An enormous stone head wades through the air, descending into earth. There, it is approached by a group of horsemen, wearing masks that immediately remind us of the two-faced god of the romans: Janus. Janus Bifrons, he that contemplates both past and future simultaneously; through his gates, the call to war is given.
While the barbarians sing Zardoz! Zardoz!, we begin to suspect that something isn't quite right in this solemn and sinister landscape. The clothes of said barbarians, for instance, are somewhat ridiculous, to say the least. The most attentive viewers will even notice that one of them, while the others go about their chants and bows, stumbles clumsily on a piece of rock, a gesture not really befitting a member of the warrior hordes. Then, the big rock head makes its voice resonate throughout the valley; it is a James Earl Jones kind of voice. The unforgettable words that it spits out could just as well make their appearance in a book by Schopenhauer, or in a Monty Python sketch (they would also fit as a glove in a religious text, and that is, indeed, the point).
After this brief speech, a cascade of firearms (and their respective ammunition) falls from its cavernous mouth. The weapons seem strangely dated, given that the action takes place in the 23rd century.
An intelligent spectator (maybe too intelligent) will try to conjure up a rational explanation for all of this. But, since the preamble of the film, even before the stone head appeared, when a man wearing an Egyptian coif and facial hair drawn with a felt-tip pen told us that all of this is a farce, in a most eloquent way - since then, I say, that our spectator will have been taken by an ambiguous feeling: is this film, for him, pure genius or pure garbage? A serious work, or a joke?
He'll be damned if he knows which side to take. The secret, of course, is to walk the razor's edge between the two.
We shouldn't waste too much time trying to describe the plot: a few large brush-strokes will suffice. This is because Zardoz, like so many David Lynch films, is like a woman: the more mysterious and distant from our comprehension, the better. Once the mystery is unveiled, and excessive familiarity installed, the charm is lost. (Unfortunately, this review will try to uncover part of that mystery.)
In the future, after the social collapse of humanity, a few of the 'elite' takes refuge in small, paradisiac, enclaves, while the mob withers on the outside. The individuals of that elite are called the Eternals, while the members of the mob are simply referred to as Brutals. There is yet a third class: the Exterminators. They are initially given the task of killing the Brutals by Zardoz, and later, of enslaving them to grow crops. But who the hell is Zardoz, anyway? Simple: just one of the Eternals, using the flying head to make himself appear as a god, and thus control both Brutals and Exterminators.
However, one of the Exterminators, called Zed (as in "the last man"?), infiltrates the 'ship', and without hesitation, puts a bullet in Zardoz. The stone head eventually lands by itself in the Vortex, one of the aforementioned enclaves. There, Zed discovers the society of the Eternals, immortal creatures possessing telepathic powers; it is important to note that it appears to be a somewhat matriarchal society, where men can't even sustain a "spontaneous erection", much less rule.
Zed is treated as a freak (one of the Eternals names him Monster), and his life is spared only so that he can be subjected to scientific inquiry. Despite that, there's more than meets the eye when it comes to our protagonist (besides being a middle-aged man wearing red diapers, that is), and soon enough the Eternals see their quiet community turned upside down.
Two fundamental questions should be posed about this film. Firstly: what is it? Secondly: how is its existence possible? The answer to the first one will undoubtedly be vague, and entirely idiosyncratic. When we run across a film such as this, it is enough that it be. As for the second question, let us see, for it is pertinent.
John Boorman, following his success with Point Blank (with Lee Marvin) and Deliverance (Burt Reynolds, among other luminaries), was given time and money by the studios to make whatever he fancied. This sort of attitude wasn't uncommon in the seventies: it may surprise us now, in an age where even acclaimed directors like Darren Aronofsky are finding it difficult to secure funding for their projects.
But anyway, the studios weren't that innocent. A million dollars worth of budget wasn't that high a stake, even for the time. Sean Connery's presence is also easily explained: he had recently finished his stint as Bond, and was finding it difficult to get work.
This film is the work of a fertile and educated spirit. It touches subjects that are still relevant today: genetic manipulation, augmentation of our mental capacities, highly evolved computer systems, using crystals for data storage and processing; all of this well before the advent of the trans or post humanist movements, and the age of computerized information. When Connery enters the room of Zardoz on the Eternal's cottage, and accesses the Tabernacle the first time, we're shown a shrewd forerunner (or in this case, descendant) of the phonetics-based alteration of written language that we are seeing today. (Apples = applz, salt = solt, leather = lethur, all of this before the leet speak of hackers, the SMS pandemic, and social networks).
