Sci-Fi: The Genre of Big Ideas

Danny Boyle’s Sunshine is an overdue shot in the arm for original science-fiction. With the last decade dominated by underwhelming Star Wars prequels, it’s easy to forget that science-fiction is capable of debating big ideas and influencing how we see ourselves in the universe. Star Wars, and to a lesser extent Star Trek, is a cultural phenomenon on such a scale that it’s effectively a genre unto itself. Nevertheless, lightsabers and Federation jumpsuits have long been accepted as integral to the classic iconography of wider science-fiction. These nerdy associations are perhaps one reason why the genre is so good at repelling the casual viewer.

Sunshine focuses upon a manned mission to reignite our own dying Sun with a nuclear payload the size of Manhattan. The film builds upon its overt cinematic influences (namely 2001: A Space Odyssey, Alien and the original Solaris), by blending cutting-edge effects with a screenplay inspired by real science. Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland, take the day-to-day practicalities of long-haul space travel, and put them front and centre. In the process they present a bid for inclusion in the annals of “serious” sci-fi. The result fuses stunning visuals with multi-stranded tales of obsession, as the characters respond to the power of the star they must reignite.

The film is something of an anomaly, as mainstream cinema has become a hostile environment for original science-fiction. Although the millennium was greeted by space-faring adventures Red Planet and Mission to Mars, both suffered from poor screenplays and an over-reliance on visual-effects. 2000 also gave us Pitch Black, a comparatively low-budget project starring Vin Diesel as the cynical and murderous convict, Riddick. The film sported a head-turning premise, dumping a group of disparate crash-survivors onto a desert-world populated by light-sensitive carnivorous aliens, and then plunging the planet into an extended solar-eclipse. With meagre funds, director David Twohy produced arresting visuals, a gritty tone and a focus on character that was unusual to the genre. The film was a cult-hit and spawned a big-budget but risible sequel; Chronicles of Riddick abandoned the original’s intelligence, leaving only the clichés of excess sported by so many additions to the genre.

Steven Soderbergh’s Solaris, released in 2003, is perhaps the only other post-millennium cinematic release to approach the genre in a truly adult fashion. A remake of the 1972 Russian epic, the film lacks eye-catching visuals, devoting itself instead to an exploration of love, memory and faith, with the science-fiction setting merely a backdrop. However, not even George Clooney’s presence could save the film from box-office disaster. Although the project was undoubtedly let down by uncertain studio marketing, it was also a harsh reminder that multiplex audiences prefer their entertainment a little more light-hearted.

Original science-fiction is as rare on television as it is on the big-screen, ‘originality’ most-often equating to modern takes on established franchises. Star Trek was reborn on television in 1987, with a new crew comprising The Next Generation. Spin-off series Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and eventually Enterprise, soon followed, all updating the franchise for the 90s. Competition to the Star Trek juggernaut came in the form of the grittier Babylon 5 and Farscape, and the teen-friendly Andromeda. In 1997 came the long-running and hugely profitable Stargate SG-1, a reformatted television version of the critically-mauled 1994 science-fiction fantasy, Stargate. Most recently, the 1970s Star Wars rip-off Battlestar Galactica has been stunningly reinvented as a contemporary adult drama with an identity all of its own. The show is perhaps the first attempt in a decade to instill the genre with real adult drama. In its content, it has taken direct inspiration from the uncertain, post-9/11 world, pondering the future of humanity through a long-running story of survival that is a clear allegory for the War on Terror.

Offering long-running characters and settings, as well as often sustained allegorical comments on society, television need not rely on a strong opening weekend to recoup its costs, even if a producer’s enthusiasm is often required to convince the moneymen to have faith in their product finding an audience. In contrast, original cinematic science-fiction must exhibit involving characters, dramatic, fast-paced stories and, ideally, arresting visuals, all within a timeframe rarely longer than two hours. Future visions and space-travel normally require substantial budgets to realise, but this increases the pressure for broad audience appeal; spectacular visuals cannot be targeted at a niche audience. An original hook is also crucial to the genre. A simple but head-turning concept worked for Pitch Black, while for Sunshine, Alex Garland broke new ground in contemporary science-fiction by turning his attention to the Sun. Despite the sudden cancellation of Enterprise in 2005, a new Star Trek film has been confirmed for production, but it remains to be seen whether the studios will continue to support original sci-fi visions.

