Iceberg Arena: Time-Traveling Czech Entertainment

Czech SF was featured in an Iceberg Arena comparison previously (“Ikarie XB-1” vs. “The End of August at the Hotel Ozone” vs. “Dinner for Adele”), but I can’t resist a rematch of sorts, this time with a specifically time-travel theme. Two of the directors return, Jindritch Polack (“Ikarie XB-1”) and Oldrich Lipsky (“Lemonade Joe,” “Dinner for Adele”) from the previous competition, and even the third auteur, Karl Zeman (“Baron Prasil”), is a Film Walrus alumni. Here are the contenders for this round:

Journey to the Beginning of Time (1955)
I Killed Einstein, Gentleman (1970)
Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea (1977)

The three films all involved travel back in time, though each focuses on very different destinations. They’re all pretty light-hearted affairs, if not outright comedies, quite different from the solemn, scientific, action-driven films that often mark the subgenre. I guess you could think of these as Czech precursors to “Back to the Future” or even “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures.”


Journey to the Beginning of Time

“Journey to the Beginning of Time” is an edutainment adventure about four boys who find themselves on a river flowing backwards through time towards creation. The scale is in the millions of years and the starting point is the second ice age, so most of the film deals with prehistoric life such as dinosaurs. Doc, the oldest and most scientifically rigorous of the crew, takes notes and gives lengthy speeches describing each epoch’s flora and fauna.

The setup would seem ripe for rousing action, but the general format stays pretty stiff: one of the boys, usually the youngest, will get separated from the group and the others will look for him, often ending with a quick dash to the boat with a carnivorous animal in pursuit. The chipper lads aren’t confused or even frightened by their journey (they frequently mention that “they can always find their way back”), demonstrating a gung-ho uniformity that makes them seem a bit like Boy Scout caricatures.

These faults with the plot and characters certainly won’t bother youngsters, clearly the intended audience of the film. And they’ll be absolutely fascinated by the stop-motion work and set design, the real heroes of “Journey.” As usual, Zeman pulls out every trick in his hat, using stop motion models, clay, puppets, monster suits, full-size props, forced perspective, mattes and painted backdrops to make immaculate replicas of bygone eras on a relatively small budget. His creatures look impressively real for 1955, a product of the crew’s diligent research and attention to detail, but what makes them really come to life is the way they move and sound.

Karl Zeman had been working in the industry for more then a decade, producing innovative shorts like the delicate glassmation “Inspiration” (1949), before making his debut feature film. “Journey to the Beginning of Time” established Zeman as a major stop-motion and effects giant, although it didn’t land on American shores until nine years later when William Cayton recut it. He added a framing device that makes the adventure a dream experienced by four American boys visiting the Museum of Natural History in New York City. This version makes very little sense (the boys apparently have no parents or guardians and inexplicably bring canned food and axes on the museum visit), but it seems to be the predominate edition available. I’d love to see the original (with subtitles rather than the goofy dub) and reassess it.

I Killed Einstein, Gentleman!

Oldrich Lipsky, up to his usual wacky antics, weaves one of his most ambitious and silly projects in this time-traveling farce. In the distant future terrorists have invented an advanced bomb that causes women to grow facial hair, precipitating a global crisis. The government rejects a high-tech shaving robot in favor of a more radical plan: going back in time to assassinate Albert Einstein during his 1911 visit to Prague and thus preventing modern physics from ever developing advanced bombs in the first place.

Giacometti (Svatopluk Benes), Robert and Gwen are assigned to the mission, along with an accidental fourth companion: a mischievous kitten. Robert meets his father, Gwen falls in love with the hapless target and Giacometti utterly botches the job during a madcap party where a chandelier is suppose to fall on Einstein’s head. They go back for a second try, but this time they are foiled by the future terrorists who use the cat as a spy and soon recruit the love-struck Gwen. It doesn’t take long before history has been altered, but the results aren’t quite what anyone expected.

Lipsky throws science and gender politics out the window and aims straight for the funnybone, ultimately creating a high-speed anarchic comedy that’s bizarre even by his own standards. While he’s not too highbrow to indulge in slapstick and striptease, the sheer creativity of his narrative gives a unique specificity to the broad laughs. The escalating chaos throughout the film eventually hits a critical point at which the rhythm and humor really clicks, and the resulting confusion helps mask the liberal dosage of nonsense on display. Still, Lipsky obeys enough of the time-travel precepts to pull out an amusing and rather extended ending that’s half predictable and half insane.

The performances are pretty good, especially Petr Cepek (“Valley of the Bees”) as the humble Einstein and Jana Brejchova as Gwen, who do an admirable job establishing chemistry (and ending physics) in their brief, frenzied romantic entanglement. Of particular interest is the 60’s-kitsch futuristic design (architecture, costumes and even the hairstyles don’t escape unscathed) and even the Edwardian scenes, with their ornate wood furniture and ostentatious dresses, are a pleasure to behold. None of this will change the fact that Lipsky’s work is a love-it-or-hate-it affair, but there’s certainly nothing else quite like it.

Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea

Though I like all three titles in today’s arena, there’s no question that the verbosely declarative “Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea” is my favorite. The titular event serves as the origin point in a series of complicated loops back and forth through time that can be hard to keep up with but pretty easy to follow. The delightfully contrived plot introduces Jan Bures, whose identical twin brother Karel works as a pilot for a time-traveling tourism company.

Karel is something of a bad apple, negotiating with a group of aging-resistant neo-Nazis to deliver a modern atomic bomb to Hitler just as his defeat draws nigh. But the morning before his plot goes into action, Karel chokes to death on his breakfast (and Jan scalds himself with tea). The tongue-tied Jan semi-intentionally impersonates his roguish brother to save Karel’s fiancé, who Jan also loves, from a broken heart. The masquerade serves his own interests, too, but obliges him to pilot the nefarious villains along Karel’s scheduled WWII cruise. Once they hijack the history-hopper, Hitler hijinks ensue (say that three times fast).

