good way to show the passage of time, and it establishes Floyd as an Everyman as well as a devoted family man (as opposed to the cold spin doctor/gubmint hack he was in 2001 or the pencil-pushing bureaucrat I recall from reading the book).
We then have a scene as Floyd jogs down the road (I couldn’t help chuckling; Floyd does a lot of exercising in this part of the movie. Give Roy Scheider credit: he was in much better shape here than I’ll ever be). Anyway, Christopher is riding alongside in a kiddie car. There’s some nice expo where Christopher asks Floyd about the mission and Floyd tells his son (and the audience) about the length of the mission (a little over two years round trip) and about his going into hibernation for most of the trip. The problem with this movie so far, obviously, is that it has been straight exposition. Here, it’s done right. Floyd explaining this stuff to his son is all too natural, and I liked the addition of his son first worrying his dad was gonna die (because he’s “going to sleep for a long time”) then not getting it when Floyd gives the short version of how hibernation works. Nicely done. Around this time, Hyams was pretty good at doing character scenes, and it shows here.
The montage continues for a few more shots, maybe a bit over-idealized, but I won’t harp on that. It dissolves into a night shot of Floyd and Caroline in their bedroom, doing some post-coital cuddling. Caroline voices her fears for Floyd; it’s implied that Floyd will leave tomorrow. Again, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before, but it works quite well, mainly due to Scheider and Smith’s performances. Madolyn Smith only has two scenes, this and the kitchen scene, along with a couple of shots in the montage. I wish they could’ve found a way to give her more screen time. Still, it’s pretty impressive how they give an impression she’s a real person, not just “the wife,” in these two scenes. Floyd tries to tell her not to worry while acknowledging this mission could be very dangerous: “I’ll be scared enough for both of us.” Also, there’s a hint that Floyd has secretly wondered if he is, indeed, to blame for the deaths of the Discovery crew. They embrace, and we fade out.
Early morning. This scene has no dialogue, but it’s pretty clear this is the day Floyd leaves. Floyd opens the door to Christopher’s room to see his son lying asleep. There’s a long shot of Floyd, giving an anguished, silent good bye. Very nicely done. I wish I could’ve met Roy Scheider if only to say “well done” for this scene. And with that, we cut to....
The Leonov, flying toward Jupiter; it’s about a year later. Ah, now we’re talkin’. Good segue, and the shot of Jupiter in the background is most impressive (Jupiter was computer animated, and it looks fantastic). As for the Leonov itself, well, the Discovery was meant to look purely functional and fragile, and it looks downright graceful compared to this thing. The Leonov is bulky, ungainly, squat, awkward, the centrifuge with the crew quarters is exposed and spinning.... Damn, this is one ugly-ass ship. And I love it. How accurate is this? No idea, but it certainly looks like a realistic ship, and it’s one of my all-time favorite movie spaceships. The music plays a few low synthesizer chords that do the job quite nicely. The score is by David Shire, and Shire and Craig Huxley (He Who Invented The Blaster Beam) performed it all on electronic instruments (except for the final theme, which was symphonic). It’s pretty dated today, but I’m pleasantly surprised at how well it still works.
We go inside to the medical bay. Floyd is being awakened from his hibernation chamber by Captain Kirbuk (Helen Mirren) and a doctor who will later be identified as Rudenko. There’s a nice feeling of cold tension here. I read some critics who slammed Mirren for playing Kirbuk too harshly, but I thought her performance worked pretty well. And hey, her accent’s much better than Dana Elcar’s. Anyhoo, they’ve woken Floyd up early, letting Curnow and Chandra get their last few days of beauty sleep. Kirbuk tells Floyd that the US government wanted him awakened when they reported the latest: the head of Leonov’s scientific team, Dr. Orlov, has found “some strange data coming from Europa.” The scene works pretty well, but I have to ask, were the three Americans the only ones to go into hibernation? This doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. (If I recall, it was the same way in the book, so Clarke deserves a little bit of the blame.)
They gather in the ward room, sitting around a table. Floyd reads Dr. Orlov’s report, which, in summary, states that “there’s something down there.” In short, there’s evidence of something containing chlorophyll, and it’s moving slowly toward the day side. The Russians are very cold toward Floyd, offering one- or two-word answers. Floyd notes this, trying to make a joke about it (but it came across to me as a bit smart-assed). Kirbuk basically tells Floyd to shut up and stop complaining. Orlov and Rudenko tell Floyd that a lot has been going on in the last year; they seem apologetic about the way they’re acting. Kirbuk adds that the Central America problem’s getting worse. Her tone is cold and a bit aggressive. Floyd tries to steer things back to what’s going on down on Europa, but Kirbuk continues to press. Floyd cuts her off, all but repeating what Moisevitch said then demanding that they talk about Europa. Kirbuk gets all haughty, and Floyd shouts at her to get back on point! Orlov defuses the moment by going along with Floyd, then Kirbuk reveals they plan to send a probe to Europa.
Very quick side trip. The interior sets of the Leonov — all of ‘em - look just as good as the exterior. I remember reading a rather slender book on the production design of 2010 (and how I wish there were more drawings of Leonov) saying that this ship was designed to be “very sober and Russian and considerably over-engineered.” It’s a good description for it; everything is functional and almost oppressive. But while I might not want to live on a ship like this, it looks great. Kudos to Syd Mead, the “visual futurist” who worked on this stuff.
Now we go to, I guess, the communications bay. Once again, it’s complete overkill, and it looks intentional. Here, the dim lighting seems appropriate. We hear a lot of chatter from the Russians as Floyd hangs back and observes from over Orlov’s shoulder.
They send a small probe down to Europa. Perhaps Hyams was trying to recall Bowman’s attempt to rescue Frank Poole in 2001, right down to the “bleep-bloop” radar which speeds up as the probe gets ever closer to Europa. And I’ll give him credit, it works. Here’s another quick observation. I saw one of those internet lists of film cliches, and the one that said that “in space you can always hear a deep rumble” gave me a chuckle. 2010 may have started that cliche, the rumble we hear could probably make a subwoofer earn its pay (I don’t know for sure; I don’t have a surround sound system. Anyone wanna donate one?). Also, in 2010, the scenes which occur in space are accompanied by the sounds of distant whalesongs. No joke. And I gotta admit, I liked it.
The probe sequence is one of the better scenes in the movie. No real dialogue, not much happening, just a probe going to the moon’s surface as the suspense builds (that radar signal acts as a sort of musical score here, quite effectively). We have a real sense we’re going into the unknown. The tension ratchets up when one of the crew, a bearded guy, pipes up “Chlorophyll!” as a light on his panel flashes. The actor playing Orlov (I believe his name is Oleg Rudnik) does a good job of showing a guy trying to look all cool and collected, but really on the edge of his seat. The probe goes lower.... We see a detailed view of the surface; the probe is probably just a couple of hundred feet over the surface.... We see the probe’s camera pan over something green.... And BAM! The screen goes white, and a bolt of energy shoots out of Europa, flame-broils the probe to tasty perfection, races past the Leonov, and disappears into deep space. On board, everyone starts rebooting their systems, but the monitors show nothing but static; all the data was erased. A nice close-up on Floyd’s amazed face, and we go back to the ward room. I can’t think of anything really negative to say here; this sequence was excellent.
The crew rests, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The bearded guy who announced they’d found chlorophyll (we’ll learn later on his name is Max) gives a patently bogus explanation. Kirbuk, Orlov, Max, and another crewmember who is never named (played by Jan Triska, half of the competent actors in The Omega Code) argue back and forth, until Floyd laughs off Max’s theory. Kirbuk asks Floyd, in a dismissive and haughty tone, what he thought that energy bolt was. Floyd answers, “A warning.” Unfortunately, the scene doesn’t cut here. Instead, we go into a round of Floyd Explains It All. His tone is a bit smug as he spells it out: whoever put that monolith here is keeping an eye on things, and wants us to stay away from Europa. Now, I can partly understand his tone. After all, one can understand him throwing Kirbuk’s contemptful attitude right back in her face, and taking satisfaction from it. But this feels more like another example of the movie’s mantra: Floyd Is Always Right.
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Edited by - BradH812 on 05/10/2008 4:56:01 PM
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/15/2008 : 1:28:13 PM
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The next shot is a stunning panorama of Jupiter, with the Leonov looking tiny in the foreground. We hear Floyd in voice-over, supposedly sending a message to his wife: “Dear Caroline: I miss you terribly. The time has come to put ourselves in an orbit around Io, which is where Discovery is. We don’t have enough fuel to slow ourselves down, so we are about to use a technique called aerobraking. The theory is, we will enter the outer layer of Jupiter’s atmosphere using what is called a ‘ballute’ for a shield. The atmosphere will slow us down, and Jupiter’s gravity will grab hold of us and slingshot us around behind the dark side. If all goes well, we’ll wind up in a gentle orbit around Io. It’s dynamite on paper. Of course the people who came up with the numbers on the paper aren’t here. Since no one has ever done this before, everyone up here is as scared as I am. The difference is, they’re busy. I have nothing to do but wait for it to happen. I hope this is all worth it.”
Don’t it make you feel all warm and squishy inside, hearing a message like that to one’s loved one? This is the first of four or five narrations disguised as messages home. Unlike the ones that will follow (more on that in a bit), this one’s necessary. Yes, it’s good to let the layman know what these guys are about to try. However, the idea of putting it in a letter to Floyd’s wife (who would either know about this already or would not want to know anything about the mission) is a complete bust. I wanted to smack Peter Hyams over the head for this; he dropped the ball completely here. The funny thing is, if it’d been done as straight narration, this would probably have worked.
We see Floyd in his bunk, sitting and waiting, as an intercom announces a countdown toward the aerobraking maneuver (in English, apparently for the benefit of the one person on board who doesn’t speak Russian). There’s a nice insert as Floyd looks longingly at a snapshot of Caroline and Christopher, as crewmen elsewhere in the ship start to literally batten down the hatches (a nice touch, although we’ll see later on that they forgot to clear the books off a table. Oops). Then we see a few shots on board the bridge, where the cosmonauts are in final preparations, including Kirbuk, and an unnamed bearded man whom I assume is the pilot. They speak in Russian, without subtitles.
The Leonov turns around — this aerobraking move will give new meaning to the term “bass-ackwards” — and then....
Aw, crap.
This “ballute” is a sort of inflatable heat shield that will fill up around Leonov’s tailfeathers. No problem there. Where’s the problem? In the shots of the ballute deploying and inflating. Ugh! It’s shocking to see an effect this bad in a movie whose special effects are otherwise top notch. Seriously, this thing looks like a stop-motion animation of a trash bag that someone stuck a leaf blower into. In the next shot of the ballute, it will be quite solid (and much more convincing). The DVD doesn’t have a director’s commentary. If it did, I hope Hyams would note that he wants to run and hide every time he sees this shot.