Raising The Undead

This coming May sees the UK cinematic release of 28 Weeks Later…, the unimaginatively-titled sequel to director Danny Boyle’s gritty horror 28 Days Later... Boyle’s original has become, in many ways, a seminal entry in the horror genre, although, notably, the ushering of a new chapter for the cinematic undead as a source of serious horror, was not what the film initially drew attention for. The filmmakers apparently sought to draw attention to their relatively low budget by shooting only on semi-professional digital cameras. Then there was the film’s opening spectacle of a deserted London, and the arresting image of Cillian Murphy’s Jim, clad in hospital scrubs and clasping a carrier-bag, standing in bewilderment on an empty Westminster Bridge. As Jim soon discovers, London, and indeed the UK as a whole, has been evacuated in the aftermath of a savage plague – viscerally referred to as ‘Rage’ – which, upon transmission of infected blood, almost instantaneously strips victims of their humanity and turns them into rabid, demon-eyed, blood-vomiting monsters. It was a shocking vision amplified by the digital format, giving the impression that the end of the world was being filmed with footage blended from survivors on the run, and static CCTV cameras.

Just as George Romero critiqued America’s involvement in Vietnam in 1968’s Night of the Living Dead, and then satirized western consumerism a decade later in Dawn of the Dead, 28 Days Later… arguably captured the 21^st Century zeitgeist and became a product of its time. In the aftermath of 9/11, and in the months preceding the invasion of Iraq in 2003, the fear of weapons of mass destruction, chemical warfare and infection, dominated headlines across the western world. The Bush Administration insisted Saddam was stockpiling unpleasant chemicals in the Iraqi desert, and tabloids speculated on the likelihood of a terrorist ‘dirty’ bomb hitting London or New York. The ‘Infected’ of Boyle’s British apocalypse capitalized on the fears fanning from this brave new world. Gone were the cumbersome, slow-moving undead of Romero’s original visions; the Rage created aggressive, salivating victims who were fast on their feet, aimlessly sprinting and snarling in their tireless and instinctive search for flesh to feast upon.

For nearly two decades from the late 1980s, the zombie was effectively confined to the annals of cinematic ridicule, perhaps owing to the torrent of lazy parodies and trashy TV movies that plagued the 1990s (Space Zombie Bingo, anyone?). 28 Days Later… made the zombie scary again, and the film’s massive stateside success was clearly interpreted by the studios. A remake of Dawn of the Dead hit multiplexes in 2004. The film jettisoned the consumerist satire of Romero’s original to concentrate on snarling horror that seemed directly inspired by Boyle’s brutal depiction of the British apocalypse. Despite lacking depth, the film was hugely entertaining and creative in its own way by depicting a zombie birth.

Once again, however, it was the British who broke new ground in the genre. Comedy duo and Romero-worshippers Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright, released the London-set zombie-homage Shaun of the Dead in 2004. A quirky, hilarious and surprisingly violent affair, the film was billed as a “romantic comedy with zombies”, telling the story of a young man attempting to fix his relationship woes with the added inconvenience of the undead roaming the streets of London. Like 28 Days Later… the film was embraced by the Americans, and even played a part in convincing Romero himself to direct a fourth zombie film of his own. Land of the Dead was released in 2005 to mixed reviews. Indeed, it lacked the satirical punch of his previous outings, although it marked a return to the classic lumbering zombie that suddenly proved no less terrifying than the rabidly hyperactive victims of 28 Days Later…

The success of 28 Days Later… has had differing effects on each side of the Atlantic. The British horror genre has seen a rejuvenation, perhaps most notable so far for having supported the career of writer-director Neil Marshall. His werewolf horror-comedy Dog Soldiers, was released in the same year as 28 Days Later… and enjoyed critical and commercial success in Britain, as did his follow-up, caving-horror The Descent. More recent releases, such as camping horror Wilderness, and gory business-retreat satire Severance, remain under-seen but still worthy additions to the genre. In America, the ripple-effect has been far more routine. A film adaptation of the popular video-game Resident Evil was filmed in 2002 by British director Paul WS Anderson. Telling the story of a deadly, zombie-creating virus unleashed within a subterranean research facility, the film received a thoroughly-deserved critical mauling at the international box-office. Still, the film found a fan-base, and the second sequel is due later this year.