Ironically, the Nazi bad guys include Film Walrus favorite Vladimir Mensik (“Cassandra Cat,” “Who Wants to Kill Jesse?” etc.) and Svatopluk Benes who had momentarily pondered killing a pre-political Hitler in “I Killed Einstein, Gentlemen,” made seven years earlier.

Jindrich Polack’s “Ikarie XB-1” (1963) proved he could handle hard SF with a professional aplomb that was still relatively rare in the genre, but “Tomorrow… Tea” is evidence that Polack was equally adept at creating imaginative comedies. Petr Kostka is wonderful in the dual role of Jan and Karel Bures, capturing the opposite personalities of the bumbling underdog and scheming scoundrel with equal relish. We rely on Kostka to provide a reference point in the shifting versions of past and future while also anchoring the love story, the screwball comedy, the hectic action and social satire (note that Karel, the opportunistic capitalist, is aligned with Nazism); not an easy role.

Writers Josef Nesvadbas and Milos Macourek also deserve a round of applause for tying such a convoluted narrative knot and then unraveling it into a conclusion that has the superb symmetry of a cat’s cradle. There are certainly more than a couple of plot holes left lingering about, but Polack makes it clear that the focus is on the character’s growth and not the story’s soundness.


Conclusion

Today’s batch has to be one of the funnest sets I’ve done, and I’m certain the three films would make an unbeatable triple feature for Czech and/or time-travel loving cinephiles. However, I suspect that even seeing an uncut and fully restored edition of “Journey to the Beginning of Time” wouldn’t give it the necessary push to beat the other two films. “I Killed Einstein” has some really golden moments, but it isn’t quite first-rate Lipsky and will probably leave some viewers scratching their heads at the Euro-humor. My pick for the winner, therefore, has to be returning-champion Jindrich Polack and his underrated SF diamond.

Winner: “Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea”

Review of Baron Prasil

One of my favorite films growing up was “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” (1988), a rambling tall tale based on the notoriously exaggerated adventures of a German baron in the Russian war against the Turks. Historical setting takes backstage to impossible flights of fancy, including a sojourn in the sultan’s palace, trips to the moon, romance in a volcano and a journey inside a sea monster.

The film has its share of flaws, including a particularly grotesque performance by Robin Williams (over-the-top even by his standards) as the king of the moon, but I love its creativity, circuitousness, and cackling celebration of plot holes. One particularly long flashback, narrated by the baron, ends with his death and funeral. He explains to his confused audience that it “was only one of the many occasions on which I met my death, an experience I don’t hesitate to strongly recommend.”

Director Terry Gilliam obviously sympathies with the baron’s character, championing his underdog fight against the burgeoning age of reason. Yet similar to the baron’s impossible ambitions, Gilliam’s reach exceeded his grasp [as usual] and the film became an infamous box-office failure. I still consider it one of my favorites, but I now regard it as somewhat inferior to it’s earlier influence: the 1961 Czech adaptation “Baron Prasil.”

“Baron Prasil” (1961) begins with a modern astronaut named Joe arriving on the moon, only to discover that’s he’s already been beaten by the likes of Jules Verne, Baron Munchausen and Cyrano de Bergerac, who toast to the new arrival from their lunar-Victorian dinner table. The baron invites Joe onto his Pegasus-drawn frigate for an interstellar traipse back to terrestrial territory.

[Images: Not that it makes any sense otherwise, but if you look closely, one of the pegasi is actually a wooden toy horse.]

They head to the sultan’s palace where they both fall in love with a kidnapped maiden. Their romantic rescue leads to war with the Turks and a globe-trotting adventure across land and sea.

[Image: The jaded sultan wiggles his grapes, it’s movements mirrored by his belly dancer.]

Fans of Gottfried August Burger’s humorous tales will recognize many of the baron’s most famous exploit, such as riding a cannonball over a battlefield and residing in the belly of a sea monster.

[Images: Funny, I don’t remember the pyramids having an ocean so near by.]

The baron considers himself a dashing, idolized mentor for the shy astronaut, but becomes a somewhat bitter rival after their mutual love interest shows greater affection for Joe. However, he comes to recognize Joe as something of a fellow fantasist who indulges in such crazy ideas as steam power, rocketry and science. Joe eventually mellows out, too, and immerses himself in the baron’s illogical ingenuity. The two ultimately return to the moon by exploding a castle, this time to claim it not for the scientists, generals and politicians, but for the dreamers, poets and lovers.

[Image: An amphibious steamboat with a picture of Adam and Eve that comes to life.]

Director Karel Zeman is something of a forgotten master, a creative workhorse and special effects prodigy in the vein of Ray Harryhausen. Zeman started his career as a pioneer of animation and stop-motion techniques, throwing live-action actors and sets into the mix as he moved into feature filmmaking. Zeman's other works include "The Fabulous World of Jules Verne" (the only other one I've seen) and "Journey to the Beginning of Time."

A master of forced perspective, Zeman created countless shots that brought the impossible to life in startling, imaginative compositions.

Like with Harryhausen, Tom Savini and Cronenberg, it’s sometimes hard to tell if the plot necessitated the effects or if an idea for an effect guided the direction of the story. Yet even though the movie is carpeted with wall-to-wall camera tricks, it remains a beautiful and endearing story with a creative fast-paced narrative, an unforgettable characterization of Munchausen and a family-friendly promoter of confidence, resourcefulness and imagination.

[Image: The baron, astride his seahorse in an ocean of wine, receives his jacket from a coat hanger hooked on a swordfish.]