As the countdown nears zero, Floyd gets a knock at his compartment door. One of the Leonov’s crew, a very pretty lady who can’t be more than 25, is at the door, clearly scared to death. For once, Floyd was wrong; there’s at least one other person who wasn’t busy during this aerobraking prep. She speaks no English, but Floyd is able to figure out what’s going on: she doesn’twant to be alone during a maneuver that will be scary as hell for good reason. he invites her into his compartment, putting his arm around her shoulder, and they brace themselves. This crew member is never named in the film, but I saw a magazine article on the film before it was released (in a kid’s science magazine), and she was identified as “Yakunina”. This moment is nicely done; no dialogue is needed, as the looks on the actors’ faces says it all.
Oh the bridge, everyone straps themselves in, the countdown hits zero, and the aerobraking maneuver begins. Hyams made an interesting choice here. I don’t know if he did it for artistic reasons or just to save a bit of FX money, but the first part of the aerobraking move is shown from inside the ship. We see Floyd and Yakunina gritting their teeth and gripping each other more tightly as they hear the ship groan and shudder around them; they watch a computer graphic of the move on a monitor nearby. We then have several shots of different rooms on board the ship as the groaning and creaking grow louder. On the bridge, Kirbuk continues to speak in Russian. There are no subtitles here (or anywhere else in the movie); I’ll assume she’s calling out telemetry or some such thing. Her voice becomes more tense as the scene goes on.
And then we finally see the Leonov hurtling through space, leaving a long contrail of flame behind it. I don’t think having smoke in deep space is very realistic, but overall this is a good image. We go through a series of shots showing the Leonov skimming over Jupiter’s atmosphere, and it is a pretty frightening image. On the bridge, the loud shuddering and roaring of atmosphere forces the cosmonauts to shout to each other. We have more shots of Floyd and Yakunina clutching each other. Lather, rinse, and repeat for about a minute or so. There were some parts that serious nitpickers could go after (I know, I’ve picked some serious nits so far, and will continue to do so), but overall I liked this sequence a lot. The only thing I didn’t like, surprisingly, was Scheider’s acting. His way of showing a guy going through this maneuver was just to open his mouth, shake his head rapidly, and blow out a breath from time to time. It was almost unintentionally funny. On the other hand, the young lady playing Yakunina played it simple: squeeze her eyes shut, grit her teeth, and look scared sh!tless. Her performance worked a lot better.
At long last, the shuddering and rattle die down and stop, and everyone breathes a big sigh of relief. Chalk one up for the history books, folks: the move worked perfectly. Scheider’s back up to form here; we see him and Yakunina trying to catch their breath as the move ends.
The Leonov jettisons the ballute, which look a helluva lot better in this scene than it did when it was inflating. Back on board the bridge, Kirbuk and the pilot have a couple of lines of dialogue. I wish there were subtitles here; it’d be interesting to know what Kirbuk said to make the pilot grin a little. There’s no whooping or celebrating after the move; the cosmonauts are too exhausted, and they figure it’s best to just get back to work.
Back in Floyd’s compartment, Floyd asks Yakunina, “Okay?” She replies, “Da, okay.” She gets up and makes to leave, but not before giving Floyd a quick peck on the cheek. The scene wasn’t meant to be prurient, and I thought it was a sweet moment. I remember reading Roger Ebert’s review of this movie, and he said the aerobraking scene and this quiet little moment were much more effective in showing people overcoming differences yadda yadda yadda than most of the anti-war stuff in here. He’s right.
Yet another side trip. Did you notice I hadn’t named the pilot? His name is never revealed in this movie. Neither is Jan Triska’s character or another scientist shown here. Add Yakunina, and that’s four characters who are never named (Kirbuk almost makes it five; we only hear her name mentioned late in the game). I know most of these are minor characters, but c’mon, is it too much to give their names at some point? (Especially Yakunina.) This isn’t Once. (That’s the first shameless movie plug in this review; seriously, I loved that movie.)
We have another shot of Leonov flying through space, Jupiter in the background. No doubt Hyams fell in love with these shots and had to put them in whenever he could, and it’s hard to blame him. They do look great. We go back in to watch Floyd, playing Bowman’s final transmission over and over again. Still doesn’t sound too good to me, and we hear it four or five times. Thanks, Peter! Floyd is called to the medical bay, and he makes his way through the crew area (in one unbroken take, showing it was one big set. Nice!) to medical. There he finds that Curnow and Chandra are back among the living. John Lithgow plays Curnow, and here he plays him as a guy who is badly hung over; I thought it was both funny and effective. Chandra, in contrast, is almost completely back to his cool college-professor-type self. There’s a nice moment where he notes he wishes he could have seen aerobraking (I agreed with Floyd’s response: “I wish I could’ve slept through it.”). We have a quick bit about US/USSR tensions continuing to get worse. Chandra gets to business pretty quickly, wanting to be brought up to speed. Floyd then drops the bombshell: “Something extraordinary has happened on Europa.” One thing I liked was that this is either the second or third time Floyd has used the word “extraordinary.” Points to Hyams for giving Floyd the quirk of having a favorite word.
We have another shot of the ship coming into orbit around Io and firing its braking thrusters, as Floyd dictates another letter to Caroline bit of needless narration.
We then see the Leonov coming to a stop, then we get a great intro shot. The Leonov, seen from behind, is in the foreground, its centrifuge rotating. Io is below. Jupiter is in the distance. And up ahead is the Discovery, which is now tumbling end over end. Cool and creepy to see this big spaceship tumbling like this. It’s never explained why the Discovery is doing this (as it was in the book), but I can understand this. Long story short, the explanation would’ve taken too much time and blown the budget to hell. Hey, question: does anyone have an official length of the Discovery? I’ve heard it being described as anywhere from 300 to 700 feet long; Floyd’s narration says it’s 800 feet long. Any takers?
We go to the Leonov’s pod bay, where a spacewalk is in final prep. Several cosmonauts are shown walking on walls to show we’re in a weightless environment, but most of the characters stand normally (this fast-and-loose attitude about gravity, or lack thereof, will crop up pretty often). The cosmonauts prep Max for the spacewalk, while Floyd gets Curnow ready. Curnow worries and frets, noting that he’s an engineer, not an astronaut, then he brings up that he’s scared of heights. This is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the idea of a spacewalk done by a guy with acrophobia is so goofy you can’t help but like it. On the other hand, didn’t Curnow know from the start he’d be doing this? It’s a little late to start worrying.
Curnow and Max go into the airlock, sealing the pod bay behind them. There’s a nice moment when they open the outer hatch and Curnow’s breath catches when he looks outside. I can understand why he’d be scared; it’s a great view, but stepping out when Io is a hundred miles below? Yikes. They tether themselves together and step off. Max does the steering here; he holds a sort of portable thruster, which could be feasible, and it looks pretty neat.
The spacewalk has some great shots in it. My personal favorite may be a shot where Curnow and Max can be seen in the foreground, Jupiter and Io in the far distance, then you see the Discovery swing by a few hundred yards away. Max tries to keep Curnow’s mind off his worries by making idle conversation; at one point Curnow asks for a little Russian vocabulary. This sequence lasts about five minutes overall, and it’s very well done. The special effects were great in this scene. The only drawback is that Curnow’s skittishness goes way over the top. His constant complaining and fighting panic get to be a little much; is Floyd sure Curnow was the best man for this job? There is one good moment, which will have a good payoff in a few minutes. At one point, Curnow mutters, “I’m getting nauseous,” and Max warns him, “If you vomit, you’ll choke.”
At last, Curnow reaches the middle section of the Discovery, where it’s spinning the least. He hooks on and is joined by Max a few seconds later. They make their way toward the command module, basically rapelling along the ship’s spine. In the Leonov, Floyd, Orlov, Rudenko, and Chandra watch the spacewalk from the communications bay. We hear a voice-over from Floyd: “With that rotation, they’ll be in full gravity before they reach the command module.” Again, not needed. That earlier shot of the Leonov’s centrifuge in the foreground and the Discovery rotating in the background should have clued in an alert viewer what was going to happen to someone heading toward Discovery’s command module. Anyway, Rudenko notes that Curnow’s pulse is rising; even though they’ve made it to the ship, they still have to get to the command module and get in.
One interesting thing here: the Discovery, which was gray and white in 2001, is now a kind of burnt-yellow. Curnow reveals that the ship is “covered with sulfur.” Here, Hyams does right by the viewer. It was known by now that Io is covered with volcanoes, and you could see some of them in the earlier shots of the spacewalk. It was assumed that people would be able to figure out that some of those mountains belched up some sulfur, covering the ship.
Curnow and Max get to the command module and inch their way down, when Curnow’s anxiety attacks go to eleven and he starts to hyperventilate. (And my doubts about Curnow being the best guy for this mission are doubled.) Max has to help him change the air regulation on his suit, and Curnow complains about how stupid he feels. He tries to keep his mind off it and asks Max for the Russian word for stupid (“Durak”). Max defuses the situation by making a joke about their spacewalk, and Curnow is able to calm down a bit.
They get to the emergency airlock and open it up. There’s a nice moment where a large scrap of paper drifts out and off into space and Curnow and Max look at it, clearly wishing they could make a grab for it (Is it a final message Bowman left there, or just, well, a scrap of paper?). They get inside; onboard the Leonov, Floyd jokes, “Welcome to United States territory,” prompting a frown from Kirbuk.
Curnow and Max get to the pod bay, and the centrifugal force has them walking on the wall. (I could make a joke and start singing “Dancin’ on the Ceiling,” but hey, a neat practical effect is hard to beat.) They explore the area, looking at the lone spacesuit here, then spotting Hal (his pod bay terminal, anyway). Curnow says that Hal looks “asleep.” There’s one pod left; while it’s not commented on, one notices that the pod is missing its hatch. Credit to the filmmakers, Hyams in particular. This is a detail they nailed.
Max wants to see if the air is breathable, by opening his helment and taking a breath. He says it’s normal air; you can breath here, but it’s a hundred below. They’re gonna need to turn the heaters on full blast once they get the power up. He then notices there’s a “strange smell here. Stale, rotten, like something has—” He breaks off, a look of horror crossing his face, and slams his helmet back closed. Now it’s Max’s turn to panic, as he tries to keep from gagging (remember, if ya vomits in a spacesuit, ya chokes). Curnow and Floyd have to talk Max down, assuring him they’re not gonna find any nine-years-dead corpses around here. Curnow figures it out: some of the food spoiled before the ship froze up. Max calms down, they have a laugh, and they start for the bridge, Max joking, “Durak, you and me both.”