Pertaining influences, it is inevitable to mention H. G. Wells' The Time Machine, with its Eloi and Morlocks; but even more so, to speak of Aldous Huxley, in particular of his Brave New World and After Many a Summer, the latter being mentioned by Boorman himself. On a more superficial level, but also more omnipresent in the film, there is The Wizard of Oz, which is the object of an interesting, albeit childish, revelation.
This potpourri of scientific and philosophical concepts does not make for a confusing or overly long film, as some point out. In truth, it rarely under-paces itself or presents dead spaces (the climax inside the Tabernacle commits that sin, but Boorman himself admits that he should've cut it shorter). At each turn, there is a new idea, or an actualization of this quaint world for us to chew. The pacing, as said, is managed with efficiency. Let us remember that Inception has to take the better part of two hours to shove a single (and simple) concept down our throats.
Zardoz is more gratifying (and perhaps more enlightening) than any of the "science fiction" we spew forth nowadays: unfortunately, it is also more ridiculous. It is more profound, but less cool. Recently, it has been rediscovered by the revivalists and b-movie enthusiasts worldwide, seeing a rebirth as a kitsch cult object of sorts. But the problem of kitsch is that it is superficial. A serious analysis of Zardoz is a rare thing, no doubt because it has the remarkable ability to create cognitive dissonance: not being able to attain its ambiguous and complicated nature, most people prefer to assimilate it as an object of pure entertainment, never to be taken or understood seriously. This film causes the same reaction than John Merrick reciting Shakespeare from its circus cage: Zardoz is the Elephant Man of movies.
Throughout the audio commentary on the DVD, Boorman painfully tries to shed some light on the main plot points. It seems adding the preamble when the film came out, in an attempt to enlighten the befuddled audiences, did no good. However, this new effort to make the film more accessible, or to demystify it, results in an even more pathetic and discouraging exercise. What Boorman ends up doing, when he doesn't close himself in a revealing silence, is just pointing out, verbatim, what is happening on the screen at that particular moment. But it had to be made. It says a lot about modern audiences: subtle, ironic, caustic, all-knowing, but dumb as bricks.
In other instances, he seems to admit that his project was too ambitious, too far-reaching, an inefficient amalgam of various themes. But such remarks don't sound honest: in tone, they are more like Galileo's confession, a forced concession to the spirit of the times, to public opinion. Above all, Boorman seems embarrassed: but near the end, in the sequence where Zed destroys the Tabernacle, his pride as an artist manifests itself.
There, during his mumbling about the use of CGI in modern cinema, we realize that this man harbors a secret love for his work. It is as it should be; Albert Camus noted that the last thing an artist should feel standing before his work is regret. As Friend says during the trial of one of the Eternals, who suddenly reveals his true feelings to the rest of the community: «That's more like it!»
If we wish to categorize Zardoz, we may include it in the Dying Earth sub-genre, very common in science-fiction, practically an identical twin of post-apocalyptic fiction. However, Zardoz is more positive than other critical films of that decade, such as Planet of the Apes, THX 1138, or Soylent Green. The ending, accompanied by the second movement of Beethoven's seventh symphony, is, like the ending in 2001: A Space Odissey, a genuine display of optimism; it is not merely escape, serving more than the purpose of closing the movie on a happy note, as was latter the case with Blade Runner (the studio version) and The Road, where it became a simple plot device, a psychological trick played upon the audience.
But it is time to refrain myself and plant both my feet firmly on the ground. Cinema is a medium that allows no stylistic faux pas: more than any of the other great arts (except, perhaps, the emerging kingdom of video games), it is ruled by the aesthetics of fashion. Except when it becomes a retro cult object, precisely for being dated, it is very hard for a film to earn the status of timeless.
As a graphic novel or a book (which was, as a matter of fact, written and published), this project wouldn't have attracted so many negative reviews. The truth is, many of science-fiction's classics, if brought to the big screen, would look even worse than Zardoz. The foundation of cinema is both credibility and suspension of disbelief. It need not be believable per se: Transformers and Harry Potter are not believable, for instance. But they are credible, that is, they are realistic without being naturalistic.
Zardoz is neither realistic nor naturalistic (no matter how ridiculous it may seem to say this of a movie that takes place in the future). The art direction in it is an abomination. The costumes, the sets, the ineptitude of the extras, everything reeks of bad taste. The ideas from which some of the most hilarious and tragic highlights of Zardoz sprouted, are not always without merit: we can understand that the long hair of the Exterminators, as well as their attire, for instance, is a reference to the Mongols, the Huns, or the north-American natives. Or that the coifs of the Eternals are mimicking the ancient Egyptians, thus establishing some parallels between both societies (a clever reference).