The mixed-media presentation is particularly noteworthy, with Zeman designing sets to look like pen-and-ink drawing to better mesh with his illustrated embellishments. Many segments use animation, stop-motion, rear-project, tinting and matting, sometimes with color and black-and-white in the same image.

[Images: A castle fort bristling with cannons, before and during battle.]

One memorable sequence portrays an unfathomably large army bearing down on the protagonists as a crimson cloud of liquid consuming the frame. Much of the distinctive flavor of “Baron Prasil” comes from similar rejections of literalism and realism.

Portions of the style are imitating by Gilliam’s version (the cardboard moon city in particular) and were purportedly major influences on his earlier work (see, for instance, the animated digressions in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” and “The Life of Brian”). Yet aside from rare exceptions like Gilliam, “Labyrinth,” “Paperhouse,” and “Who Framed Roger Rabbit,” Zeman seems to have left few artistic progeny and his brand of inspired eclecticism is now treated as obsolete gimmickry.

“Lord of the Rings” took forced perspective to the next level with its hobbits, dwarfs and giants (the frequent continuity errors caused by having moving characters and cameras never really disrupt the illusion), and yet the rash of “me too” fantasy epics which look shiny but play out like dead-eyed dolls reciting Tolkein fanfic makes me think producers are just as scared of originality as ever. I blame the “safeguards” deemed necessarily for most huge-budget, highly-collaborative effort for systematically turning great novels like the Narnia series and “The Golden Compass” into mediocre films. I can only cross my fingers and hope that “Watchmen” and “Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell” won’t be similarly drained of their personality and verve.

[Image: Force perspective makes it difficult to tell which pillars are real and which fake on sets that Zeman could never actually afford.]

Well, at least it means kids still have good reason to read. And while you parents are buying them books (you ARE buying them books and reading to them, RIGHT?), get them a copy of “Baron Prasil” from over at AllCluesNoSolutions. They’ll grow up to be better people and maybe they’ll stop nagging you to take them to the next 90-minute pokemon-of-the-moment commercial or brainless sequel to a spinoff of a remake of a film that was honestly pretty crappy back in 1932 and 1959.

Walrus Rating: 9.5

My 100 Worst Favorite Movies, Part 7

Labyrinth – This is a movie I’ve been watching fondly since childhood, an early Jennifer Connelly vehicle which finds her navigating the titular trap-filled maze to rescue her brother from the goblin king (played by a magnetic glam-era David Bowie). The extensive use of sophisticated puppetry was provided by director Jim Henson’s workshop. Despite lousy reviews and ticket sales, the film quietly tightened its grip on my generation, emerging today as a recognized modern-day fairytale. The acting is a bit shaky, the plot is disjointedly episodic and one of the musical numbers is so bad I have to fast-forward through it, but my love for this movie is not mere nostalgia; there’s plenty of creativity, vision and heart here. Along with Phenomena, also on this list, this was one of Connelly's first starring roles and she's continued to be a favorite actresses over the years despite some odious missteps.

Lady Terminator – An Indonesian knock-off of Terminator, but with the buff cyborg from the future replaced by a busty witch from the past. She’s the Queen of the South Seas and, oh yeah, she’s got a deadly eel in her vagina. Lots of nudity and shooting. Laser eyes. Etc. Terrible film. Great fun.

The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra – Parody films are usually good at skewering their targets, but too often fail to stand on their own two feet. Lost Skeleton, however, is a refreshing exception, perhaps because of its genuine affection for the cheesy sci-fi B-movies of the 1950’s. It manages to get me to care about the characters and, rarer still, care about the low-rent minimally-talented actors who thanklessly portrayed them. Dr. Armstrong, a scientist, and his wife Betty are looking for an asteroid made of atmosphereum, a grail sought by two crashlanded aliens, who need it as fuel, and the evil Dr. Fleming, who plans to reanimate a telekinetic skeleton. The alien’s rampaging pet mutant and Animala, a sexy composite of forest animals controlled by Fleming, round out the mix. The intentionally execrable script and acting are note-perfect, reminding one that it takes great skill to find the humor and humanity in mediocrity.

Master of the Flying Guillotine – After they finish reading the title most people will have already decided whether they want to see this film or not. Those who do will not be disappointed. It’s basically a series of tournament style showdowns between a one-armed boxer and the imperial assassins sent to kill him, featuring plenty of creative weapons, destructible sets and fight scenes that fill the time often squandered by other films on plot, character development and themes.

Matango: Attack of the Mushroom People – Japanese director Ishiro Honda has a reputation as the king of giant monster movies, a reliable source of men in rubber suits ravaging Tokyo with gusto. Best known for his Godzilla series, I find myself gravitating towards Honda’s odder anomalies (Frankenstein Conquers the World, Mothra), especially this eldritch adaptation of William Hope Hodgson (one of the forgotten giants and early founders of cosmic horror), modernized into a metaphor for atomic-era fear and despair. My childhood fears of fungi and skin disease (which linger to this day) probably influence how effective I find this movie despite its obvious cheesiness.

Mr. Freedom – A wild, scattershot 1969 satire of American ideological imperialism, Mr. Freedom is now more relevant than ever in our era of expanded cultural hegemony literally symbolized by America's endless superficial superhero movies. The title character wears an American flag themed football uniform and, on a mission to protect France from communism, must battle with threats that include Muzhik Man (notable for his outrageous Russian accent) and Red China Man (a giant inflatable dragon that fills an entire subway). It may be hyperbolic, loud and one-sided, but it’s also audacious, funny and smarter than it lets on. I'm a big fan of Delphine Seyrig and Donald Pleasence, who make good use of second-rate parts. 

