Elysium

Zero Tolerance for Citizens
or
Spinning That Ol' Wheel of Fortune

I expect nearly everybody was looking forward to Neill Blomkomp's next film, after the gooey splash District 9 made.  His new one, Elysium, has the same kind of life-lesson—"what have you done for someone else lately?" and how one's perspective changes when you walk around in someone else's downtrodden shoes.  

The approach is slightly different, though, even if the futuristic milieu is still glum.  In this future, the current economic climate hasn't changed, only the locations have.  Earth, after years of neglect, is one big slum, there is no distinction between urban and rural anymore, the green spaces are dead, and there is a space-age version of urban flight—the "one percenters" have moved on up to an orbiting oasis called Elysium, and it is, as in Greek Myth, the isle of the Fortunate, a paradise, with estates and luxury homes perched inside it's rotating ring. It's the ultimate gated community.  A large star in the sky, it is out of reach but never out of the sight or the minds of the stragglers of Earth who hope to get there by fortune or by smuggling themselves by shuttles, which Elysium's defensive perimeter either discourages or destroys.

The parallels to today's refugee and immigrant desperation is baldly presented, and obvious to anyone whose world-view isn't in spec-fic but down here on Earth, much as apartheid was morphed into xenophobia in D-9. Add to that that the penthouse in space also seems to have access to the ultimate in universal health-care, a medi-bed that scans you and...simply cures you (it seems).  Other than those fanciful details, everything's played a little straighter, no doubt because you have big stars like Matt Damon and Jodie Foster, rather than just Sharlto Copley (although he's here too, bless him), so the financial risks are slightly more, so they make the stakes in the film a little higher, too.  Higher in that the government (naturally) is up there in Elysium, in the form of President Patel, who has a rather prickly defense secretary (Foster, channelling Angela Lansbury from The Manchurian Candidate), who has a unique sense of how to protect The Ring, supplementing the force of robot-police with soldiers of fortune, like a particularly nasty one named Kruger (Copley), who would probably kill for a hobby if he wasn't being paid for it.

Down on Earth, it's dog-eat-dog, and former car-thief Max Da Costa (Damon) is trying to go straight, working towards the dream of going to Elysium by working in one of the factories mass-producing the robo-cops that keep the populace under their teflon thumbs.  But an industrial accident leaves Da Costa dying, with only five days to live.  His only chance is to somehow get up to Elysium and one of those miracle-med-things, so, with a few super-drugs pumping through his system, he signs up to do some dirty work for a former employer, which involves stealing industrial secrets—which just happen to be Elysium's security codes—that will unlock the station's defenses and allow a mass exodus from Earth to Elysium.

Da Costa allows himself to be merged with a powerful exo-skeleton and neural-net to download the codes, then, once there—well, let's just say things get personal, as these things are wont to do, but not selfish, as that flies against the "hero" sense that movies must have, so there has to be some deflection of need for Da Costa to some other....blah-blah-blah.  Face it, the exo-skeleton could be a crucifix motif, so Da Costa has to do some sacrificing because...well, that's the way they do it in movies these days.  There can't be any motivation of "self" because apparently that would make you as "bad" as the Elysium-buyers.  So, ultimately, Da Costa has to do all the fighting and scraping for somebody else, and, as per usual, it's an acquaintance's sick child.  Again.

And that's the main thing that makes Elysium less than thrilling: for all the "neat" visuals, for the interesting "take" on today's events, for all the good intentions and the perversions of such, it feels like every other sci-fi Christ allegory and leaves you feeling a little hollow while its trying to make you feel noble and unselfish while watching it.  Well, I've seen that before, and I thought the intention of sci-fi was to show you something different.  It is a noble effort, but ultimately, it suffers from story-sameness, and recycled ideas from the cookie-cutter school of script-writing.  It's too bad because Elysium has a lot going for it.

Elysium is a Rental. 

Gotta say that Elysium has some pretty cool concepts for its pleasure-wheel

District 9

"Dances With Prawns"

Ridley Scott recently said in an interview, "Science Fiction in movies is dead," proving once again that as a visionary, Ridley Scott is a superb art director.*

But, like Westerns, they can continue to cast a reflection on our life and times, just as surely as the Sun sets in the West—on Earth or Mars—wherever there are flawed humans who'll make the same mistakes in the future as they did in the past.