We go to an exterior of the Discovery stopping its tumble, then we see Curnow and Max powering it up and turning on the lights. During this, we have a transmission from Millson. Millson mentions tensions between the two countries continue to get worse. At one point, he says, “I hope there’s an Earth for you to return to.” Get your scorecard out, this isn’t the last time we’ll hear this. Anyway, Millson confirms that it was spoiled food that was stinkin’ up the ship, and gives a bit of needless expo. Thanks, Victor, but we could already see the Discovery was under control. We get more voiceover from Floyd, a message to Millson. It’s more needless narration, though I did like his line comparing Io (unfavorably) to Europa. He then says it’s time to send Chandra in (well, duh), as we see two cosmonauts pull a series of cables and struts from the Leonov to the Discovery, creating a sort of ski lift from one ship to the other.
While Chandra is crossing over, may I make yet another observation? I didn’t like the umbilical between the two ships. Peter Hyams wanted it to look like an African rope bridge in space, and he wanted something that “looked dangerous” (his words, in the book The Odyssey File). So we see Chandra suit up and cross this rope bridge on a modified T-bar. To me, this wastes a lot of time, making the astronauts get in spacesuits every time they want to cross from one ship to the other. It will also undermine a scene later on.
Chandra makes his way into Hal’s brain room, where the memory blocks Dave pulled out are waiting, ready to be pushed back into their slots. This might have been a Whonk! moment (they’ve stayed in position even after the ship started doing the big merry-go-round?), but I’ll give this one a pass. Would you really want to see Chandra collecting these blocks, organize them, bring them back in— Well, you get the idea. Besides, it’s implied that he’s been working on restoring Hal for awhile, so I’ll give the benefit of the doubt here and assume he came in earlier and did all that organizin’. Besides, I have another target to go after. There is a keyboard and monitor built into the wall (and the monitor is placed awkwardly below the keyboard) that wasn’t in 2001 Whonk! Too bad they didn’t just, say, have Chandra bring in a portable keyboard and monitor, hook it up to a recessed panel, something like that. (Yes, I know I’m going over minutiae here. By themselves, these are little problems, not worth going over. But they add up. Also, there’s a big Whonk! coming up later.)
Anyway, Chandra starts pushing the memory blocks back in, running tests on Hal, having Hal speak a series of words after pushing in each group of blocks. Hal starts out machine-like, becoming more human-sounding, then finally Chandra pushes the last set of blocks in, and Hal is back to his old self: “Good morning, Dr. Chandra, this is Hal. I’m ready for my first lesson.” (Minor Whonk! Remember, Hal once said his instructor was “Mr. Langley.” But then, maybe he had more than one teacher.) When Hal talks in Douglas Rain’s voice, Chandra brushes his hand over Hal’s eye affectionately, like a father reunited with a long-lost son. Not bad.
Back on the Leonov, Floyd pulls Curnow aside and reveals he doesn’t trust Hal, so he’s brought along a little insurance policy. He gets Curnow to hide a small device next to Hal’s main power feed. If and when it’s triggered, the thing will shoot a blade out, cutting the power and effectively killing everyone’s favorite chess-playing lip-reading paranoid computer. The remote control is a calculator Floyd has on his person; he gives Curnow the code to key in in an emergency. The dialogue reveals (in a believable way) that they don’t want Chandra to find out about what I’m gonna call the Hal-zapper, for obvious reasons.
The Discovery and the Leonov glide past us, rope bridge connecting them. Um, not a good idea. Wouldn’t you love to know how they managed to keep in such perfect sync this bridge stayed in perfect shape? It’d make more sense to show them slow to a stop as the bridge extended again. This is accompanied by more letter-writing clunky narration from Floyd.
The ships come to a stop, and we see that we are in the presense of (ta dummmmm) the Monolith.
Cool.
Unlike the Monolith in 2001, where a miniature was used, this film uses a matte painting, and it’s not hard to tell it’s a painting. Weird thing, I harp on little details, but something like this I don’t mind. Again, I’ll go into detail as to why I don’t mind this being a matte painting in Afterthoughts. (It doesn’t look all that great on a 27-inch TV, but I do remember it looking quite impressive on the big screen.) Gyorgi Ligeti’s “Lux Aeterna” plays here, and it will play in all scenes where the Monolith is present. In fact, it’s made to look like the music is coming from the Monolith. Why do I like this? I don’t know.
In the ward room, the cosmonauts and astronauts start discussing the Monolith. Orlov mentions that the Monolith’s proportions are perfect: 1:4:9, the squares of 1, 2, and 3. This was mentioned in the book, but never in 2001; the problem here is that black slab’s length and width look about right, but it’s much too thin. A little trimming of the dialogue could’ve helped here. Anyway, the instrument readings aren’t telling us anything, so Kirbuk decides to step it up a bit: she’ll send Max in a pod to take a closer look at the thing. Floyd is against it from the start (remember, Floyd Is Always Right), noting that it could be, you know, kinda dangerous, recommending that an unmanned pod do the recon. Max wants to do it; Curnow’s response: “Dumb.” Kirbuk tries to taunt Floyd, asking about “American bravery.” Floyd throws it right back in her face, commenting on “Russian common sense.” Kirbuk pulls rank, saying the decision’s made. Max doffs his cap in a half-joking salute, prompting a little grin from Kirbuk, the first time we’ve seen her smile.
Back to the pod bay. Curnow helps prep Max as the pod is moved into position. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something about this pod I don’t like. It’s probably the only piece of production design I would’ve scrapped. Curnow continues to voices his worries, while Max shrugs it off. He gets in the pod and is carted into the airlock, Curnow and company watching him go. (I liked the look of worry on John Lithgow’s face; one assumes he and Max got to be friends after the spacewalk.)
Shock of shocks, this movie managed to trump 2001 here. In 2001, when the pods left the Discovery, you could see inside the ship as the pod bay doors opened, meaning every time an astronaut wanted to do an EVA, they had to vent the whole pod bay. Here the pod goes into an airlock and cycles out, a safer choice in my view.
Of course, this has a problem. That pod bay door is awful close to the rope bridge. I hope Max was careful steering the thing out.
There’s a wide shot of the two spaceships and the pod, all looking tiny next to the Monolith. Max starts to cruise close to the Monolith, and these shots do a good job of showing just how big this thing is. On the Leonov, Floyd and Curnow exhange comments on how small that pod looks; Floyd’s glad: it doesn’t look big enough to be a threat (one problem: how bad do you feel after swatting a fly?). There’s a funny moment where Floyd considers getting Max to extend the pod’s arms as a gesture of friendship, then Curnow points out the tiny problem there: “That thing with its claws in the air would scare the piss outta me.”
Most of the rest of this scene has Max slowly passing over the Monolith, radioing back his observations. He doesn’t see much. No reflections, no features, no response to radar; this thing can’t be read. He and Kirbuk read off (I guess) telemetry in Russian, and then....
Max sees a series of sparkles moving across the Monolith’s surface. We get a wide shot of the pod gliding over while these lights all come together at a point, and the Monolith begins to glow. Uh oh. (While this could be a Whonk! — we never saw anything like this in 2001, this deserves a bit of credit. One can believe someone could look at this and say the Monolith was “full of stars.”) On board the Leonov, an alarm begins to sound; yep, something’s going very wrong. Curnow tells Max to clear out, but it’s too late. A stream of energy shoots out of the Monolith, heading straight for Max. A quick cutaway to the ship, then we see the energy stream continuing to shoot from the Monolith, as the shattered remains of Max’s pod tumble away. The energy bolt screams past the two ships and heads for Earth. Curnow continues to shout, trying to get Max to respond, as Orlov, Floyd, and Kirbuk all watch in horror.
Meanwhile, back on Earth....
The energy bolt shoots down, then we see an establishing shot of a modern apartment complex. In one of the apartments (which looks fairly upscale), a middle-aged woman sits at the kitchen table, doing some sort of work (she is taking notes of some sort in a notebook) while the TV plays. I got a good smile at what was on TV. Hyams lifted the Space Station One docking scene from 2001 and turned it into a Pan Am commercial. You can afford to be a little shameless when a bit of cleverness is thrown in. (I have to add, though, that the TV itself probably looked futuristic in 1984, but now it looks like.... something that probably looked futuristic in 1984.) Anyway, a news report plays, saying, yes, tensions between the US and the USSR are getting worse and worse. The reporter’s image and voice become garbled. The woman tries to change the channel, but no go. Then.... “Hello, Betty.” Betty backs away, startled. The voice is distorted, but the image resolves into our favorite Stargate-travelling astronaut, Dave Bowman himself. It’s obvious Betty was Bowman’s wife. The reunion doesn’t get anywhere, really. All Bowman is here to do is tell her he loves her, something’s about to happen, and he wanted to say goodbye. When Betty asks what’s going to happen, he says, “Something wonderful.” Remember this. Then he fades out, and Betty finds herself watching a commercial for Sheraton (I’ll forgive Hyams the product placement, since it fits in the scene). She slumps back in her chair, still in shock.
This scene was... I dunno. At one point Betty Bowman confirms she’s married again (and we see a Connect Four game in the background, a nice subtle clue she has kids), and they seem to be happy. But she looks tired, haggard, and dejected in this scene. Personally, I would’ve liked seeing her looking like a fairly happy person who is shocked by this trip down memory lane. Also, remember, Bowman’s trip out of the Monolith killed Max. Was it just a co-inky-dink that he decided to head back home just when Max was taking a stroll past the giant domino? Or was it also a sort of automatic safety on the Monolith, a la the probe-smasher on Europa? Finally, we’ll learn that the only thing Bowman does when returning here is visit a couple of relatives. Seems like an awful lot of effort for that, considering that he’s transformed into some ethereal being. (I think the book had him doing observations here, then dropping in on family before leaving, but I can’t remember.)
On the other hand, the scene does a good job of showing that Bowman clearly isn’t the person he once was, in any way. There’s some nice eerie music in the background; it’ll become Bowman’s theme (literally: I remember the soundtrack album). Keir Dullea plays the part well, and there was a nice subtle flickering glow to his eyes. Finally, Mary Jo Deschanel did a good job of playing his widow.
I’ve noticed that it almost takes longer for me to describe the action and my thoughts on it than it would to just watch the damn thing. Part of it is because I love to talk. But one big thing this movie has going for it is it moves surprisingly quickly. Now, I liked 2001’s glacial pace. The story required it. But this is a different movie, needing a different pace. It was slow going at first, but once we got up to big ol’ Jove, this film, despite its leisurely feel, has moved. Hyams has stuffed this toy box of his with lotsa things (too much of the story is told through dialogue, but it could be much, much worse) to keep our interest. I cannot and will not criticize him on that. More on the pacing later on. But for now, let’s get back up to the Leonov.