In the midst of an influx of tepid additions to the horror genre, many of which young children are allowed admission to even under the UK’s stricter film-classification guidelines, 28 Weeks Later… will be eagerly anticipated by horror fans. The lack of Danny Boyle is a glitch, and the lack of the experimental digital format may affect the distinctive atmospherics of the original. Having said that, it will be fascinating to see whether the return of the Rage will have the same resonance on the movie-going public, as it did back in 2002.

IMAX: The Bigger Picture

The BFI London IMAX is an ever-present background entity to all those who leave Waterloo International and descend the steps into the city. Since its erection in 1999, the structure has achieved a slightly uneasy integration with the urban architecture fanning from London’s South Bank. The £20million building attempts a statement of modernity, and always proclaims its latest cinematic offering with outward-facing banners that rival the format itself for sheer enormity. As the exotic alternative to traditional cinematic spectacle, the IMAX sales pitch tends to begin with the venue.

There are around 150 IMAX theatres across the United States, and the London IMAX is one of nearly 150 more worldwide. All boast screens nearly twenty metres high. Films shot specifically for the IMAX experience are typically documentaries exploring far-flung corners of the world. They exploit the enormous format (ten times the size of a 35mm frame) to capture such magnificent natural vistas as the Grand Canyon, the African savannah and the peaks of Everest. Loose documentary narratives usually guide the viewer in the form of voiceover, but relentlessly stunning visuals are of course the star. Accompanying the documentaries on the schedules are normally CGI compilation films which, although rarely less than stunning on a visual level, are really little more than special-effects show-reels.

An inevitable result of this new technology would be that the format opens itself up to the same criticism routinely leveled at mainstream Hollywood; the ‘wow’ factor induced by cinematic spectacle is prioritised over good storytelling. The difference with IMAX is that the technology is specifically designed to showcase that new breed of spectacle, to the extent that many shows even begin with a short demonstration of the theatre’s audio technology. Whereas traditional cinema has, in many cases, evolved into serious art, and only tends to command critical respect when filmmakers offer involving stories and characters, IMAX is generally accepted as being little more than a theme-park attraction. The reality is that, with the limited range of purpose-shot films on offer, it is yet to prove itself capable of much else. In this way, there are certain similarities to be seen with the birth of cinema itself. From the first public exhibitions of the 1890s, and beyond, the appeal of early cinema was primarily the visual spectacle. Be it a train arriving at a station, or workers leaving a factory, the appeal was in the fact that these actions had been caught on film in the first place. It could well be that the IMAX format simply needs time to evolve, to become as established an art-form as its 35mm older cousin.

More straightforward, however, is the argument that IMAX represents the next cinematic step in audience-participation. With cutting-edge surround-sound, and a screen enveloping the viewer’s field of vision, the line between the audience’s very status as viewer or participant, becomes blurred. We find ourselves gently leaning as the camera swoops through the Grand Canyon, or mysteriously pinned to the back of the seat as we plunge into the depths of a volcano on a computer-generated roller-coaster. Add to this the now-routine 3D element of many shows, and the film envelops us to the extent that we can truly lose ourselves in the experience. That can’t often be said in quite the same way of traditional cinema.

Despite, however, the abundance of technological hooks, the IMAX format seems to be relegated to the fringes of the entertainment world; the theme park ride struggling to find its fan-base. An often stagnant schedule, combined with premium admission-rates for films which rarely run longer than forty-five minutes, are no doubt contributing factors. Over recent years, however, a certain format-crossover has begun to take place. A mix of classic and commercial films, such as The Matrix sequels, Apocalypse Now, Superman Returns, and most recently Zack Snyder’s Spartan-spectacular 300, have all taken advantage of digital technology to find themselves enjoying releases in the IMAX format. Similarly, though, digital 3D technology is beginning to find its way to the ‘traditional’ multiplexes. Recent releases such as Monster House, Tim Burton’s classic The Nightmare Before Christmas and the current Meet The Robinsons, have all been available in digital 3D outside the IMAX.