But something was lost in the process. I attribute this failure to the innocent British clumsiness/awkwardness that permeated many productions of that time: one only needs to look at The Prisoner, another undeniable mixture of genius and ridicule, to see what I'm talking about. (I won't discuss luminaries such as Doctor Who, or Monty Python, for they are products that are self-aware of their britishness, and indeed make the most of it. A brilliant example of this is Garth Merenghi's Darkplace, which can also, at the same time, poke fun at american production methods.)
Another piece of the puzzle, related with the aforementioned, is the low budget factor. Those who dwell in the realm of B-movie cinephilia are well aware of the challenges that being broke impose on the creative mind. Some of the fixes conjured up by Boorman work, many don't. What can we say of the green bread? And the scenes of telepathic communion, that make Scanners look like a documentary? And the clothes of the Brutals (again, seeing that the action takes place in the 23rd century). And the clothes of the Eternals, specially the men, both unforgettable and traumatizing?
Also, whenever someone died, it was inevitable that we caught a glimpse of a nose, a throat, or an eye twitching. To cut it short, one last reference, pertaining a sequence which is both tragic and exemplary: Zed finds himself inside the greenhouse, being pummeled to the ground by an angry mob of effetes. Wrapped inside some kind of plastic material, he, naturally, punches through it and escapes. But as it happens, the plastic was supposed to be indestructible: and so, we get to watch Sean Connery ripping a hole in a greenhouse cover in slow motion, while the mob screams in horror: «It can't be done!»
The conceptual richness of Zardoz can only be rivaled by the consistency of its ridicule. It is so that, whenever a good scene emerges, it is like some kind of black swan, which we mistrust. An excellent example of this is the "learning through osmosis" sequence, which made me think, simultaneously, of the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey, and the scene in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, where Tuco is running wild and dazzled through the cemetery.
Boorman is an excellent director, and I don't intend to compare personal styles; but, for instance, Kubrick would have been more rigorous with this kind of material (although even A Clockwork Orange has now suffered the ravages of time). A dirt poor Ridley Scott could have worked wonders here (just look at The Duellists, made more or less for the same budget of Zardoz). And Jodorowsky would have made a splendid feast for himself (again, the The Holy Mountain, the same budget, etc).
Horrified, I realize that Zardoz, then, becomes something that I, in my childish innocence, had at some point in my life wished to see someday: a profound B-movie.
In that case, should we ask for a remake of Zardoz, so that justice can at last be made? No doubt a more 'modern' treatment of the script would secure its place amongst the great works of our time? Better forget it: it is a noble but treacherous thought. And we have seen the seeds that it plants: we live in the era of the remake, and the reboot, and nothing good has come out of it. Instead of using such devices to improve upon the original work, they are used instead to hide the industry's own faults and voids. They recycle, endlessly, but never improving. All hope is lost for the remake as a means of aiding art; instead, it has been used to rape her.
So: Zardoz is an artifact. More than that, actually: it is a relic, for it is unrepeatable.
It is also self-knowing and self-mocking at an unconscious level. As such, it is a sibling of contemporary mainstream cinema. We can deride Zardoz and The Fast and The Furious, but we cannot make a satire about them: that would be redundant (ah, but don't we live in the age of redundancy?). That is why, presently, sketch comedy is dying of thirst in the desert: it can no longer overcome the grotesque (and burlesque) of the products or situations it feeds upon. Both Zardoz and The Fast and The Furious are symptomatic, and enlighten us about the age we're living in: the former is the portrait of the post-modern artist, the latter, the portrait of post-modern audiences. A portrait that is part tragedy, part caricature.
It is also self-knowing and self-mocking at an unconscious level. As such, it is a sibling of contemporary mainstream cinema. We can deride Zardoz and The Fast and The Furious, but we cannot make a satire about them: that would be redundant (ah, but don't we live in the age of redundancy?). That is why, presently, sketch comedy is dying of thirst in the desert: it can no longer overcome the grotesque (and burlesque) of the products or situations it feeds upon. Both Zardoz and The Fast and The Furious are symptomatic, and enlighten us about the age we're living in: the former is the portrait of the post-modern artist, the latter, the portrait of post-modern audiences. A portrait that is part tragedy, part caricature.
But the real question is this: does Zardoz, putting aside its ludic aspects, really has something to offer? I will have to defend the position that yes, it does. Zardoz is not original: it is a referential system, a syncretic organism. But it is fertile, as opposed to the barren and simplistic wasteland that we have today.
Curious, this false dawn of our age: we now are prodigal in resources, but lackluster in accomplishments. We consume luscious fruits without seeds, and we ourselves are sterile flowers. A curious mind, an avid spirit, can not drink from a dry well; Zardoz is a strange fountain indeed, but one we abandon satiated.
No comments:
Post a Comment