Floyd comes onto the bridge to find Kirbuk alone, in a deep funk. Floyd reveals he smuggled a stash of Kentucky bourbon on board (“You think I’d set foot on this tub sober??”) and he offers her a drink. They have the following exchange:
Kirbuk: You think I was wrong to send Max.
Floyd: It doesn’t matter what I think.
Kirbuk: You think I was wrong.
Floyd: Yep.
The resigned tone to their voices says it all; no more is needed. Also, while she never says it Kirbuk clearly knows she screwed the pooch pretty badly. (In a turn from earlier, she and Floyd will get into an argument later on, but this time she’ll keep it on point.) We then have a nice getting-to-know-you character moment between the two when they talk about their families. It’s good to see Kirbuk shocked out of her shell by her failure, and Floyd makes a nice mention that his first wife died (and Roy Scheider gives a subtle hint that it’s still painful to talk about her), then states he now has a 17-year-old daughter. Remember her? Squirt? I wonder if she ever got that bushbaby?
The scene takes a slight downturn when Floyd makes mention of the threats of war back home, nearly echoing Millson’s earlier words. They look out at the Monolith, and Floyd unwittingly pours salt on Kirbuk’s wound by mentioning Max (perhaps the only time Floyd Is Not Always Right). Kirbuk gets miffed and says Floyd is “not a practical man.” (Huh?) Floyd’s response is to gesture at the Monolith and ask her to define “practical.”
I liked this scene a lot. I’ve noted that some scenes might be seen as filler, except that they work. If you learn something about a character, if something really interesting comes up, if you’re glad the scene was there, it ain’t filler; keep it in. You don’t need to hurtle through every scene at three-hundred miles an hour! Are you listening, Michael Bay?
And I’m gonna close out this part of the review. Next up: the single worst scene and the single worst Whonk! in the whole movie. For me, this scene almost shot the whole thing to hell. |
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/15/2008 : 9:16:48 PM
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Chandra, Floyd, Curnow, and Orlov get together in the Discovery’s pod bay. Chandra warns them that the accents might confuse Hal (although Orlov is the only non-American in the room), so let him do the talking. Chandra starts talking to Hal, asking how he is. Hal’s doing fine, thank you, ready to get back to work. It’s exposited that the crew plans to stay here another month; each ship will leave for Earth when the launch window comes up in one month. Hal doesn’t recognize the people in the room, but he is able to guess that the guy leaning against the remaining pod (yes, relaxing and leaning a little in a zero-g room; I’ll get into that later) is Floyd. Hal also asks where Dave and Frank are; Chandra tells him “they’re fine; they’re not here right now.” There’s a nice moment where Curnow throws Floyd a concerned look and Floyd silently re-assures him: don’t worry, I got the Hal-zapper. Chandra then asks Hal to let them have a private conversation then switches off his sight and hearing. Whonk! Remember, Frank ‘n’ Beans, uh, Frank ‘n’ Dave had to try and get in a pod to keep Hal from hearin’ em, not realizing Hal was good at reading lips. If this little see-no-evil hear-no-evil feature was available, they’d’ve found an excuse to use it. (There’s another Whonk! here, but it’s understandable. In 2001, Hal’s monitor was a flat-screen; I’m still amazed they predicted that. Here, it’s a CRT. Hyams decided to use video rather than front projection, had a smaller budget to work with, and probably did the best he could. So it’s there, but no complaints.)
Anyway, Chandra reveals he had a program that could erase any memory from Hal’s data banks, and he wiped out everything from the first moment Hal started goin’ loco. Floyd asks if Chandra knows why Hal became homicidal, suicidal, neurotic, psychotic, or just plain broken. Chandra says it wasn’t Hal’s fault. (pause) It was Floyd’s. Floyd gives a “Huh?” look, and Chandra reveals that he found Hal’s mission orders, which he says Floyd wrote. The Discovery was already being prepped for a Jupiter mission when the small monolith was dug up, so the top brass decided to go ahead and turn the mission into a recon, finding out what that little monolith was signalling. They told Hal the true nature of the mission, but told him not to tell Bowman or Poole. In short, Hal, who is programmed never to lie or disobey orders, was ordered to lie. (It’s a little like the ending of the “I, Mudd” episode of Star Trek, where Harry Mudd sends the lead robot into a logical tailspin by saying, “I am lying.” More sophisticated, but the same principle.) Floyd gets all indignant, saying he never gave that the okay. Chandra shows a printout of the orders. Curnow and Floyd read it and state that they came from the White House. Ahhhhh, the Prez himself, eh? Chandra states that Hal was ordered to lie “by people who find it easy to lie.” And that’s what caused his breakdown. Floyd’s face is a combination of vindication and anger: “Those sons of bitches. I didn’t know. I. Didn’t. Know!”
(long pause)
WHONK!!! WHONK!!! WHONK!!! WHONK!!! WHONK!!! Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down! Houston, we have a problem! Abandon ship! Women and nerdy horndogs first!
Damn, damn, damn, damn. In 2001, Floyd made a statement that he knew about (and probably approved) Hal’s knowledge of the mission. It was spelled out very clearly. But that is contradicted here; I think we’re supposed to take Floyd at his word. The Floyd Is Always Right mantra has just screwed itself into the ground. Seriously, this bit doesn’t leave itself anyway out. To make it worse, Chandra shifts the blame from Floyd to the White House in twenty seconds. It’s as though Hyams was going to go for a tough moment for Floyd, but lost his nerve and changed it while writing.... and didn’t go back to change the first part of the scene.
And man, this scene could’ve been unbelieably great. Let’s see. Reveal that Floyd and Chandra got together and worked out a way to tell Hal about the monolith without messing up his mind. Later on, someone recommended the orders be changed, telling Hal to lie out right, and Floyd rubber stamped it without thinking. A simple mistake with tragic results.
Why didn’t Hyams do this? Why let Floyd off the hook? It’s possible that Roy Scheider wanted this change to make Floyd completely sympathetic and heroic. The problem with that theory is, Scheider never had problems playing flawed or unsympathetic characters. And lest we forget.... Well, just read Ken’s review of Jaws again. I’m gonna lay this one at Hyams’s door. He couldn’t break out of making Floyd right all the time, and here it really bit the movie on the ass.
So, after bombing out with a FUBAR like that, how do you redeem yourself? By giving us a damn good scene, one of my favorites in the movie.
We go back to Earth, and we meet Jessie Bowman (Herta Ware), mother to Dave Bowman. Mrs. Bowman had a stroke recently, and is now in a deep coma on full life support. The expo here is pretty good; it’s given by a doctor to his students in a cold, clinical way. This certainly isn’t how I’d want to go out. The doctor and students file out, and we see the nurses’ station, which has video monitors of all the patients on the ward. The nurse (who isn’t much good at her job, apparently) sits back and reads an issue of Time magazine. Sigh. They have a pic of the Prez and the Soviet Premier on the cover, with “WAR?” in big letters. Still, there’s a joke here that offsets it a bit. The President looks an awful lot like Arthur C. Clarke... and the Premier is played by a drawing of Stanley Kubrick. Not bad.
The nurse doesn’t pay attention to the monitors, so she doesn’t see Mrs. Bowman awakening and rising to a sitting position. In the room, a hair brush levitates from the bedside table and starts brushing Mrs. Bowman’s hair awkwardly. Three guesses who’s doing this. Mrs. Bowman reacts with shock, then begins to tear up and smiles.
Back at the nurses’ station, an alarm rings. Mrs. Bowman has flatlined. The nurse rushes to the room (not calling Code Blue, but let’s assume Mrs. Bowman is a DNR), but it’s too late. The nurse does a double-take. Mrs. Bowman’s hands are clasped around the hairbrush, and she has a beatific smile on her face. It’s a safe bet that Jessie Bowman is, indeed, resting in peace.
Well, Mr. Hyams, you just put yourself back in my good graces.
The crews of both ships are called to Leonov’s ward room, where messages from Moisevitch and Millson give the bad news. The naval standoff in Central America has just gone hot: a Russian ship tried to make a move, and the US took it out, killing 800 crew members. Russia responded by taking out a US satellite. It’s no longer a staring match; the sh!t is officially hitting the fan. The Soviet Premier now says that, for all intents, we’re at war. Every American in Russian territory has been ordered out, and vice versa. That extends all the way out here. Floyd, Curnow, and Chandra have to leave the Leonov immediately. No crew is allowed on the other’s ship unless they have an emergency. Millson exposits (and in context, the expo works) that the Discovery has enough fuel and supplies to get Our Heroes home, and that Hal can see to them (of course, I’d be nervous trusting my life to a co-dependent computer who’d offed four guys nine years and one movie back). Also, Millson adds that the launch window is in three weeks, and neither ship can afford to go early or late. We see the astronauts heading across the rope bridge back to their ship, then the rope bridge is jettisoned. Um, this looks good, but wouldn’t the Leonov’s crew want to keep that bridge around, just in case?
We have a quick montage of cosmonauts looking all depressed, trying to get back to work. There’s a shot of Chandra still tooling around in Hal’s brain room, then one of Curnow sitting in one of the Discovery’s corridors.
Let me break off (yes, here we go again) and mention something. This movies plays fast and loose with zero-g. Now, the scenes in Leonov’s centrifuge work just fine. The problem is, everyone behaves like they’re in full gravity in other parts of the ship. We see the crew wearing red slippers over their shoes, hinting these are magnetic or velcro grippers, but they lean against walls or sit on the floor (as Curnow does here), regardless of whether there’s gravity or not. Everyone goes under full gravity in the Discovery’s bridge and pod bay. I won’t begrudge Hyams not showing the Discovery’s centrifuge; he didn’t have the time or money to rebuild that monstrosity. But in a bit, the Leonov will have to lock off its centrifuge, yet the people on board will continue to walk around normally. All this could be written off as artistic license, except that Hyams will include a scene that requires weightlessness in few minutes. Oops!
Okay, maybe they didn’t have much time to try and rehearse to get the movement right. Still, this strikes me as being sloppy. Okay, lemme hit the play button on the DVD again.
Floyd is on the bridge. Hal makes small talk and gives ship’s operation reports. Then Hal announces Floyd has a message: “It is dangerous to stay here. You must leave in two days.” Floyd does a huh? and responds that they don’t have fuel. The response: tough. Get out of here in two days, or else. Hal has no idea who’s sending the message. Floyd finally demands that this mystery person reveal themself. Hal says, “The response is, ‘I was David Bowman.’” At first Floyd thinks Curnow is playing a practical joke (if memory serves, Curnow was a practical joker in the book, but that’s never brought up here). Then he gives his own riposte: if you’re Bowman, prove it. The answer: “Look behind you.” C’mon, tell me you didn’t feel a shudder go down your back. Scheider does a good job of making an “aw hell no” look, then turns to look back. Lo and behold, there’s David Bowman, still decked out in his spacesuit. He smiles, gives Floyd a little nod, then goes to the pod bay (there’s no reason for him going to the pod bay, but it gave the filmmakers a method for pulling a little quick change move that’s coming up).