If current trends persist, it could be that ‘bigger’ is the only real hook that the IMAX format has to offer audiences. Perhaps that will be enough to sustain it as a more exotic alternative to the 35mm and, increasingly, digital multiplex. This, however, seems somewhat unlikely. It seems reasonable to instead predict a similar evolution to that demonstrated by its 35mm cousin over the past century, assuming the public’s theme-park enthusiasm remains. Without it, the IMAX will likely end up permanently relegated to the status of cinematic oddity.

Oh, The Horror

Back in 1999, two young filmmakers, Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez, sent three actors into the woods in Maryland with nothing but some camping equipment, a camera and a fabricated myth about a local witch. The film became The Blair Witch Project, and through brilliant editing and even better Internet promotion and myth-building, went on to collect an astounding $250 million at the global box-office. The filmmakers and actors faded into obscurity as rapidly as they arrived, but the film sent shock-waves through the industry as it served as a stark reminder to the studios; audiences like to be scared.

The legacy of Blair Witch is, somewhat ironically, drenched in blood. The horror genre of the new millenium is relatively low-budget, with a renewed focus on violence and gore that would've been branded "Video-Nasty" twenty years ago. The stark difference is that it's now studio-sponsored and dominates the mainstream. The irony arises from the fact that Blair Witch, in common with several other groundbreaking entries in the genre (perhaps most notably the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre) is an almost entirely bloodless film. Violence is either implied, or occurs off-screen with only sound giving an indication of what's going on; the horror is almost exclusively psychological.

In the years since Blair Witch, however, visual subtlety has been increasingly drained from the genre. It seems audiences like to see characters suffer on-screen, and so each new horror entry attempts to out-do the last when it comes to blood-letting. Yet, despite the increasingly over-the-top nature of the genre, hooks to the real world have proved remarkably effective in securing often massive box-office returns. Blair Witch itself is the best example of this, as Myrick and Sanchez used the Internet to elaborate the myth of the witch. The film itself was presented and marketed as a documentary showing the last few days of the characters' lives before 'disappearing' in the woods. The filmmakers' skill at maintaining the facade was undoubtedley a major factor in the film's stunning success. Even informed audiences found it easy to believe that they were watching real events unfolding before them.

Over the last year, the genre has adjusted to take 'inspiration' from real-life events. The recent Wolf Creek, a tale of three young backpackers stranded in the Australian Outback to be hunted-down and tortured by a sadistic Bushman, was inspired by real-life missing-persons cases and even features an epilogue explaining what happened to the survivors. Similarly, the massively over-hyped Hostel, a gore-fest in which wealthy businessmen pay to torture backpackers (a somewhat persecuted bunch) in Eastern-European basements, was inspired by rumours of similar activities happening for real in the Far-East. The recently-revived Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise also plays up the 'Based on true events' line, as the original concept of the iconic Leatherface was very loosely inspired by the post-homicide rituals of 50s serial-killer Ed Gein.

The most successful franchise, however, is purely fictional. Saw drew direct inspiration from the bleak atmosphere of David Fincher's outstanding Se7en, and focussed on two men shackled to opposing walls in a dank basement, faced with the prospect of sawing through their ankles in order to escape. The film has spawned two sequels, the second of which opened last week, but unfortunately the premise has lost its imagination, substituting plot for ever-more creative ways of killing people. Still, the success of the Saw franchise, and the imminent arrival of Hostel 2, is a strong indication of both the future of the genre, and audience taste (or, perhaps, lack of it). Hostel was marketed as a gore-fest on a level never before seen by American audiences (it wasn't), and Quentin Tarantino's involvement as an executive-producer was emphasised in an attempt to reinforce this; audiences lapped it up.

Despite, then, its often more subtle ancestry, the horror genre looks set to continue (d)evolving into a bloody mess. Indeed, next year we'll be treated to Grindhouse, a double-feature directed by Tarantino and pal Robert Rodriguez, which promises zombies, psychotic hit-and-run drivers and no-doubt blood by the gallon. Still, there'll always be Shrek 3 to sink your teeth into if you find you're seeing a little too much red.