Mr. Vampire – Probably the best of the ‘hopping vampire’ subgenre, a popular Hong Kong convention in which the undead, cramped by rigor mortis, must hop stiffly towards their intended victims. A group of bumbling Taoist monks attempt to seal off an evil vampire and deal with a seductive ghost in this martial arts horror comedy that was a big hit in Asia, but left Western audiences befuddled. The bad special effects should clash with the quality choreography, but it all fits together seamlessly thanks in part to the whiplash pacing that doesn’t give you time to think, which you probably shouldn't be doing anyway in a movie like this. A close runner up, perhaps a little too successful to meet my criteria, is A Chinese Ghost Story and its several sequels.

Myra Breckinridge – “Myra Breckinridge is about as funny as a child molester. It is an insult to intelligence, an affront to sensibility and an abomination to the eye.” So ran Time magazine’s review of this notorious Gore Vidal adaptation, who, like everyone else, disowned the film. Rex Reed plays Myron, a man who gets a sex change and heads to Hollywood under the name Myra (and now played by Raquel Welch) where she teaches aspiring actors about classic films and female dominance. The self-consciously outrageous bluster is punctuated by inserts from old movies, often for humorous effect. It’s all so random and faux-subversive, but it’s unbridled, unhinged and unprofitable; everything Hollywood tries scrupulously to avoid. Right up my alley, though.

On the Comet – This is one of Czech stop-motion animator Karel Zeman’s least focused works, adapting from one of Jules Verne’s most minor novels. It functions primarily as a collage of Zeman’s boyish fascinations: interplanetary travel, dinosaurs, dirigibles, war, castles, cavalry, idealized love, etc. I think there were even pirates. Story and character development are almost non-existent, but if you can tolerate (or in my case enjoy) 75 minutes spent inside the head of a daydreaming 8-year-old, you’ll be fine. Just don’t try to make sense of it. Zeman’s Baron Prasil is his masterpiece, but within the animation community that’s already well-established so I disqualified it from the list.

Paranoiac – Paranoiac is one of those gothic horror films where a twisted family and their associates vie for the upperhand in a decaying mansion and generally resort to all sorts of dishonesty and crime. Oliver Reed steals the show as Simon, a drunken, scheming lout whose main rival is Tony, his brother, long thought dead and suddenly back. Eleanor, the innocent and naïve sister, is caught in the middle of their inheritance struggle. Of course a serial killer is also at large and 90% of the characters, including the likable ones, may be insane.  Underground director Freddie Francis does a great job amping up the tension and twists, gleefully ignoring realism. His day job was serving as cinematographer on A-list pictures (he even won a couple Oscars) and his trademark pristine deep-focus black-and-white work is on display here.

Review of The Tale of Tsar Saltan (1966)

Here’s some of my mental diary entries from a couple of days ago:
00:00:00 I put my latest Netflix disc into my DVD player and take my seat.
00:00:18 The DVD menu appears (in Russian) and I become immediately aware that I have accidently requested the wrong movie.
00:00:40 After getting the menu to show up in English I decide I’ll give the movie a chance anyway. Otherwise, I will no longer have an excuse not to get some chores done around the apartment.
00:01:30 Movie begins. No subtitle options. I set the audio to English. Three women (sisters?) start speaking in terrible dubbed rhymes. I reconsider previous decision.
00:08:00 Strange little troll creatures appear and start attacking a medieval kingdom. I’m starting to kind of like the movie.
00:15:00 I’m totally drawn into the strange Soviet-era fairy-tale that is unfolding and quite honestly impressed by some of the special effects and visual design efforts. I’m learning to stomach the awful poetry translation.
00:82:00 Movie ends. Evening deemed a success.

So that’s how I came to see “The Tale of Tsar Saltan” (1966) by Russia’s cinematic wizard Aleksandr Ptushko. I didn’t recognize his name at first, but I’ve actually been looking for his groundbreaking puppet film “The New Gulliver” (1935) for quite some time (if anyone knows where I can buy a subtitled version, please let me know). I’d also seen one of his lesser films on MST3K, but don’t hold that against him. Despite my lack of real familiarity, I’m thinking Ptushko is definitely a director worth knowing.

“The Tale of Tsar Saltan” starts out in typical fairy-tale fashion with a humble maiden getting wed to the Tsar and her two jealous sisters plotting to make the marriage as brief as possible. While Tsar Saltan is out fighting armies of pygmy trolls, his wife gives birth to their son Gvidon. The villains do some creative editing on their correspondences and make it appear that Saltan wants his family sealed in a barrel and dropped to the bottom of the sea. Despondent, but blindly obedient, his vassals do the deed.

But wait! The Tsarina’s beseeches the sea to spare her and they wash up on an empty island with only a single tree. Her fast-growing son has already become a full-grown man, and he rescues a swan who helps make him king of a frozen city full of domes and spires. He lives in great wealth due to a singing squirrel who procures golden emerald-filled nuts, but he continues to feel that something is missing. It isn’t a private army of amphibious giants or a beautiful wife with a precious gem shining from her forehead. Those help, sure, but it’s a chance to meet his father that brings about the ballet finale.

This plot felt mighty odd to me, but it certainly beat watching another uninspired Cinderella adaptation and Ptushko makes it more exhilarating still through his knack for fantastic use of color and magical imagery. I’m wondering if Russian filmgoers would have been so familiar with the story that they wouldn’t have been as dumbfounded by it (can someone from Russia answer that?), but I really enjoyed being in the state of I-have-no-idea-what-crazy-twist-is-coming-next for pretty much the whole duration.