Floyd follows Bowman into the pod bay to see.... David Bowman, age seventy, in his dark robe (from the ending sequence of 2001). During this scene, Bowman will go from Old Bowman back to Young Bowman, then to Ancient Bowman, then finally back to Young Bowman. The main thing 2010 should have done was to put itself as far away from 2001 as possible. There were references to the earlier films several times by now, but those moments were clever and/or subtle. Here is the only blatant attempt by Hyams to cash in on the good will toward Kubrick’s film. The make-up job on Bowman is fantastic (no surprise, as it was done by Michael Westmore), but it’s ultimately pointless. (It’s interesting to note that Keir Dullea looks far better at age seventy than was speculated. Well, filmmakers can’t predict the future.)
Bowman repeats the message: “I don’t have much time. I’ve been allowed to give you this warning: you must leave here in two days.” When Floyd asks what’s going to happen, Bowman gives that “something wonderful” line again. The gist of the message is, something’s gonna happen; get out now. If you can’t, tough. Floyd keeps pressing for more info, but Bowman turns into the Starchild, looks at Floyd, then disappears. Floyd looks in amazement, then sets his jaw into John Wayne mode. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, pilgrim!
While I didn’t like Bowman playing Musical Ages in this scene, the character of Bowman was spot on. You really get the idea that this guy isn’t human anymore, and he doesn’t have human sensibilities. Nice detail there, him saying, “I was (emphasis mine) David Bowman. There’s a strong feeling that while he’ll warn us to leave, he won’t do anything to stop this “something wonderful” if it turns out we can’t. Ken Begg noted basically the same thing about the character of Rayden in Mortal Kombat. It worked there; it works here.
Floyd calls Kirbuk and tells her he wants to talk to her, alone, orders be damned. He gets on board the bridge in a near-manic state and starts rambling about how they need to get out of there in two days because “Something.... Something extraordinary is gonna happen.” Yep, I smiled at the word. Kirbuk’s first assumption is pretty reasonable, considering: “You have been drinking your whiskey from Kentucky!” She then brings up a good point. It’ll be kinda hard to leave before the launch window, since neither ship has enough fuel to get to Earth until Terra Firma is in the right position in its orbit (“You’re gonna need a bigger fuel tank—” Sorry). But remember, Floyd Is Always Right, and he has a way to get home (does the man’s genius know no limits?!).* The Leonov has a big docking clamp it can use to attach to the Discovery, riding piggyback. They’ll use the Discovery as a really big booster rocket, using up all its fuel in one big burn. Then they’ll set her free, and the Leonov will have enough speed to get back home on her own fuel. Kirbuk thinks the idea could work, but she still doesn’t want to do something this wild for no good reason, and Floyd’s arguments aren’t exactly convincing.... Until.... Floyd and Kirbuk glance out the window, and.... Bum bum BUM! The Monolith has disappeared.
* [While this is a direct violation of the gravity rule in this movie, there’s a nice bit where Floyd demonstrates what he has in mind by putting a couple of pens up in the air and letting them float in zero-g. I read somewhere that Scheider pantomimed holding up the pens, then they were animated in later in post-production. If that’s the case, it was a great job; the effect is seamless. In the featurette on the DVD, it’s claimed that Hyams had a big sheet of plexiglass brought in, and Scheider was to attach the pens to that, a la 2001. However, there’s a funny moment in the featurette showing Roy Scheider getting frustrated when the pens just won’t stay on that plexiglass. Maybe Hyams gave up on this and went with the pantomime and animation trick. Either way, this effect is quite good.]
Seeing as two-mile-long singing black slabs usually don’t just pop out to get a pizza, Our Heroes figure Floyd’s onto something. Maybe it’d be a good idea to put some distance between ourselves and Ol’ God-o-Thunder. So we see the Leonov locking off its centrifuge (if they didn’t, it’d slam into the Discovery’s midsection) and getting into piggyback position. All this while, Millson sends some messages to Floyd; he’s getting pissed that Floyd and Co. have cut off all contact. Millson notes that “all hell’s breaking loose down here” and repeating that “I hope there’s still an Earth to return to” bit. Happily, this is the last cold-war bit we’ll see in the film, until the final scenes. Oh, and Millson adds that telescopes on Earth have seen a strange black spot on Jupiter; could Floyd please check that out?
Back to the ward room. Orlov has crunched the numbers, and he announces that if Discovery blows all its fuel in a two-minute burn, that’ll get Leonov in position. I wasn’t sure I bought this idea from the start, but I was willing give it the benefit of the doubt, back when Floyd came up with the piggyback plan. But remember, these guys are calculating a complex flight plan. The regular route took weeks or months to plan, and now Orlov has come up with a new trajectory in a few hours? Kinda hard to swallow. The good news is, the film moves fast enough you don’t notice it (unless you’ve had it pointed out by someone who’s seen this thing God knows how many times. You’re welcome. Hee hee hee).
Anyway, everything’s in place, and there’s just one detail: giving Hal the new flight plan. Chandra isn’t sure he likes this. Basically, he’s about to tell Hal he has to sacrifice himself, and he’s not sure how the computer will react. It’s an interesting moment: Chandra is Hal’s creator and staunch defender, and here even he is a little nervous about what Hal’s capable of. Curnow’s solution is simple: lie to Hal, telling him there’s no danger. Chandra gets indignant, saying Hal should be treated as a sentient being and given a little respect (I’ll give some thoughts on this at the end of the review). Curnow gives the right answer: “So, our choice is him or us? Well, I vote us. All opposed? (Pause) The ayes have it.” Floyd agrees; right now, they don’t have much choice, and they need to get to work. Chandra sighs and silently agrees.
A tow line is rigged between the two ships, and Chandra uses it to cross back to the Discovery. Here’s where that rope bridge really undermines the movie. This moment is supposed to look dangerous, but since the rope bridge wasn’t exactly the safest form of travel, this doesn’t look all that bad. (In addition, while the Leonov loses its artificial gravity — in theory, anyway — this piggyback ride looks much more sensible than any docking bit they’ve done before now.
Curnow and Floyd do a walk-n-talk. Curnow wonders if Floyd should go ahead and take Hal out now, but Floyd nixes it; the timing of the launch is critical, and he feels a lot more comfortable with Hal doing it (keep this in mind). Anyway, if Hal starts acting up after starting the engines, Floyd can disconnect him if he needs to. The scene ends with Floyd having a little fun with Curnow, pretending he lost that calculator. Cuuuuuute, Heywood.
Orlov and Curnow peer out one of the telescopes, studying that black spot Millson talked about. There’s a nice subtlety here. Curnow is wearing the cap that Max wore earlier, and Orlov appears to be wearing Curnow’s baseball cap. Anyway, Orlov has no idea what that spot could be. We go outside and get a better look at it, and it’s eerie seeing this thing (imagine a perfectly round version of the holes Shoemaker-Levy left in Jupiter’s atmosphere, and you have an idea how this looks).
We then go into a montage of Chandra prepping Hal and the cosmonauts doing routine work on board the Leonov. I said before that I liked the pacing of this film, and here’s an example of knowing when to slow down. It’s nice seeing that they have nothing to do now but wait, and the tension builds in a subtle way.
There’s an amusing character scene where Floyd and Curnow hang out in the galley. They try to keep their minds off how nervous they are about what’s coming by trying to figure out which baseball stadium is the best place to “grow a good hot dog.” A nice regular-guy moment, and it allows us to take a deep breath and brace ourselves for the big finish, which is coming directly. |
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/16/2008 : 11:44:57 AM
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Chandra is on the Discovery bridge, spacesuited, but not wearing a helmet yet. Time to launch: 15 minutes. Hal notes that this burn will cost the ship all of its fuel and asks Chandra what’s up with that. (Funny, I think he’d’ve asked that some time ago.) Chandra tries to make up a story, and it’s clear the guy isn’t a very good liar.
On board the Leonov, Curnow looks at Jupiter and blanches. He puts the image on the monitor to show everyone else what has him scared. Floyd, Orlov, and Kirbuk all have a look on their face that says, “What the f***?!?!”
That spot on Jupiter is huge. It’s now about a quarter of the planet’s diameter. (I’m kinda surprised no one noticed this earlier, but I’ll give the movie the benefit of the doubt and assume they were all preoccupied with the launch.)
Hal apparently has heard some transmissions from the others, because he tells Chandra he’s picking up stress patterns in people’s voices. Chandra tries to steer Hal away from this and asks for a close-up of the big black spot. Hal complies, and we learn what this thing is. Seems the Monolith has gone and had a family. There are millions of these things starting to swarm over Jupiter’s surface. Also, Hal states the Monoliths are reproducing, growing geometrically. Curnow, Floyd, and Orlov note (as if we couldn’t see this) that the clouds on Jupiter are now all going into the spot. It’s reproducing like a virus, literally eating the planet. (Seriously, that’s almost an exact quote.)
Hal, who, remember, thinks they’re in no danger, recommends that they abort the countdown and continue to watch this new turn of events. Chandra tells Hal to keep with the program. At one point, Hal says, “This behavior is inconsistent with logic,” sounding like the bad ol’ Hal who wouldn’t let Dave back on board the ship. Floyd gets Chandra on a private line and says I don’t care what you tell him; don’t let him stop that damn countdown. Chandra continues to try and convince Hal not to stop the launch, and he’s growing nervous, too. Floyd (bum bum BUM) pulls out the calculator. He asks Kirbuk (probably hoping against hope) if they can go ahead with the launch. Kirbuk confirms his worst fears: if he cuts Hal off, the launch will almost certainly put them off course. I liked Curnow’s expression here: “Oh, crap, here we go.” Hal continues to say, “I think we should stop,” as Floyd notices that the color of Jupiter’s clouds is fading to a dingy yellow-gray.
Chandra and Hal continue to argue over whether to stop the countdown or not. Hal is finally starting to put together that they might be in trouble here. Floyd decides they need to go for broke and starts to punch in the code for the Hal-zapper.
Chandra is clearly breaking down under Hal’s questioning. He tells Hal there’s no time to explain everything going on, and he pleads with Hal to trust him: they have to leave now. Hal continues to press questions, then there is a great shot of the two ships gliding toward us, Jupiter in the background; what looked like a black spot now looks like an enormous crater in Jove’s surface.
Finally, Chandra can’t keep it up anymore. He breaks down and tells Hal that yes, they’re in danger. If Hal carries out the launch, the Discovery could very well be destroyed. If he aborts, everyone on board the Leonov. We see Floyd’s finger poised over the last key, ready to kill Hal, we see Curnow clearly hoping they don’t have to do this, the suspense is drawn out for all it’s worth....