Evolution of the Super-Spy

In the last year, only the controversy surrounding the production of 'United 93', and other 9/11-related projects, has come close in the film world to the scale of the media-storm created by the announcement of Pierce Brosnan's successor, to the role of MI6's least-secret agent. If the myriad websites that have sprung up over the past year are to be believed, Daniel Craig is too unsophisticated, too ugly, too small-time and just too damn blond to make James Bond his own. The critical backlash is unprecedented in the franchise's 44-year history, but the recasting of Bond spearheads Sony's apparent modernisation of the series. After Brosnan's last outing in 'Die Another Day', a film that set a new gadget-low with an invisible Aston-Martin, and showcased some of the worst visual-effects in recent memory, 'Casino Royale', based on Ian Fleming's first Bond novel, promises a return to grittier drama. Craig will play Bond as an MI6 agent newly-promoted to Double-0 status, and the latest trailer suggests drama with a firmer footing in the real world.

The reality is that Bond must adapt and evolve in order to demonstrate his continuing relevance in the post-9/11 world. Audiences are becoming far more accepting of the competition, to the point where questions are being asked as to whether indestructible super-spies have a genuine place in the world. The studios have attempted to update and Americanise the concept of Bond, with varying degrees of success. Perhaps the most overt of recent years has been Tom Cruise's 'Mission: Impossible' franchise, the third of which was released earlier this year. Sharing little in common with the original TV series, beyond the title and the name of the protagonist, Cruise is super-agent Ethan Hunt of the Impossible Mission Force. Indestructible, athletic and increasingly banal, what character there was has rapidly faded beneath the dazzling glow of Cruise's all-too-public movie-star persona. Far less successful, but dosed with more wit, was 'xXx' (marketed as 'Triple-X'), another multiplex-targeted, teen-friendly action-movie starring Hollywood beefcake and man-of-the-moment Vin Diesel (real name Mark Vincent). Beginning with the apparently symbolic assassination of an anonymous but tuxedo-clad spy, the film attempts to establish an extreme-sports star as a reluctant secret-agent, snowboarding (no, really) his way to victory whilst aiming to win the hearts and pocket-money of skater-kids everywhere. The film spawned a sequel but in the process lost its focus, and the franchise descended into generic, teen-friendly violence.

Perhaps the most potent challenge to Bond's supremacy has come from the unexpected success of 'The Bourne Identity'. Telling the story of an amnesiac CIA assassin going rogue in Europe in an attempt to unlock the secrets of both himself and the ruthless committee that created him, the story has some pedigree, its roots found in a Robert Ludlum novel of the same name published in the late 70s. The film is a back-to-basics, stripped-down affair, helmed by respected indie director Doug Liman, and starring under-rated Matt Damon as Jason Bourne. As a character, Bourne is cold, distant, calculating and unsure when it comes to interacting with other human-beings. In stark contrast to Bond, he is also bound by the physical laws of the real world, meaning the violence really hurts, he limps and he bleeds. The original novel is one of three; 'The Bourne Supremacy' has since become an equally-impressive sequel, and 'The Bourne Ultimatum' is due next year, both retaining Damon in the title-role.

With gritty action-sequences that feel more authentic, and a greater focus on character, it seems the success of the Bourne franchise has likely been a major inspiration for the repackaged Bond. Despite the grievances of many hardcore fans, Craig is a talented actor, perhaps the most versatile to ever have been offered Bond, and his work in the excellent British gangster film 'Layer Cake' shows he can handle this kind of character. Either way, after so much controversy, the eventual box-office reception of 'Casino Royale' will have a massive impact on the continuing evolution of the cinematic super-spy.

Hollywood vs The Original Idea

Last Friday saw the UK release of Martin Scorsese's The Departed, a crime-thriller set in the murky underworld of the Boston-Irish Mafia. A well-crafted piece that sees Scorsese return to the cinematic heights he once scaled with GoodFellas, the film is a remake of recent Hong Kong crime-thriller Infernal Affairs. As such, it's the latest entry in a long line of Asia-to-US remakes, which, for all their individual merits, represent perhaps the most cynical side of Hollywood film production. Over recent years, classy Japanese horrors such as Ringu (The Ring), Dark Water and Ju-on: The Grudge, have provided fresh material for Hollywood to plunder, in a time when home-grown originality is increasingly scarce in the mainstream.