The story does have some flaws, particularly the use of fairy-tale repetition and cardboard characters. The acting is pretty theatrical, with only Larisa Golubkina (as the Tsarina) excelling, which is actually especially impressive since she is really only required to be modest and pretty. The writing can also be pretty painful, though I’m sure in Russian the original 1831 poem by Aleksandr Pushkin’s is considerably more respectable. Translating across languages while trying to maintain the rhyme scheme and match lip movements is doubtlessly a nigh-impossible task, but I think they could have outdone “I’m going to go walk over there / and see if I can hunt a hare” (he then kills a bird of prey) or “Why, O Prince, are you so sad / When on this day you should be glad?”

But I need to get on to the real point of “The Tale of Tsar Saltan,” which is the presentation. Everything is just so ambitious and clever and gorgeous. The costumes are bold and shiny, with the distinctive trolls making a fine contrast. I’m not quite sure how Ptushko made them so short (midgets? children? actors bent forward with their elbows on their knees?), but they’re so darn adorably evil. When he brings in the giants he mostly relies on forced perspective (much the same way Peter Jackson did to make his Hobbits appear so short), with many of the set pieces rivaling Karel Zeman for technical challenge. In one scene where the giants attack a ship, he cuts between two versions: one with a regular-size ship and forced-perspective giants and another with regular-size giants a smaller replica of the ship populated by children wearing the costumes (and conveniently not facing the camera).

The puppetry used for the singing and dancing squirrel is rather silly (expect a smidgeon of similarly head-shaking Soviet sight-gags throughout), but otherwise the island kingdoms are magnificent. The huge-looking cityscapes are accomplished by using sets that run seamlessly into impeccable murals. Gvidon’s tour of the silent city, complete with flash-frozen running children, spouting fountains and a dove flying from a tree of crystal apples, is an unforgettable sequence.

Even though it’s often easy to see through the special effects, I don’t consider their datedness to be a bad thing. One can easily sit back and suspend disbelief or admire the amount of craft that went into them. I’d suspect that modern viewers, especially kid weaned on CG, may find the innovative tricks quite charming and well fitted to the story.

I only wish I could show you some screenshots. The sketchy DVD wasn’t recognized by my computer, so you’ll have to use your imagination. You can also check out some of the artwork by Ivan Bilibin that inspired Pushko’s adaptation here.

Anyone with a taste for fantasy should give this a chance. Preferably, find a copy better than the one I watched. “The Tale of Tsar Saltan” isn’t likely to ever get as much attention as “The Thief of Bagdad,” “The Wizard of Oz” or “The Neverending Story,” but it does deserve more than its measly 59 votes. I only wish I’d watched it on purpose.

Walrus Rating: 7.5

Has the Sci-Fi Genre Been Robbed of Oscars?

In my review of Going My Way, I mentioned the rarity of genre films amongst Best Picture Academy Award winners. Specifically, science fiction, fantasy and horror have traditionally been left out, winning 0, 1 (Lord of the Rings) and 1 (Silence of the Lambs) respectively. In a conversation with Mad Dog afterwards, he wondered what sci-fi/fantasy films I thought deserved to win.

As a confirmed sci-fi nerd, I decided to tackle the question systematically. Besides, if we want to avoid opening up paradoxes then we’ll need a clear agenda for using our time machines and mind control rays to correct Oscar voting.

Here is my plan: I’m going to flip through the 80 year history of the Oscars and retroactively award trophies to the sci-fi genre. This is perfectly in keeping with the traditional academy practice of giving awards to the people who should have won them in the past. Since I am not bound by the byzantine rules that govern the academy, I’m going to do things my way. I’m not constraining myself to the historical nominee lists and I’m going to consider foreign films as eligible in the year they were released.

To make things even more interesting, I’m going to issue statues in three minerals:

1) Gold – For any year in which I think a science-fiction film should have won.
2) Silver – For any year in which I can name at least one science-fiction film that I like better than the film that won (even if it was not the year’s overall best).
3) Bronze – For any year in which I can name at least one fantasy or horror film that I like better than the film that won. These have to be films outside the realm of reasonable reality. Thus a horror film about a serial killer does not count, but one about zombies or pyrokinesis would. Similarly, a medieval epic would be ineligible, but a fantasy involving magic or non-human races would.

Only one award (the best possible) will be given for each year.

For each ceremony I will list the year followed by the original winner in parentheses. My comments and awards will come after. For many dates I’m limited by the breadth of SF I’ve seen, which is a little lacking for the 1950’s and before. Any help is appreciated. On silvers and bronzes, if you’re curious about what film I would have ranked #1, you’ll have to wait for a future series (or just ask in the comments).


Year by Year Revisions:

1928 (Wings): Wings is solid entertainment, but no competition for the landmark Metropolis. Gold trophy.

1929 (Broadway Melody): Even the relatively silly sci-fi adventure Woman in the Moon trumps Broadway Melody’s musical tripe, which rode in on novelty, but is outclassed by nearly every song and dance picture of the 1930’s. Silver trophy.

1930 (All Quiet on the Western Front)

1931 (Cimarron): The prototype for all bloated blockbusters that got showered with molten Oscar gold by short-sighted voters, this overblown western is now universally regretted by critics. Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, however, are still considered classics. There were even better foreign films in 1931, but in practicality they never win, so a gold trophy it is.

1932 (Grand Hotel): Critics seem to look down their noses at the now-passe Grand Hotel today, but I don’t know; I kind of like it. A whole slew of horror classics came out, including The Mummy, Vampyr, and The Most Dangerous Game, but I think the best answers are either Freaks the Dr. Moreau adaptation Island of Lost Souls, both of which contain sci-fi elements for the silver.

1933 (Cavalcade): King Kong has stood the test of time far better than Cavalcade, even though its effects are now more charming than terrifying. I can just imagine Kong crushing decade-spanning odes to patriotism and class unity with his over-sized hairy paws. For the record, I consider any giant monster movie with a raging beast more than ten times human size to be sci-fi (plus there's the whole lost world angle), so I don't want to hear any arguments that it shouldn't get a silver at the least. The gold, however, could be argued, but who would dare argue with the mighty Kong?

