Misawa
13-11-2009, 11:53 PM
I just randomly found this on an old flash drive of mine. It's a commentary that I had to write back in 2007 when I was studying film - one of the first essays the class was given. I had to write a concise essay under 1000 words on any recent film that I had seen, commentating on both the film itself and the film-makers. Just thought I'd post it here, not that anyone would probably read the whole way through it, but it may happen to be as interesting to you as it was the class.
SUNSHINE
Sunshine was Danny Boyle and Alex Garland’s second collaboration after the horror sleeper 28 Days Later. Although Sunshine has a top-notch ensemble cast, for all intents and purposes the film’s lead is 28 Days Later star, Cillian Murphy.
One of the things that puts Sunshine in a class by itself amongst sci-fi epics is its very subject matter: the sun. With all the space travel films that have been made from the 1950s to the present day, it’s rather remarkable that the sun itself, the most powerful object in our known existence, has been ignored. In fact, the only other film that I can think of that deals with the sun is Journey to the Far Side of the Sun, starring Roy Thinnes (a film no where near as promising as its intriguing title). In Garland’s scenario, the sun, after millions of years, is beginning to dim, making life understandably problematic on earth. Our planet’s final solution to this problem rests in the crew of the spaceship Icarus, whose plan is to drop a nuclear bomb into the core of the sun to hopefully jump-start it.
Boyle and Garland are one of cinema’s most intriguing odd couples. Boyle, being quite high-minded, almost to the point of eruditeness, while Garland’s aesthetic is of a much more pulpier nature, bordering on fanboyness. One can imagine Boyle grew up reading Sight & Sound, while Garland’s film magazine of choice would definitely have to be Fangoria. And as long as Boyle doesn’t give too many interviews (badmouthing George Romero during the press tour of 28 Days Later was extremely disrespectful, especially when the entire third act of the film is taken from Day of the Dead), their odd couple collaboration not only works, but works wonders. In the case of Sunshine, Boyle’s high-mindedness takes the form of high-reaching ambition; Boyle doesn’t appear to be any more of a sci-fi fan than he was of zombie films, having a taste for only the best and most serious, which in his estimations are Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Douglas Trumbull’s Silent Running, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solyaris, and Ridley Scott’s Alien. And if Boyle intends to throw his hat in the sci-fi ring, it’s that level of cinema he intends Sunshine to equal. In today’s cinema landscape, that level of ambition is both laudable and inspiring; the fact that the finished film doesn’t quite reach that high level of ambition is no shame on Boyle and Garland’s glory.
Garland’s metaphysical musings on light (the sun) and dark (deep space) in the form of actor Cliff Curtis is both profound and thought provoking, and until trouble comes into paradise, Garland’s script structure is a suspense masterpiece. All through the film’s first and second act, Garland keeps upping the ante of the dilemma the crew faces. Just when circumstances for the hapless crew seem at their most dire, Garland always seems to find a way to make matters worse, twisting the knife in both the crew and the audience’s guts. While Ridley Scott’s Alien brought a level of underclass warfare alien to the science fiction genre, Boyle and Garland bring a level of realistic humanity to the crew of Icarus previously unmatched in the annals of sci-fi. Even the fact that the entire film’s dilemma stems from an act of human error has the resonance beyond the scope of most films in its genre; not an evil computer with a mind of its own, an android with a secret agenda, an alien-possessed human being, a bumbling idiot or a malevolent Dr. Smith-type, but a trusted professional who simply made a mistake, but in doing so doomed his comrades to death.
Alas, Garland can’t keep up his scenario’s high quality. Once we reach the film’s third act, his script takes a creative nosedive and basically becomes another “there’s a monster on board and it’s killing off all the crew members one-by-one” situation, and in that regard it’s actually inferior to Roger Corman’s late 1970s Alien rip-offs like Forbidden World and Galaxy of Terror. The third act humbling of Sunshine goes far beyond disappointment. The feeling I personally experienced was one of betrayal; betrayal to me - the audience - and betrayal to the film-makers’ own ideals. Garland’s third act monster development goes against every single aspect of that film’s aesthetic that proceeded it. In fact, the most ham-handed studio interference couldn’t have damaged the artistic integrity of the film any more than Garland did with his writing and Boyle allowed.