And then Hal says, calmly, “I understand now, Dr. Chandra,” and continues with the countdown.
Everyone on board the Leonov takes a big sigh of relief, and Floyd pulls his hands away from the calculator. Chandra offers to stay with Hal, but Hal tells him he should leave, then adds, “Thank you for telling me the truth.” Chandra replies, “You deserved it.” Then Hal asks Chandra, “Will I dream?” Chandra chokes up and admits, “I don’t know.” So there’s the payoff. Personally, I was let down; this didn’t seem to be worth it. Besides, Hal ain’t going to sleep. He’s probably about get destroyed, dude. All in all, though, this is a nice, poignant moment, thanks mostly to Bob Balaban’s acting. I don’t want to take anyway from Roy Scheider, but the real acting honors here go to Balaban, and probably to Helen Mirren.
In the next scene, Chandra is helmeted, making his way through the pod bay to the airlock (it looks like this was in real time, though, meaning Chandra had to teleport down there). He and Hal exchange a final good-bye, then he gets the hell out of there. He hooks himself to the towline and starts back for the Leonov, as the countdown reaches zero. And away we go.
This is the first time we’ve seen the Discovery’s main engines firing. Tell ya one thing, that’s one damn powerful blast. Chandra is thrown back, and his lifeline is pulled taut. Yes, it’s a cliche, the intrepid explorer fighing to get back on board the ship before it’s too late. Give it credit, though, the location and scale here (Chandra looks tiny next to the two ships) make it work. Chandra manages to get on board the Leonov, the Discovery expends all its fuel, and its engines go dark for the last time.
Chandra gets out of his spacesuit and rejoins his compatriots as they prepare to separate from the Discovery. He pulls out Floyd’s little Hal-zapper and hands it back to him, shrugging and saying, “It wasn’t very hard to find. Yeah, I knew you would do something like this.” The impression was, no hard feelings, Chandra understood why Floyd had that thing put in.
They get themselves strapped in, and the Leonov separates. Kirbuk throws the last switch, and Leonov fires its thrusters, leaving the Discovery behind. We get the standard bits of the craft shuddering and everyone holding on, then....
We go back to the Discovery. Hal hears Bowman’s disembodied voice (and there’s a nice bit where we see shots of the now-empty pod bay, corridor, and bridge). Bowman has one final job for Hal: point the main antenna toward Earth. Hal frets that he can’t continue his Jupiter observation, but Bowman tells him now to worry. Hal accepts this, tells Dave it’s good to be working together again, then, always seeking approval, asks how he did his job. Bowman reassures him that he did very well. He then tells Hal he wants him to send a message, “the most important message you have ever sent.” Hal asks what’s about to happen, and Bowman says (thankfully, for the last time), “Something wonderful.”
Hal: I’m afraid.
Bowman: Don’t be. We’ll be together.
Hal: Where will we be?
Bowman: Where I am now.
I liked the idea that Hal was acting like a scared kid, and Bowman was now playing father figure for him. Hal starts sending his message: “ALL THESE WORLDS...”
The Leonov continues to shudder and shake as it tries to put more distant between it and Jupe. Curnow looks at the monitor and shouts, “IT’S SHRINKING! IT’S SHRINKING!” Lo and behold, Jupiter is indeed shrinking (again, it doesn’t look that great on my TV, but I remember it looking freakin’ awesome in the theater). The Leonov continues to run for it, as Jupiter shrinks down, the entire surface starting to turn black. Those monoliths must be swarmin’ over the planet now.
It gets down to about a third of its original size, goes completely black, then....
KA-BLAM!!!
The King of the Gods does the big firework. We see Discovery drifting lazily toward us as the shockwave rushes forth, and everything goes white. Tell ya something, if I were an 800-foot-long spaceship, I could think of worse ways to go out. The Leonov continues to run for it, and the shockwave catches up. Everyone is tossed around, the ship shakes, one cosmonaut’s seatbelt comes undone and he goes flying across the room (I’d want to have a word with whoever put that belt in). Sigh. Dammit. This is an almost verbatim repeat of the Millenium Falcon hauling ass away from the doomed New and Improved Death Star at the end of Return of the Jedi. The shockwave passes, and everything calms down. That cosmonaut who got thrown around isn’t hurt, like the Leonov, he just got the wind knocked out of him. Everyone catches their breath and looks at the monitor. And I’m willing to forgive the Jedi ripoff, due to how well this next bit works.
Jupiter has become a small star. We hear a repeat of Bowman’s theme, only now David Shire has stowed the synth and brought out a full orchestra. Now it doesn’t sound eerie; it sounds downright triumphant. Hal’s final message reads out:
ALL THESE WORLDS
ARE YOURS EXCEPT
EUROPA
ATTEMPT NO
LANDING THERE
USE THEM TOGETHER
USE THEM IN PEACE
And the music goes into a flourish as we see a panoramic shot: the Jupiter star is now at the center of a mini-solar system, as the four inner moons are large enough to be planets. Our Heroes watch in awe, floored by what they’re seeing. I couldn’t help smiling. Well, whaddaya know, Hyams pulled it off.
We see the Leonov heading back for Earth, and I had to supress a chuckle. You wouldn’t be surprised if we saw Floyd breathe a big sigh, smile tiredly, and drawl out, “Well, it’s time to go home,” John Wayne style. Instead, we have him do the final narration, poorly disguised as a letter to his son.
Floyd basically tells us that after the US and Russia saw this new star and read that message, they recalled all their troops, realizing someone else has stepped into this little game. During this voiceover, we see the astronauts and cosmonauts relaxing and celebrating, then Floyd gives Kirbuk a hug before he and Curnow and Chandra head back to the hibernation chamber. In the voiceover, Floyd tries to guess what that Monolith really was, before giving up. He then says he’s going to sleep, and he looks forward to seeing his family again, knowing that they don’t have to fear the future anymore.
This narration would have worked all right as a straight voice-over. But it has wording that a six-year-old boy would never understand. It’s too bad, because the words themselves are pretty decent.
Floyd continues the narration, and the prose gets a bit purple here, talking about how things will never be the same, now that we have a two-star solar system (well, duh). During this bit, we see shots of the Lincoln Memorial, Red Square, the Pyramids of Egypt, the Eiffel Tower, and London Bridge, all with the two suns in the same position: Old Sol is lower, to the right, and Jupiter-star is high on the left. The images were quite poignant, actually. The final shot in this montage is a couple of years later: Floyd sits with his family on the beach, watching the sunsets (or is that suns set?). His final line: “You can tell your children of the day when everyone looked up and realized that we were only tenants of this world. We had been given a new lease — and a warning — from the landlord.” Good final line (though not for a letter to Christopher). Maybe this was layin’ it on thick, but I liked it. And if you’re worried about it being too sentimental, there’s one last bit of business to get to.
We have a series of shots of the new Jupiter system, and we go closer and closer to Europa. There’s a series of dissolves showing Europa’s icy surface thawing out, becoming water, then we see clouds, then, finally.... We see a primordial forest, grass in the foreground, a pond behind it, then trees in the background (in a nice bit of ambiguity, no clue is given how long after the main event in the film this scene takes place). We hear a variation on the whalesongs, which I assume is the sound of distant animals in the forest. The camera slowly tracks left... Wait for it....
“Thus Spoke Zarathustra” begins to play, as the camera comes to rest on another monolith, keeping a sort of vigil over this world. Cut to black, the orchestra kicks in, and the final credits roll. Nice!
If you’re watching this movie (and yes, I recommend it, for all the crap I’ve given it), sit through the final credits. After the Zarathustra theme plays out, you’ll hear the de facto theme from 2010. On the soundtrack album, the title for this was “New Worlds.” While David Shire may not be another Richard Straus, this final theme is very effective, building to a great climax. And with that, the film is over.
(long pause)
But not this review. Heh heh heh. |
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/16/2008 : 2:41:51 PM
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Afterthoughts
Whew! Didn’t have any idea I’d be yakkin’ so much about this movie. I had a lot of random thoughts when watching this film; I’ll put them in after the main part of this section.
What went right and what went wrong
One summer when I was about 15 or 16, I decided to watch 2001 and 2010 back to back. While I was a big fan of the latter film, about thirty minutes into it, I knew. There was no denying it. While 2010 was quite enjoyable, 2001 was a film for the ages. The reason why can be summed up simply: Stanley Kubrick was largely responsible for the first film; Peter Hyams was responsible for the second.
2010 had many ups and many downs, and most of both can be laid right down at Peter Hyams’s door. (It’s fun writing about a movie, good, bad, or in between, that had one person at the helm, rather than some executive committee.)
I’ve read conflicting reports on Stanley Kubrick’s take on this film. Most of them stated that he had one big criticism: that 2010 tries to explain everything he deliberately kept cryptic in 2001. He has a point. But then I’ve read some claims that Kubrick liked this movie overall, and some claims that he couldn’t stand it. (Maybe they’re ALL right; he may have changed his mind over the years.)
While 2010 is much more accessible than 2001, I think that criticism is accurate. This movie contains wall-to-wall dialogue, much of it exposition. Some of it can be attributed to Clarke’s novel, but then it was Hyams’s responsibility to figure out what to keep, what to change, and what to throw out.
There were, to my mind, three major problems with the film, and unfortunately they ran its length. First was the overdoing it on exposition and explaining the whole thing. Those voice-overs were the worst part of it.
Second was the whole anti-war angle. This was Hyams’s creation, and with hindsight, it falls flat. Of course, Hyams couldn’t have known that the USSR would implode seven years after this film was released. And I’ll give him credit for having one idea many anti-war folks do not: it’s not all on America’s head to keep from going into war. Peace is a two-way street. However, while Hyams’s heart was in the right place, I think he was naive. The ending borrowed heavily from The Day the Earth Stood Still, and while it was a little more subtle, its assertion that peace and joy will reign over the Earth strikes me as false. Human nature is not that benign, sad to say. I imagine that Kubrick, being much more cynical, would have thrown in a hint that we humans would find a way to take this gift and screw it up but good.
Finally, there is the Floyd Is Always Right syndrome. Floyd’s the man with the answers, Floyd’s the man with the plan, and Floyd is NOT responsible for Hal going bonzo and offing the Discovery crew. Actually, that last screw-up, the movie’s biggest in my opinion, may stem from the fact that Hyams was hung up on conspiracies in his movies around this time. He had one in Capricorn One, he had one in Outland, and if memory serves, there was a conspiracy central to the plot of The Star Chamber. But this sours the movie more than anything else.
Now, none of this stems from outright laziness or contempt. One problem may have been that Hyams had a strict deadline and budget (as opposed to Kubrick having enough power to all but get a blank check), so he may not have had time to iron out some of the kinks in the script.