1934 (It Happened One Night)

1935 (Mutiny on the Bounty): I’m a big fan of this one, but I’d have to say that Bride of Frankenstein is about on the same level. Hell, it’s even better than its original. We’ll call this a silver to stay on the safe side.

1936 (The Great Ziegfeld): Things to Come for the silver. I’m not a huge fan of either, but they have their moments. At heart, I think I like the forward-looking Things to Come more than the antiquated nostalgia, with which I can't relate, that swells forth from Ziegfeld.

1937 (The Life of Emile Zola): Fantasy favorites Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Lost Horizon are in the running, but The Life of Emile Zola is pretty decent. No statues.

1938 (You Can’t Take It with You): Not one of Capra's best, but a sparse year as far as I can tell. I could use some help.

1939 (Gone with the Wind)

1940 (Rebecca): Dr. Cyclops, perhaps the only real sci-fi entry this year, isn't even close.

1941 (How Green Was My Valley): Anything is better than this miserable Irish mining family rubbish that notoriously stole the Oscar from Citizen Kane and Maltese Falcon. Man Made Monster, aka The Electric Man is frankly terrible, but it will have to do unless someone knows of anything better.

1942 (Mrs. Miniver): So sue me if I’d rather see a movie about a lady who transforms into a panther under emotional stress than one about a lady who transforms into a less frivolous woman under the threat of German bombs. “Cat People” takes the bronze.

1943 (Casablanca)

1944 (Going My Way): Only because I haven’t seen a single SF film from 1944, although you can read my sarcastic claim that “Going My Way” counts, here.

1945 (Lost Weekend)

1946 (The Best Years of Our Life): A truly great film, and one of the best WWII "coming home" stories out there. Just the same, I’d probably put the fantasy classic “A Matter of Life and Death” on a short list of 1946 films that I like better. Bronze trophy.

1947 (Gentleman’s Agreement): There are at least five film noirs I can think of that I prefer to “Gentleman’s Agreement” (not a bad film itself), but to nab the silver I'll have to go with the ultra-obscure but brilliantly surreal and prescient Krakatit.

1948 (Hamlet)
1949 (All the King’s Men)

1950 (All About Eve): All About Eve is too good to try toppling, but the 1950's began to usher in some legitimately interesting SF beginning with Panic in the Streets, DOA, Destination Moon and Rocketship X-M.

1951 (An American in Paris): I’ve never understood the enduring popularity of this one. I’ll take The Thing from Another World any day, but even better is The Man in the White Suit. It's about as soft as sci-fi gets, but it works. Gold trophy.

1952 (The Greatest Show on Earth): Despite the ambitious title, it seems like I should be able to outdo it, yet my SF knowledge fails me for 1952.

1953 (From Here to Eternity): A great year for B-movies: Robot Monster, War of the Worlds, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. Then there is the largely fantasy-based 5000 Fingers of Dr. T which includes an atomic device (which mean science, right!). Ultimately I'm going to award a silver award based on my love for little-known Brit B-movie gem The Four Sided Triangle. Not to many people would agree that it is better than From Here to Eternity, but its often the case that everyone except me is wrong.

1954 (On the Waterfront): Much as I enjoy Them!...

1955 (Marty): I don't want to put any spoilers here, but I think Kiss Me, Deadly might qualify (discussion in the comments section). The excellent The Quatermass Xperiment provides a more explicitly SF silver.

1956 (Around the World in 80 Days): Forbidden Planet. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Earth Versus the Flying Saucers. This one is too easy and AtWi80d helps by aging quite poorly. It’s kind of a shame that one of Jules Verne’s least impressive and utterly un-sci-fi novels should be his only adaptation to win. Again, my absolute top contenders are all foreign films, so we'll assume academy jingoism should have sealed a gold.

1957 (The Bridge on the River Kwai): The Incredible Shrinking Man is not to be missed, but it isn't in the same order of magnitude as David Lean.

1958 (Gigi): Here's the year that Jules Verne should have won, for The Fabulous world of Jules Verne by Karel Zeman. Mostly based on 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Myserious Island, but with Zeman adding some of his own stop-motion inspirations to boot. Also good are Fiend without a Face, The Blob and I Bury the Living.

1959 (Ben-Hur): I’d like to think I could take all 212 minutes of Ben-Hur without batting a eyelash, but I’m getting little help from the year’s lineup: On the Beach? The Wasp Woman? Plan 9 from Outer Space? I'll have to call upon The Tingler, a gulity pleasure, though it means that I make gimmick-king William Castle a best-picture winner.

1960 (The Apartment)

1961 (West Side Story): I love West Side Story, but the technically-innovative and marvelously whimsical Czech mixed-media Baron von Munchausen adaption Baron Prasil is something I love even more.

1962 (Lawrence of Arabia): Many would disagree, but I know I have allies in thinking The Manchurian Candidate is worthy of the prize. Should brainwashing and mind control be considered sci-fi? I compel you to think so! Gold trophy!

1963 (Tom Jones ): Tom Jones stood for a long time, with little to oppose it save the underloved Matango: Attack of the Mushroom People (aka Fungus of Terror). However, the Czech Republic's ahead-of-its-time space opera Ikarie XB-1 handily unseats it and may even deserve a gold.

1964 (My Fair Lady): If My Fair Lady had ended with Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison singing “The Rain in Spain” while being consumed in a hailstorm of nuclear bombs, it might have stopped me from sliding the Oscar over to Dr. Strangelove. Gold trophy.

1965 (The Sound of Music): Alphaville, followed by the The War Game. Silver trophy.