Despite being freely available, in their original forms, on both sides of the Atlantic, these movies' collective status as "Foreign Film" has hindered their circulation in all but the most enthusiastic film clubs, academic-film circles and late-night TV schedules. The major US studios, however, are not about to miss out on an opportunity, and as a result all three of the aforementioned titles have been remade in the US, with The Ring and The Grudge spawning more-of-the-same sequels in mirror-image of their Japanese origins. The foreign locations are swapped with suitably eerie American counterparts, big-name or up-and-coming Hollywood stars are signed up to multi-picture deals (as production executives predict franchises), in the case of The Grudge the original Japanese director is hired, and, crucially, the characters all speak English with American accents; two hours of subtitles are often unwelcome in the multiplex environment on a Friday night.

Hollywood has an uneasy relationship with originality. The major studios tend to operate best when a problem can be solved by throwing money at it, which is great when creating a summer blockbuster where regular fireworks will keep the popcorn-audience entertained. Money buys technology, improvements in technology produce better-looking fireworks, and studio-executives everywhere go home happy, slapping each other's backs and giving the effects techie a bonus (maybe). In contrast, original material - namely, decent writing - is harder to come by, and when it does appear, it can be a gamble. It's untested, it's risky, and it's invariably more cerebral, a word which is less likely to appear on the wish-list of the average movie-goer in the multiplex on the all-important opening weekend.

Over the past few years (or longer, as some would argue), the well of originality in Hollywood has become particularly dry, with studios falling back on big-screen versions of classic TV shows, hoping to cash-in on nostalgia and long-established fan-bases, whilst never underestimating the help of modernised premises and current big-name stars. Think of Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz in Charlie's Angels (and its sequel), Nicole Kidman and Will Ferrell in Bewitched, Seann William Scott and Johnny Knoxville in Dukes of Hazzard... I would go on, but for a sudden pain in my head.

Remakes are as effective an exercise in risk-reduction, although the studios have for some time now been gleefully raiding their own archives, as well as those of the Far East. Occasionally entertaining but ultimately soulless "reimaginings" of The Poseidon Adventure (renamed simply Poseidon, perhaps to cater better for the 21st-century attention-span), The Omen, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Amityville Horror, to name but four, have all hit cinemas over the last year or so. The occasional involvement of big-name directors appears to offer a degree of validation to the otherwise cynical practice. Of course, each has his own motivation. Spielberg's remake of War of the Worlds stemmed from his lifelong enthusiasm for the story. Although massively rushed (barely a year passed from the moment Tom Cruise first read the updated screenplay and committed, to the film hitting cinemas), his version turned into an effective modern invasion-thriller, and has been interpreted, in my view rightly, as the director's response, through allegory, to the events of 9/11. As a 12 year-old boy, Peter Jackson tried remaking King Kong, the film that inspired him to become a filmmaker. As a 12 year-old he failed, but last year his second attempt benefited from thirty years experience and a $200 million budget-increase. While the finished product doesn't quite match the quality of the 1933 original, it comes pretty close. Even 80s indie saviours the Coen Brothers have given it a go, with their version of The Ladykillers, while Steven Soderbergh has given us a remake of Ocean's 11 and a sequel, with a third coming our way next year. With Soderbergh also a former indie saviour, it's almost enough to make you cry. For all the wrong reasons.

Still, these "reimaginings" would dry up without the support of the audience. Whilst the cultural revolution of the 1970s produced an abundance of groundbreaking cinema, from Easy Rider to Scorsese's own Raging Bull, this was before the time of today's primary cinema-going audience, many of whom were not aware that the recent Poseidon was a remake at all. This cinematic amnesia works in the studios' favour, as they take it upon themselves to "reimagine" the hits of the past, in the same manner in which they've approached classic television. Rough-and-ready production-values (originally necessitated by low-budget filmmaking), enthusiastic directors and unknown casts have all been completely reversed, and this trend is set to continue. This month, for example, sees the cinematic release of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, a prequel to the remake of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and apparently unrelated (except in name, of course) to the two sequels spawned by said original. Next year, we'll be treated to Hannibal Rising, which will be not the first, nor the second, but the third prequel, in terms of narrative chronology, to The Silence of the Lambs. Telling the story of the young Hannibal and how he came to be 'The Cannibal', it's doubtful whether Anthony Hopkins was too upset over losing that particular gig. Instead it serves as still more evidence of how far Hollywood will go to make a buck.