Also, I read The Odyssey File, a book of correspondence between Hyams and Clarke, where they hash out details of pre-production.* Hyams seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to find a house that would have a dolphin pool in the living room, never mind that this was a throwaway moment in the book. The Odyssey File ends before the shooting began — they wanted to get the thing edited and in stores when the movie was released — but it gives a hint at what might have gone wrong here. Hyams was stuck worrying about the wrong things, distracting him from more important problems.
* [You can probably find a copy of this on eBay, and if you have a few bucks, it’s not a bad purchase. The Odyssey File is not very informative, but it is entertaining and surprisingly funny. Hyams, in particular, comes across as a likeable guy with a self-deprecating sense of humor. Also, it’s fascinating to read it now. At the time “electronic mail” (as Clarke called it, quotes included) was in its infancy. The correspondence (and the how-to chapter at the end of this book) was state-of-the-art at the time, but it’s laughably primitive by today’s standards. If nothing else, it stands as a good record of how far e-mail, the internet, etc., have come in twenty-odd years.]
The truth of the matter, though, is that Hyams was probably not up to a project as ambitious as this. He was a good director* but not a great one. His direction was usually pretty solid, especially working with actors, but his scripts were sloppy, and he usually did his own writing here. The three movies I mentioned earlier are an example of this. All of them have good concepts, but they stumble badly when it comes to details. Hyams should have found a really good writer to help him with some of the tripping points here.
* [I know that Hyams is alive and well. I say “was” because I don’t think I’d consider him a very good director today. Read on.]
For all the abuse I’ve heaped on this film, I liked 2010. It was a good film overall, and it’s underrated, in my opinion. It’s easier to nitpick on all the little details, but it’s harder to describe again and again the general stuff that was done right.
First off, you can’t help admire Hyams for going for the brass ring here. He had solid brass balls trying to follow up 2001 and trying to do it right. And it’s really nice seeing a science fiction film where (a) we don’t see people trying to solve a problem by arming photon torpedoes, and (b) there are zero, count ‘em, ZERO dumb people in this story. You see people do stupid things, out of ego, stubborness, or just plain ol’ human folly, but I never rolled my eyes and said “Whutta idjit.”
While Hyams didn’t draw out the best characters ever written, he did get some good performances. With the exception of Dana Elcar’s poor accent, I can’t think of anything bad to say about the actors here. Roy Scheider is good as always, and I need to single out Bob Balaban and Helen Mirren for their acting. Also, again, Keir Dullea has little more than a cameo in this film, but in his brief screen time he gives the impression that he is someone very, very different from the last time we’d seen him. Pats on the back all around.
Finally, while I could quibble with Hyams’s lensing work, the special effects (with the exception of that damned ballute) are stunning, even 24 years after the fact. The look of the film is just beautiful, and it’s a unique feel. Hyams eschewed the stark, almost bleached grays and whites of 2001, and went for deep shadows and rich colors, giving the exterior shots a glowing, painterly quality that is very unusual and very pleasing (which is why I don't mind the Monolith being an obvious matte painting; it fits in quite well, in a good way). If the special effects department was going for something that looked like a work of art, they came pretty darn close.
It’s funny. When Hyams handles small, mundane matters in this film, it works swimmingly. When he gets really out there, it works. When he combines the two (such as in Dave’s brushing of his mother’s hair) it usually works. It’s when we get into the in-between parts that the movie sags.
I think, though, if you really want to give a comparison of 2001 and 2010, you can do far worse than to look at the careers of their makers before and after. Stanley Kubrick was an established artist in 1968. With the exception of his first two micro-budget efforts, all of his films had generated a lot of respect, controversy, or both. He was a master at the top of his game. After 2001, he would continue to make films that people would either love or hate, but would definitely talk about. He continued to take risks and try different things until his death in 1999.
Hyams had shown he was a pretty good genre director, but not all that great a writer. 2010 got good reviews, but it lost money. It’s possible that this broke his confidence. His next film, Running Scared, was enjoyable, but I suspect that if it hadn’t been for the great chemistry between Gregory Hines and Billy Crystal (and a good villainous turn by Jimmy Smits and a GREAT car chase), Running Scared would have been utterly forgettable. I haven’t seen The Presidio, so I can’t comment on that film. But while Narrow Margin was well-acted and directed, the script (by Hyams again) had some serious problems. After that, Hyams went into a tailspin. He directed a goofy comedy with John Ritter, a couple of Gene-Clod Van Dammit vehicles, and then came End of Days. While it was well-acted (with a great turn by Gabriel Byrne and a surprisingly decent performance from the Governator), the script was thrown together, and the camerawork was shockingly bad. You’d never get me to believe this was directed by the man who made 2010 if I didn’t see his name in the credits. I haven’t seen anything he’s done since then, but I’ve read his films have been bombing pretty badly now. He has a courtroom thriller due next year; we’ll see if a little of the old Peter Hyams is still around.
Of course, all that windbaggery I just got out could be summed up in two sentences. Kubrick’s follow-up to 2001 was A Clockwork Orange. Hyams followed 2010 with a well-done but conventional action-comedy.
I guess the reason why I picked at all the little scabs here was out of disappointment. 2010 was, ultimately, a good movie. But while I doubt it could ever be another 2001, it did have the chance to be an honest classic in its own right. It came so close.
But then the near-miss is often the most maddening. 2010 is an underrated film, but I can understand why it’s underrated.
20/20 Hindsight, Random Musings, Interpretations, and Things Left Unsaid
Don’t expect a common thread here, just some junk I thought of while writing this review.
I remember when I was in high school, a friend of mine had an interesting take on this film. He thought that it was God Himself controlling the Monolith, and he figured that Jupe doing the big firework was God’s way of telling us Earthlings, okay folks, stop fighting; you don’t really want ME to come down there and break it up, do you? While I don’t agree with this take, I thought it was interesting to chew on. I’m sure Arthur C. Clarke would take a much dimmer view of it.
With hindsight, I wonder if the US and Russian crews would be so standoffish. It’s more likely that they would bond, and the hell with nationalities, simply as a survival mechanism. I recently saw In the Shadow of the Moon (and here’s my second movie plug; that film is excellent). In it, the Apollo astronauts described how their flights left them changed men. They noted that going out the distance they did changed their perspectives on matters back home. Remember, they went a quarter of a million miles for a week. Now multiply the distance by about two thousand and make the trip a couple of months (for the hibernating astronauts) or two years plus (for the cosmonauts). I imagine this would do something to you, and you’d need to find a way to deal with this sort of distance. While Kubrick and Clarke didn’t realize this in 1968, it turned out to be prophetic; it’s not hard to imagine Dave Bowman and Frank Poole becoming ice-cold, just to be able to deal with the psychological aspects of being so incredibly far from home.
The film glosses over this, and if memory serves, so does the novel. This second sun may not be such a gift after all. What kind of ecological problems would this cause? Right now, most of the world has a predictable cycle of day and night. This would be shot to hell by having a bright star illuminating everything for at least part of the year. I wonder what would happen to nocturnal animals if this were to occur?
Another thing glossed over by both film and book is the question of whether Hal is sentient or not. Is he just a machine, or is he (as Chandra asserts) an equal to humans? If he is an equal, then is he morally culpable for killing the four astronauts in the previous film? It would be interesting to see what happened if Hal learned what he’d done and tried to give the digital equivalent to dealing with some serious guilt.
If there is a theme in 2010 (other than the anti-war one), it seems to be that honesty is the best policy. There’s a lot of talk about telling the truth and lying. Ultimately, the idea of lying to Hal nearly gets everyone killed; it is when Chandra is truthful to him that Hal saves the day. This might be an example of Hyams being sloppy, though. Chandra and Bowman have no problem not telling Hal what he did nine years ago, simply telling him he “did very well.” Again, I’d like to have seen Hal find out he had committed multiple murders and look for a way to redeem himself.
It’s comical to note that Our Heroes accomplish very little in the course of this film. They could have stayed home and let things play out. The only thing they do is revive Hal so that he can send that final message, and one suspects that Dave Bowman could have found another way to alert the people of Earth. Also, we don’t really find out anything when we get to Jupiter. We learn why Hal went crazy, and that’s about it. It would have been nice to see, say, the crew sending an unmanned pod to look at the Monolith and coming up with absolutely zilch. This may have been in the film and cut for time. Ultimately, the most heroic characters in this film turn out to be Dave Bowman and (irony of ironies) Hal.
I would love to listen to a director’s commentary and find out what Hyams had in mind for some of this stuff. Maybe he knows where he got things right and where he slipped. Or maybe he doesn’t have a clue. The available DVD is very bare-bones. A mediocre transfer, badly done captions and subtitles, and one measly featurette. Maybe they’ll bring out a special edition when the real year 2010 rolls around, but I’m not holding my breath. (And yet the animated Transformers movie has a Collector’s Edition DVD. Go figure.)
And Finally....
I was thinking of wrapping this up by having Management crash out of that broom closet and chase me around the room threatening to show me a half-dozen movies I’ve thought of writing up. But this has been a (relatively) serious review, so I’ll give something a little more fitting.
This was Roy Scheider's last really prominent role. He had some lead parts in a few more movies in the 80’s and early 90’s, but most of the films weren’t too memorable. Most of his work after that was in B-movies, but give him credit, he kept working, and he brought some respectability to most everything he got involved with. And he’ll always be remembered for The French Connection, Jaws, All That Jazz, and yes, 2010. In The Odyssey File, Peter Hyams praised Scheider’s skills as an actor and added that Scheider was one of the kindest men you could ever hope to meet (and what I’ve seen of him tells me Hyams was right).
I’m with Ken Begg on this. I had a beer last night and toasted Roy Scheider’s memory. Rest in peace, sir. You'll never know just how much you'll be missed. |
Edited by - BradH812 on 03/23/2008 4:22:15 PM |
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Food
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
342 Posts |
Posted - 03/16/2008 : 3:26:42 PM
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That was top-notch, Brad!
**grabs pompoms**
Brad!---Brad!---Totally rad!!! Woo-hooo!!!
**jumps up and down**
The imagery during Curnow's spacewalk is impressive because it was realized by using actual images from the Voyager probe's flyover of the Jovian moons. **shrug of admiration** Can't get much more realistic than that!
A couple observations about the novel:
- You were wondering about the time frame of the monolith on Europa at the end. The novel gives the date of that as 20,001.
- The Cold War remains merely cold throughout the novel, as opposed to almost-hot in the movie. Bowman's message to earth in the novel is "All these worlds are yours except Europa. Attempt no landings there." The "Use them together. Use them in peace" bit was Hyams' creation.
- There was a subplot about the Chinese also being busy in the Jovian system that Hyams' dropped entire.