1966 (A Man for All Seasons): Who Wants to Kill Jesse? steals the prize in a bloodless Czech coup. And despite Paul Scofield’s excellent performance, I bequeath his acting Oscar to Olga Schoberova. Just because! (Also, it's worth mentioning the underrated Seconds).

1967 (In the Heat of the Night) It's a bit of a stretch but I'm going to combine the British Privilege and the French Weekend, too dystopian films in the thick of the political turmoil that also produced In the Heat of the Night. We'll call it a silver.

1968 (Oliver!): In what will probably be the least contested retroactive decision of this entire post, I transfer the Oscar to “2001: A Space Odyssey.” How “Oliver!” won, even given its catchy, lightweight charm, I’ll never know. On the long list of 1968 SF I’d rather rewatch would be “Yellow Submarine,” “Night of the Living Dead,” “Barbarella” and “Danger: Diabolik.” Gold, gold gold.

1969 (Midnight Cowboys): An odd year for SF. Horrors of Malformed Men, Marooned and The Illustrated Man are all interesting anomalies, but none work as well as Midnight Cowboys.

1970 (Patton): I don’t think I can count 1970’s outpouring of surrealism as SF (Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, Eden and After, El Topo, etc.), which is a shame. Originally I actually put forward Colossus: The Forbin Project for a silver, but I don't think that holds up. Patton emerges from the battlefield as the victor.

1971 (The French Connection): While both films share a dubious legacy of starting violent cinematic trends, I think “A Clockwork Orange” is the more groundbreaking and provocative work. I wouldn’t quite commit to calling it the year’s best, so silver trophy for now.

1972 (The Godfather)

1973 (The Sting): I'm too big a fan of The Sting to retcon 1973, but it was a year full of oddball contenders: The Holy Mountain, The Hourglass Sanatorium, The Savage Planet, The Day of the Dolphin, Sleeper, Soylent Green, Idaho Transfer, Ivan the Terrible: Back to the Future and Westworld.

1974 (The Godfather Part II)

1975 (One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest): The combined cult status of Rocky Horror Picture Show, Death Race 2000, Shivers, A Boy and His Dog, Rollerball, Footprints on the Moon, The Stepford Wives and Black Moon earn a silver even if individually they might not truly rival Jack Nicholson's performance piece. Call it a silver.

1976 (Rocky): The Man Who Fell to Earth? God Told Me To? Maybe even almost Logan’s Run? This is far from my best attempt, but I grant it a silver anyway. Rocky's a popular heavyweight these days and his underdog status is overrated.

1977 (Annie Hall): This is probably my favorite Woody Allen film and there’s only a single 1977 that I unambiguously like more. Fortunately, it’s SF. Can you guess it? “Eraserhead.” Oh, and for the angry unwashed masses, you can pretend I said “Star Wars” or “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Gold medal.

1978 (Deer Hunter): I’m of the minority opinion that 1978 was just not a standout year for SF. I’ve got no special love for Superman, Dawn of the Dead, The Boys from Brazil, Coma, the remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers or even the gloriously awful Starcrash. No awards.

1979 (Kramer vs. Kramer): The Tin Drum and Stalker are arguably eligible for the steal, but Alien is the obvious answer. It almost gets a gold from me, but will have to settle for a silver since I can think of exactly one better 1979 film (Apocalypse Now).

1980 (Ordinary People): The Empire Strikes Back and The Falls can both handily and independently clinch a silver trophy here.

1981 (Chariots of Fire): Time Bandits would lock in a silver trophy, but since the best film of the year (maybe even the decade) is the vaguely-sci-fi horror movie Possession I think a gold is in order.

1982 (Gandhi): Blade Runner. Solid gold. Enough said.

1983 (Terms of Endearment): I think the year's best is rightfully the French essay-film Sunless although it would never actually win for at least two reasons (ie: Frenchness and using the pseudo-documentary essay format). Therefore, Videodrome is left free to nab the gold trophy and shovel it into its chest oriface.

1984 (Amadeus): Terminator, Ghost Busters and The Brother from another Planet are all up there, but I’m a huge Amadeus fan, with its dueling composers and insight into genius, jealously and revenge. However, throw in 1984, Repo Man and Threads (and as Mad Dog mentions, Urusei Yatsura 2: Beautiful Dreamer) for some fierce competition, and I think a silver is not improper. This was originally a bronze, but I'm capitulating before anyone can write in with crazy defenses of Dune or The Last Starfighter.

1985 (Out of Africa): Brazil walks in, guns down all the nominees in the room, and coolly walks away from the carnage with its well-deserved golden Oscar.

1986 (Platoon): I know Platoon has a lot of fans out there, but I think The Fly is just strong enough to buzz off with the silver prize.

1987 (The Last Emperor): OK, The Red Spectacles is probably not the best known or most liked ’87 SF I could have picked, so choose your own. Here are some ideas: Predator, RoboCop, Hellraiser, Wings of Honneamise, On the Silver Globe, Evil Dead II, Bad Taste, Spaceballs. But keep in mind that The Last Emperor is a pretty decent, unquestionably gorgeous film. Silver trophy.

1988 (Rain Man): I have a soft-spot for Rain Man despite its flaws. Nevertheless, I’d take cartoons-come-to-life fantasy Who Framed Roger Rabbit or the magical realism Time of the Gypsies over it. Bronze trophy. (Mad Dog notes that anime heavy-weight Akira should be in the running, and while I'm not an acolyte at that altar, it does deserve a mention.)

1989 (Driving Miss Daisy): Can Batman be considered SF? For this year it is surprisingly hard for me to find pure SF to triumph over such a frail opponent. Oh, wait, wait, wait… Tetsuo: The Iron Man. There we go. Silver it is.