Take the new film by South African film-maker Neill Blomkamp—"District 9"—a re-telling of the issues of apartheid both in macro- and micro-cosm. It won't score many points for originality, but as a potent rejuvenation of how sci-fi can focus attention on an issue, it may be the best film of its type since "The Road Warrior."

Twenty years ago, a large spaceship is left, stranded, hovering over Johannesburg. When official go to take a look, they find a race of aliens— emaciated, starving—and they begin transporting the survivors off the ship and into makeshift refugee camp, dubbed "District 9." And in a repeat of history, the camps "became fenced, then militarized, and then it became a slum." The Joburg citizens of all races are barely tolerant of "the prawns," as they are called, as long as they stay on their side of the fence. They become scavengers, demoralized, living on garbage taken advantage of by human predators. They're also extremely well-armed (with weapons that only respond to their DNA, so humans can't use them), and attempting to create the fuel they'll need to get back home.

This back-story is told from rough-edited documentary footage outlining "the situation." As the human/prawn tensions become high, the M.N.U. (Multi-National United) is recruited to move the million prawns to a new relocation camp far from Johannesburg. In charge of the operation is the son-in-law of an MNU muckety-muck, Wikus van der Merwe** (Sharlto Copley) and you just know from the documentary footage of him that 1) he's an idiot, senseless and blithely ignorant and 2) "something" happened to him, as he's always mentioned in the past tense.

What's happened is that van der Merwe's evacuation plan, a disorganized xenophobic spree, has uncovered weapons cache's, nurseries (which are put to the torch—"Listen to them pop!" exults van der Merwe to the camera), and due to his pig-ignorance, he's exposed to an agent that begins to change him into one of the insectoid aliens, giving him a look at their world, walking a mile in their claws, as it were...and, oh, by the way, he can start using their weapons now.

Now, lest anyone get the impression this is a life-affirming lesson in just getting along, be advised that it's a parable soaked in blood and bile. It's one of the dankest, squishiest movies I've ever laid eyes on with much viscous vomiting, projectile blood-shed—the aliens' weapons are particularly nasty, exploding human bodies like blood-blisters with gout's of blood hitting the camera lens—and sequences of transformation somewhat akin to Cronenberg's "The Fly" (particularly when the hero tears out his fingernails). I saw more than enough folks who had to leave the theater when I saw it, so be warned (especially you parents being pressured to see the "space-ship" movie).

It is also one of those surface-message movies that belies its point with its story presentation, the message being mixed in a left brain/right brain conflict. Xenophobia is certainly shown as wrong, but in as visceral a way possible, the only difference depending on what side of the electro-blaster-micro-waver you're on. And there isn't any direct retribution for actions taken—the film has a mindless video game feel to it, rather emptily getting the blood up, and providing no catharsis to diffuse it.***

However, there is a lot that makes "District-9" satisfying (if uncomfortable) from its performances, art direction, seamless motion capture effects, and design.

Oh. And in a final irony: Blomkamp's artist's representation in California is RSA...which is owned by Sir Ridley Scott.

"District 9" is a Matinee.

* One wonders why he would even say such a thing as his company, Scott Free Productions, produced the egregious (but ratings-busting) A&E regurgitation of "The Andromeda Strain." One might agree if he was talking about the line of toy-ad's masquerading as entertainment (Can't wait for "Lincoln Logs: The Movie!"), but those can hardly be counted as "science fiction."

** Here's another layer to "District-9"—it's a cultural joke. In South Africa, there is a sub-species of joke called the "van der Merwe joke," like "blond" jokes in the U.S., or "Sven and Ole" jokes in Scandinavian communities, they're self-deprecating humor about just how dumb someone could possibly be. That "D-9" starts as a van der Merwe joke and turns into a story of redemption is just one of the insidious joys of "District-9."

*** "District 9" came about as a substitute project for director Blomkamp and producer Peter Jackson after their planned collaboration of the film version of the popular "Halo" video game came to naught.