- Clarke wrote two more sequels, "2061: Odyssey Three" and "3001: The Final Odyssey." Both are increasingly revelatory, and, IMO, increasingly lame. 3001, in particular, feels like Clarke wrote it in his spare time when he wasn't working on really impressive stuff.
Great dissection, Brad! One of the best readers' reviews EVAH! |
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/16/2008 : 3:49:32 PM
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I do remember the 20,001 epilogue, and the subplot involving the Tsien (in my opinion, Hyams was absolutely right to drop it).
2061 felt like a stopgap book to me, like you said, like something Clarke wrote in his spare time. 3001 might have been really good, sort of a thinking-man's Buck Rogers, but it was very disjointed (and Clarke just can't resist putting his own opinions in there and calling them fact). I can see how, with the write righters (or is that the other way around) and director, 3001 could make a helluva movie.
As for the accolades... *blushing smile* Thank you, thank you. *taking a bow* |
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Sardu
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
1126 Posts |
Posted - 03/16/2008 : 10:15:35 PM
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Great job! I pretty much share your views on 2101. As a stand alone movie, one of the better serious sci-fi films ever, really. As a sequel to 2001 it drops the ball. 2001 the film was Kubrick's baby. He knew it had continuity changes from Clarke's novel (written simultaneously) and that was OK with the two of them. I suppose you could consider the film and the book two parallel universes where the same events played out in slightly alternate ways. But of course the movie of 2010 follows Clarke's vision right down to little gaffes like the Chandra/Langley change. So be it. I mean, they could never have made another movie like 2001 and had it work. But, while I might understand and forgive the shift from the Kubrick perspective (awesome, thought-provoking, poetic, ambiguous) to the Clarke one (direct, literal, unambiguous, accessible) what I can't forgive is the overcompensation. You can hear the MGM execs saying "We are going to make DAMN sure no one is confused by this film. Tell 'em three times, hit 'em over the head." And they made a movie that was going to turn of 80% of the audience who loved the original. And the reason it lost money was because those people who were confused by 2001 never gave it a chance anyway.
I think a lot of us know how you feel. We can knock holes in 2010[/b] all day long but really, it's a good little flic.
OK, now I have to get around to writing up Silent Running[/b] as a companion piece to this!! I think of it as another overall good sci-fi film that has issues that just drive me nuts. *g*
BTW sorry about the rogue boldface- that should not be happening.
"Meeting you makes me want to be a real noodle cook"
--Tampopo |
Edited by - Sardu on 03/16/2008 10:25:21 PM |
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Fox Cutter
Minister of the Sacraments of Jabootu
28 Posts |
Posted - 03/17/2008 : 12:47:09 PM
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| Nice overall review, nothing I don't agree with. I think a lot of the problems came from being to faithful with the book (which is a sequel of equal parts of the book and the movie). As example of this is the line "My God, it's full of stars," which was in the book version of 2001, but not the movie. Not to mention the book was set at Saturn, not Jupiter. |
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Terrahawk
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
644 Posts |
Posted - 03/17/2008 : 6:00:49 PM
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Good review Brad. I can attest to the poor box office. My father and I went to see it during the first week and it was us and two other guys.
"3001" was just not good. I never did read "2061."
- Si desea pulse 2 para español, encontrar un país diferente. - |
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/17/2008 : 7:33:38 PM
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Something occurred to me this morning as I was getting ready for work, and it dogged me all day (and considering how hectic work is, you don't want to have anything on yer mind there right now). I made positive remarks about one moment in the movie, but with more thinking, it's a big Whonk!
Where's Squirt? Floyd mentions that he has a 17-year-old daughter. Wouldn't she be in the household with him and his family? And wouldn't she rate more than a single passing mention? Man, it would've been good to see Floyd's daughter, who knows what he's about to get into, raising her own protests. We could have, maybe, Caroline defend Floyd to her, but later, in private, she tells him she agrees with her stepdaughter. Great. Now it's in my mind and I can't get it out. Crud.
In defense of the film, I don't remember the novel even mentioning her. If it did, she got no better treatment than she got from the film. And in further defense, I don't remember seeing anyone noting this in the 23 years since 2010 was released.
Fox, I am impatiently awaiting your book-to-film comparison. I remember quite a few changes from the one to the other (some improvements, some not), but other than the anti-war subplot, I'd say 80 to 90% of the story's meat was intact. The more I think about it, the more I wish Hyams had broken further away and made his own story (as Kubrick did). |
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Sardu
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
1126 Posts |
Posted - 03/17/2008 : 8:24:15 PM
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quote:
Originally posted by BradH812
The more I think about it, the more I wish Hyams had broken further away and made his own story (as Kubrick did).
I doubt that was ever an option. The 2001projects were separate but equal, created at the same time and released more or less together. 2010 was fully established as a book before being adapted to film and Clarke was thoroughly ensconced as a creative guide of the film. Hyams didn't have the clout or vision to take the film in a new direction- and frankly, judging from his other output to do so probably would have been a disaster. His re-imagining of High Noon as Outland was hardly a work of genius...
"Meeting you makes me want to be a real noodle cook"
--Tampopo |
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BradH812
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
1294 Posts |
Posted - 03/17/2008 : 10:26:35 PM
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Sardu, you're probably right. Actually, I thought the idea behind Outland was great, and of course Sean Connery was Sean Connery. I read the review on And You Call Yourself A Scientist, and while I might be a little kinder to it than Lyz Kingsley, she pretty much nailed how the details messed it up.
Hmmmmmm, I wonder if she does requests? It'd be interesting to hear her take on 2001 and 2010. |
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Sardu
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
1126 Posts |
Posted - 03/17/2008 : 10:46:59 PM
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I agree that the *idea* was great. And heck, I even love Sean in Zardoz. (Heck, I love Zardoz period *lol*) So I have to grant both points.
The attempts at scientific accuracy in 2001 have been discussed to death- most of the gaffes relate to weightlessness. The liquid slides back down the straw as Floyd eats and I never really bought that the Pod Bay was zero-G; it just seems like guys acting slowly and carefully. And I'm sorry, but that bay takes up half the command ball- where the heck does that centrifuge fit?? But other than that it's said to conform to what was known at the time extremely well and Kubrick was such a detail freak very little got past him. As for prognostication, so-so: the flat screen monitors are an awesome fluke- that was just a natural result of using film rear-screen projection.
And he did get the aspect ratio of the view pads right too! He just turned them the wrong way... But when I look to the sky at night what a disappointment- here we are 7 years late on that dang space station!! To say nothing of a moon base *g* Kubrick has indicated that the notion of 2001 as a time when such technology would exist was not really meant to be taken literally; the date was more of a frame of mind; a metaphor...
(Can you tell 2001 is my favorite movie?? I LOVE to discuss it, often to tedious length- sorry *g*)
"Meeting you makes me want to be a real noodle cook"
--Tampopo |
Edited by - Sardu on 03/17/2008 10:49:42 PM |
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Food
Holy Cardinal and Five Star General of the Righteous Knighthood of Jabootu
USA
342 Posts |
Posted - 03/18/2008 : 6:12:40 PM
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^In the Rama PC game, there's an interview clip with Clarke and co-author Gentry Lee. Clarke says that he was embarassed that 2001 depicted the moon's hills as being jagged peaks, only to find during the Apollo landing that they're actually smooth and rounded.
Lee covers him by mentioning that Clarke's guesstimates about the Jovian moons in the 2010 novel were far more accurate than they had any right to be. |
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Fox Cutter
Minister of the Sacraments of Jabootu
28 Posts |
Posted - 03/19/2008 : 12:29:21 PM
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2010 is a strange sort of sequel as it's not really a true sequel to the book 2001, nor the movie 2001 but something of a hybrid of both. This creates some interesting problems and changes as the movie is a fairly faithful adaptation of the book. In fact a lot of little issues stem from the adaptation.
Off the top of my head. The Floyd is always right bit comes from the book (though it was Curnow who came up with the idea of docking the ships), as did Floyd not knowing about the orders to HAL. The letters home also came from the book, though his wife divorced him while he was in space. To much time and to much distance.
As for his younger daughter, if memory servers both she and his first wife were killed in a plane crash.
Why was the opening at the VLA? Because in the book it was at Araceibo, and I guess going to Puerto Rico was a bit to much for the budget to take. The same thing with the dolphins in the house. Floyd lived and worked in Hawaii, and the house had the dolphin pool so it was in the movie as well. The scene with SAL-9000 was also in the book, and taken almost word for word, though I think it's important. It helps establish Chandra's character and his attachment to HAL, though it could have been a little shorter.
The book does explain why the three Americans were in cold sleep for the trip. They have nothing to do on the way out to Jupiter, and would otherwise be in the way. It also allowed the book to skip over the rather tedious bits of getting to the Jupiter system. It also explains why Discovery was spinning, the fly wheel's movement had transferred to the ship, and why it was falling, the energy from the flux tube was causing it to shift in it's orbit. Though it never really said why they never noticed it when the Russian's did.
In the book there is a 15 day window to work out what is going on, and the monolith stuck around for the first week or so. This lead to them sort of playing around with the idea for the first week, just sort of a way to pass the time. This lead to some interesting comments from Earth about some of the information they were requesting (we see a bit of that in the movie). When the monolith suddenly vanished there was a moment of panic then realized they had to go with the crazy plan because they had no other choice.
An interesting thing, in the book all the poking around of the big monolith was done remotely. The caption didn't want to risk anyone. Which leads to an interesting relationship between Curnow and Max. It the book we also see reactions on Earth to Bowman's return, mostly because he starts be absorbing some extra power from detonating a nuke in orbit. That sort of thing doesn't go unnoticed. We also learn a bit more about his childhood and other things. There's even a rather dated referenced to some of the original (and failed) ideas behind EPCOT.
There are some thing the movie did better then the book. The biggest thing was the trip over to Discovery. Clarke had thing fixation on sort of a universal space tool that was basically a spring loaded broom. I'm sure it would work as described, but it made no sense and was pretty dang hard to use. The use of the small jet back is more reasonable, and close to what is being used today. I also thing the aero-breaking worked better with the baluts (even if the effects didn't quiet make it) then in the book which used a normal heat shied, then again, in the book, the ship only had gravity when under thrust, nothing rotated.
I think in the end your right that part of the problem was the Hyams was a little to attached to the little things and capturing all the bits from the book in the way they were written. Though this might just be a side effect of working in Hollywood. I was reading a blog of someone who writes scripts and how directors tried to recreate ever single piece of description in the script. This lead to one asking if there were enough flies on a dead body because the script described it as being covered in flies.
This isn't a full breakdown of all the changes, but I think any more would be kind of pushing the limits of what is resonable. |
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2010 (movies I like)
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