1990 (Dances with Wolves): There’s always Clive Barker’s oddball horror film Nightbreed, but for a genuine silver I’ll have to turn towards one of my favorite animes, PatLabor 2: The Movie.(Note: If you are interested, you don’t have to see the show or the original movie to enjoy.) Verhoeven's undeniably fun Total Recall, a favorite since I was young and fitting way to close out the 80's, can also trounce Wolves.

1991 (Silence of the Lambs)

1992 (Unforgiven): This is a hard one to beat, so I’m going to have to call upon my secret magical realism weapon, Olivier, Olivier, for a dues ex machina. It's got a couple of undeniable sci-fi intrusions so it qualifies for a gold trophy. If you haven't seen it, you might have to buy the VHS used from Amazon or request it from a public library system to catch a peak, but I consider it worth the effort.

1993 (Schindler’s List): Talking animals is the simple, yet brilliant premise of the 1993 cerebral SF classic Look Who’s Talking Now. Nah, just kidding. The year’s best genuine SF was probably Jurassic Park, so Spielberg wins no matter what. No trophy awarded.

1994 (Forrest Gump): I seem to remember liking Forrest Gump though I’m a bit embarrassed by that in retrospect. It bears eventual rewatching. The question is rather something like Stargate or Star Trek: Generations is really any better? For now I’ll use another guilty pleasure, the fantasy-tinged Heavenly Creatures, to nab a bronze.

1995 (Braveheart): City of the Lost Children and the non-SF Se7en are my two top contenders for the year, with Ghost in the Shell not far behind. We'll say that sci-fi has a two-thirds majority to squeeze in a gold statue.

1996 (The English Patient): Mars Attacks, Multiplicity, and Space Jam just aren’t going to cut it, and even the year’s big SF release, Independence Day falls well short of The English Patient. There were a handful of better films this year, but science-fiction dropped the ball.

1997 (Titanic): I like a good Poseidon Adventure knock-off as much as the next guy (though clearly not as much as the next gal), and “Titanic” has an undeniable emotional sweep, technical audacity and flair for the dramatic. Still, I’m far less effusive than the academy. I’ll jump to the far extreme of the budget spectrum – while remaining on the same quality of acting – by picking Cube. Silver trophy.

1998 (Shakespeare in Love): Whether you prefer brooding indie sci-fi like Dark City and Pi or high-concept feel-good blockbusters like The Truman Show and Pleasantville, there was just no excuse to award Shakespeare in Love anything. Of course, everyone in 1998 was so shocked that Saving Private Ryan didn't win, that they too numb to enummerate all the other fine films that were spurned. Here's hoping that the gold trophies heals some of the wounds.

1999 (American Beauty): I was pretty in favor of this victory back in 1999, but the film seems far less daring now that I’ve seen a lot more hard-hitting dramas from the preceding decades. Still a finely acted and well-orchestrated feature, but now I think Being John Malkovich and The Matrix should have split the little gold man.

2000 (Gladiator): I've not felt any drive to go back and rewatch Gladiator over the years, but I've revisited the underrated Canadian mindtrip Possible Worlds half a dozen times, always finding new food for thought. It deserves a gold trophy. Wild Zero, benefitting from taking itself a lot less seriously than anyone involved with Gladiator, is also a fun alternative.

2001 (A Beautiful Mind): 2001 has a lot of arguable cult favorites (Donnie Darko, American Astronaut, The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, and Millennium Actress to name a few) that can all lay some claim to the Silver. My vote for the year's best is the anime Spirited Away, a fantasy film that causes the gold to slip through the cracks of my own rules.

2002 (Chicago): The remake of Solaris for a silver. I thought this was just crazy personal bias, but it sounds like Tim (see comments) agrees. I called this a slow year originally, but he also reminded me of Minority Report, one of Spielberg's late career bests.

2003 (Lord of the Rings): Considering that this is already fantasy, I’ll leave well enough alone.

2004 (Million Dollar Baby): I loved Million Dollar Baby, but nothing like the creative solar flare of Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind. 2002 was a year of great ideas, and Primer deserves a mention too. Gold trophy.

2005 (Crash): Fans of V for Vendetta will probably be upset at my suggestion that this battle was even close, but it was. Serenity would have tipped the battle if there was any lingering doubts, so it’s another silver trophy for the shelf.

2006 (The Departed): I applaud a more-or-less action movie taking the prize, but did it have to be a derivative remake of a foreign film on a year when so much better came out? Take your pick of The Prestige, Pan’s Labyrinth, Children of Men, The Fountain and even Renaissance. Au.

2007 (No Country for Old Men): Should it have gone to There Will Be Blood? Maybe. Probably. But SF wasn't even in the running.

2008 (Slumdog Millionaire): WALL-E and Timecrimes are two fantastic sci-fi films that I'd rank over enjoyable crowd-pleaser Slumdog, but since the best film was easily Synecdoche, New York. Since that is borderline sci-fi (more fantasy, I know), we'll go ahead and call this a golden year.

2009 (The Hurt Locker): A silver for The Watchmen. Not as brilliant as the graphic novel, but pretty darn close.

2010 (The King's Speech): A disappointingly safe choice from the academy on a year with much more interesting films. Inception deserves a silver trophy, though it should have been even better, while the year's real winner was Fincher's Social Network.

Final Score:
Bronze: 5
Silver: 29
Gold: 22
Total: 56 (about 67% or 2/3 of Oscar years)

Conclusion: Spin up your time machine and recharge your mind control rayguns, science-fiction has definitively been short-changed and history needs to be fixed!

Call to Arms:
P.S. If you think you know a way to add more (or better) trophies to the stockpile, then put your suggestion in the comments section. Give the name of the original winner and the title of the film you prefer. All I ask is that you make sure to see the actual Oscar winner, too. If I agree with you, I’ll update the list.