9/11 in Cinema

Historically, America is not great at confronting sources of national trauma. A pertinent example is the Vietnam War, the first major conflict that the US ever lost. After more than a decade of fighting and nearly 60,000 American deaths, the nation slipped into a long period of self-induced historical amnesia, an unwillingness to confront the ghosts of the past. Indeed, it was only in 1986, nearly fifteen years after the American withdrawal from Saigon, that the true realities of the War were first addressed in cinema, with Oliver Stone's Platoon. Even in 1986, Stone had immense difficulty getting funding for a script which had been universally shunned for a decade.

Recovery from, and indeed confrontation of, the tragic events of 9/11, seems to have been more accelerated. After various TV projects telling the same story, Paul Greengrass' outstanding United 93 was released in cinemas earlier this year, to both massive plaudits and massive controversy. Telling the story of the fourth hijacked plane with a notable absence of recognised actors and several air-traffic controllers playing themselves, the film comes across as almost documentary in style, especially as we watch the controllers on the ground reacting to the horrifying events in New York and Washington.

Of course, many believe that United 93 was made 'too soon', coming less than five years after the attacks. Although I of course understand the argument, my own belief is that 9/11 is an unavoidable area of study, in order to attempt to understand and explore the foundation of the Bush Administration's current foreign policy. The roots of the current chaos in Afghanistan and Iraq are to be found in the chaos that was created in New York and Washington back in 2001.

Only months after Paul Greengrass explored the story of United 93 in a gritty, stomach-churning and apparently authentic style, Oliver Stone has won apparently universal praise (in the US, at least) for the first major studio response to the attacks, World Trade Center. With a big budget and a big-name actor, Nicolas Cage, Stone's approach to the subject seems to have been far easier for American audiences to digest. With television schedules around the fifth anniversary of 9/11 crowded with documentaries and docu-dramas exploring the numerous governmental failings that lead to the attacks, it is actually refreshing to hear a story of courage and strength that emerged from the death and destruction. Telling the story of two Port Authority cops who were among the last survivors to be pulled from the rubble of the fallen towers, Stone's film tells the story of 9/11 from two relatively unseen angles; first from inside the towers up to the moment of collapse, and then from beneath twenty feet of rubble as the two men attempt to stay alive, their distraught families living on scraps of information that reach the outside world from the search-teams.

It is by no means a terrific film, displaying many of the negative hallmarks of mainstream Hollywood in regards to tinges of emotional manipulation, and a sequence exploring global reactions to the attacks carries a cringe-inducing crassness. For me, the film was in fact near its most poignant during the opening scenes, as we see a city waking up and going about its business, oblivious to the physical and emotional devastation about to be wreaked upon it. For all its faults, however, the sentiment is right, and is certainly the direction in which we should be headed. With governmental failings identified and (hopefully) addressed, and with chaos subsequently wrought across Afghanistan and Iraq with the resulting wrath of US foreign policy, it has never been more important to remember the humanity that saved lives back on the day that the world changed.

Gems in American Television

When it's good, American television is very, very good, with writing that routinely surpasses its silver-screen competition for sheer quality. Whether it's the recently-retired President Bartlet running an inspirational West Wing, or the stressed-out and soon-to-be-retired mob-boss Tony Soprano attempting to keep order in the New Jersey ranks, I've been surprised to find myself drawn to television over recent years in a way that I never expected. I think that to an extent we're lucky here in the UK for generally only receiving the best American exports, with critical reactions in the US in some ways acting as a quality-control filter. The recent return of Doctor Who to British television (and subsequently the world after its stunning success), gave our industry a much-needed shot-in-the-arm, although we're still inundated with banal medical dramas and anything kitchen-sink in style that can be done on the cheap and still find itself winning National Television Awards.

One of the problems in the UK is that we have so little money in either film or television, especially in contrast to the studio-funded stateside productions. Before the rebirth of Doctor Who, perhaps the most imaginative British-made TV series screened in recent years was a Channel 4 production called Ultraviolet, a kind of vampire thriller that's since been remade in the US. That lasted one solitary season (and that's six fifty-minute episodes, as opposed to the dozen or so that usually form a minimum production commitment in the US). Ten years of creative stifling followed, with Doctor Who finally representing something a bit different, although still risky despite the programme's rich history and global fan-base. There is an audience for material beyond the everyday and the banal in this country, but I believe there is a prejudice towards it. Further, when the Americans have more money to throw at exciting new ideas, networks on this side of the pond would rather shell out for broadcast rights to established hits, than take a risk with something new of their own.