Now, with such a harsh judgement of this final act, the question would be why I chose Sunshine as a film to commentate that I enjoyed? Quite frankly because its first two acts are so wonderful that even its disastrous climax on a second and third viewing can’t diminish their power. The third act of Sunshine may have the power to enrage me, but what it doesn’t possess is the power to make me forget what came before it.
SUNSHINE
Sunshine was Danny Boyle and Alex Garland’s second collaboration after the horror sleeper 28 Days Later. Although Sunshine has a top-notch ensemble cast, for all intents and purposes the film’s lead is 28 Days Later star, Cillian Murphy.
One of the things that puts Sunshine in a class by itself amongst sci-fi epics is its very subject matter: the sun. With all the space travel films that have been made from the 1950s to the present day, it’s rather remarkable that the sun itself, the most powerful object in our known existence, has been ignored. In fact, the only other film that I can think of that deals with the sun is Journey to the Far Side of the Sun, starring Roy Thinnes (a film no where near as promising as its intriguing title). In Garland’s scenario, the sun, after millions of years, is beginning to dim, making life understandably problematic on earth. Our planet’s final solution to this problem rests in the crew of the spaceship Icarus, whose plan is to drop a nuclear bomb into the core of the sun to hopefully jump-start it.
Boyle and Garland are one of cinema’s most intriguing odd couples. Boyle, being quite high-minded, almost to the point of eruditeness, while Garland’s aesthetic is of a much more pulpier nature, bordering on fanboyness. One can imagine Boyle grew up reading Sight & Sound, while Garland’s film magazine of choice would definitely have to be Fangoria. And as long as Boyle doesn’t give too many interviews (badmouthing George Romero during the press tour of 28 Days Later was extremely disrespectful, especially when the entire third act of the film is taken from Day of the Dead), their odd couple collaboration not only works, but works wonders. In the case of Sunshine, Boyle’s high-mindedness takes the form of high-reaching ambition; Boyle doesn’t appear to be any more of a sci-fi fan than he was of zombie films, having a taste for only the best and most serious, which in his estimations are Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Douglas Trumbull’s Silent Running, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solyaris, and Ridley Scott’s Alien. And if Boyle intends to throw his hat in the sci-fi ring, it’s that level of cinema he intends Sunshine to equal. In today’s cinema landscape, that level of ambition is both laudable and inspiring; the fact that the finished film doesn’t quite reach that high level of ambition is no shame on Boyle and Garland’s glory.
Garland’s metaphysical musings on light (the sun) and dark (deep space) in the form of actor Cliff Curtis is both profound and thought provoking, and until trouble comes into paradise, Garland’s script structure is a suspense masterpiece. All through the film’s first and second act, Garland keeps upping the ante of the dilemma the crew faces. Just when circumstances for the hapless crew seem at their most dire, Garland always seems to find a way to make matters worse, twisting the knife in both the crew and the audience’s guts. While Ridley Scott’s Alien brought a level of underclass warfare alien to the science fiction genre, Boyle and Garland bring a level of realistic humanity to the crew of Icarus previously unmatched in the annals of sci-fi. Even the fact that the entire film’s dilemma stems from an act of human error has the resonance beyond the scope of most films in its genre; not an evil computer with a mind of its own, an android with a secret agenda, an alien-possessed human being, a bumbling idiot or a malevolent Dr. Smith-type, but a trusted professional who simply made a mistake, but in doing so doomed his comrades to death.
Alas, Garland can’t keep up his scenario’s high quality. Once we reach the film’s third act, his script takes a creative nosedive and basically becomes another “there’s a monster on board and it’s killing off all the crew members one-by-one” situation, and in that regard it’s actually inferior to Roger Corman’s late 1970s Alien rip-offs like Forbidden World and Galaxy of Terror. The third act humbling of Sunshine goes far beyond disappointment. The feeling I personally experienced was one of betrayal; betrayal to me - the audience - and betrayal to the film-makers’ own ideals. Garland’s third act monster development goes against every single aspect of that film’s aesthetic that proceeded it. In fact, the most ham-handed studio interference couldn’t have damaged the artistic integrity of the film any more than Garland did with his writing and Boyle allowed.
Now, with such a harsh judgement of this final act, the question would be why I chose Sunshine as a film to commentate that I enjoyed? Quite frankly because its first two acts are so wonderful that even its disastrous climax on a second and third viewing can’t diminish their power. The third act of Sunshine may have the power to enrage me, but what it doesn’t possess is the power to make me forget what came before it.