Recently, I've had to search around to route out the gems amongst the usual American imports. Luckily, I've found two massive winners. Firstly, crime drama The Wire is perhaps one of the best pieces of screen-drama I've ever seen, on film or TV. There are three seasons currently available on DVD in the UK (criminally ignored by the major networks, the series has only been picked-up by obscure cable-channel FX in the UK), with each telling the story of a single case stretching over twelve episodes, a crime novel told on-screen. The story is told fully from the perspective of both cop and criminal, and all the ingredients come together to form a hugely rewarding viewing experience.

My second discovery took me from left-field and I truly never saw it coming. As a 25 year-old, I never expected to be thrilled by Battlestar Galactica, but it's happened. The original series was axed almost thirty years ago and is best remembered for being regarded as a cheap Star Wars rip-off. Which it pretty much was. Four years ago it was given a radical makeover and became a mini-series, which in turn became a full season, which then became one of the highest-rated shows on US TV. As a sci-fi 9/11 allegory, it's perhaps one of the most topical and relevant television shows around right now, although many have been put off by the spaceships-and-lasers surface sheen. After all, sci-fi is for geeks... right?

The 2002 mini-series dealt with a devastating terrorist attack (the terrorists are androids named Cylons in the context of the show) that leaves fewer than 50,000 humans alive. As the survivors flee into the depths of space, they discover that the enemy, ironically created by Man in the first place (read what you like into the Iraq War), have evolved to impersonate humans, and that there are enemy 'sleepers' living among them, willing to sacrifice their own lives in their relentless pursuit to destroy humanity. As the situation intensifies aboard the military space-vessel Galactica, suicide bombers are endured, and suspected Cylons are stripped of their rights and tortured, in increasingly desperate attempts to preserve the remnants of the human race. It is, indeed, a brave new world. This is adult drama of the highest order; we've come a long way since the camp theatrics of the 70s.

Borat: Great Culture-Clash Comedy

Yesterday, I was lucky enough to catch a UK preview of Sacha Baron Cohen's first filmic outing as Kazakhstani journalist Borat, in the brilliantly titled Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

I've never been a huge fan of Cohen's more famous character, Ali-G, who was originally a late-night phenomenon here in the UK, but is now rarely seen on these shores. In contrast, I've always enjoyed Cohen's Borat sketches, which is strange considering that, as a very sheltered character with little experience of anything outside his own immediate life and culture, Borat is very similar to Ali-G.

The strength of Ali-G was always his ability to catch powerful individuals off-guard through his apparent charm and naivety, essentially tricking people into revealing their true thoughts on controversial subjects, from women in the workplace through to correct dinner-party etiquette.

Borat shares all Ali-G's abilities and more. The Kazakhstani government has rigorously attacked the film for its portrayal of the Kazakhstani people as backward, but the reality is very different. Borat is a physical embodiment of the Kazakhstani stereotype, and can even be seen to represent the way in which many westerners view the eastern-European and Islamic worlds in general. As a character Borat works on two levels; he satirises and mocks as unacceptable the derogotory views of women which are still prevalent in many cultures around the world, whilst simultaneously satirising the US stereotype of middle-eastern cultures by playing up to it.

As with Ali-G, the opinions that Cohen expresses as Borat succeed in drawing out prejudices and laissez-faire attitudes amongst individuals - and even crowds - he meets in the US. In the conservative Republican heartland that is the mid-West, Cohen delivers a particularly ballsy performance and manages to draw applause from a rodeo crowd for inciting little short of the total destruction of Iraq. Only when he asks for President Bush to drink the blood of the Iraqi people in celebration of their destruction, does the crowd begin to waver in their support for the general sentiment. The scenes are remarkably reminiscent of attitudes held towards the Vietnamese people forty years ago, by a people who had little understanding of the culture they were fighting against.

On the surface then, Borat is a culture-clash comedy following a bumbling Kazakhstani reporter as he sets out to document the American way of life, and instead initiates an impromtu roadtrip from New York to LA. So far, so accessible for the MTV generation. That might normally be something of a criticism if it wasn't for the fact that Borat is very, hysterically funny. Then, as if that wasn't enough, look just beneath the surface, and you'll find a biting satire of western prejudice and naivety.