CONTAINS SPOILERS
I saw Prometheus the other night for the first time. Yes, I'm terribly late. What can I say? I was out of the country when it was released last summer and the mixed reviews rather put me off seeing it on my return.
It is a strange film in many ways. Absolutely beautiful to look at of course, as you would expect from Ridley Scott. A talented cast, with Fassbender in particular shining as creepy android David. And it has stayed with me since watching.
But then, I have always had a soft spot for ambitious failures. Not for me, that aloof perfection of the masterpiece. Heroic failure is so much more approachable. It is why my favourite computer game remains Trespasser, 1998's ludicrously ambitious -- and often plain ludicrous -- first person physics-them-up. The makers' reach exceeded their grasp1. But there is something joyfully human in that shortcoming, in that gap between our dreams and our accomplishments. Ultimately the ambition to straddle that divide has driven human progress through the centuries.
And Prometheus certainly is ambitious, seeking to create a new mythology within the existing Alien world while grappling with complex themes such as faith, creation, life and death.
It just never quite pulls it off. The film leaves you dissatisfied, its tantalising promise unfulfilled.
There are several reasons for this2, but I'd like to concentrate on just one -- its use of mystery.
Mystery is of course a powerful tool in our trade. I think every good script needs it. These mysteries can be big or small - why a plane crashed, or why a father resents his son - but they serve to draw an audience in. Presented with an effective unknown, with an intriguing question, they cannot help but theorise about potential answers. When used properly mystery transforms the audience from passive receptors to active participants in the drama.
This is especially important in the first acts of a script, when the heavy lifting of character, plot and world introduction can overwhelm. The treat of an answer promised but withheld sustains us through those pages, both as audiences and as authors.
The first half of Prometheus works fairly well in this regard. The film asks some intriguing questions and we are right there with the scientists in seeking the answers.
But there comes a time when any film must turn from asking "what-the-fuck-is-going on" to explaining "this-the-fuck-is-going-on". Especially in a "mainstream film" like Promethues, the audience expects it and will eventually demand it. But if mystery is simply piled on top of mystery, unexplained event on unexplained event, eventually the audience becomes restless. This is what happens in the second half of Prometheus.
Who were the Engineers? Why did they leave the map for us? What were they doing on this planet? What the fuck is that black goo? And why is space-underwear so weird?
We get no answers. Instead, the film-makers load yet more questions on top, as if the same story engines that had propelled the first half would satisfy in the second. Our heads spin with more unanswered questions.
Why did they want to destroy earth so long ago? Why does that one living Engineer want to complete the mission? What's wrong with Fifield's face?
Coupled with sketchily explained or simply contradictory character actions3, the second half of the film almost collapses under the weight of this ever-growing mountain of mystery.
This robs the story of its emotional power. Moments such as the death of Dr. Holloway lack all impact -- we do not really know what is happening or why David poisoned him, with the entire process happening too quickly for even any visceral sense of mounting horror to develop4. The grand finale, meanwhile, is reduced to mere spectacle, the stakes unclear, the sacrifice of the ship's captain utterly unexplained and utterly hollow as a result.
I recognise that, in taking on these Big Ideas, Prometheus has not set itself an easy task. Of course, philosophical questions of creation and the meaning of life are too grand, too complex to expect a Hollywood film to answer in a neat bow in 120 minutes. And I don't think the audience would have expected any such resolution. But plenty of questions raised in the film were within the film-makers' power to answer and, I believe, should have been.
There were other problems with Prometheus, but they are minor ones in comparison with this failure. It reminds us of an important lesson in screenwriting -- mysteries are certainly powerful story tools but they must be used correctly, for they contain an implicit deal with the audience. We say to them, "You will find out the answer, and I promise it will be clever, interesting and unexpected...but I'm going to need you to watch this first."
With Prometheus, the audience kept their side of the bargain. The film-makers did not.
FOOTNOTES
1. This is not a tortured joke about the game's famous arm interface.
2. Unattractive and under-developed characters, clumsy exposition, on-the-nose dialogue and inconsistent or unexplained character motivation all let the side down at various points.
3. I am not the first to note this by any means, but the secondary characters Fifield and Millburn particularly suffer from this incoherence. The former declares himself either a money-obsessed mercenary, or a geologist there for the love of rocks depending on the scene, yet his actions never seem informed by either of these traits. The latter meanwhile is a biologist who in one scene sees no interest in the first ever discovery of alien life, and then just a little later in the film fearlessly grapples with a clearly dangerous squid thing with predictably disastrous results.
4. Besides, the guy was kind of a dick anyway. Who really cared when he died?
I saw Prometheus the other night for the first time. Yes, I'm terribly late. What can I say? I was out of the country when it was released last summer and the mixed reviews rather put me off seeing it on my return.
It is a strange film in many ways. Absolutely beautiful to look at of course, as you would expect from Ridley Scott. A talented cast, with Fassbender in particular shining as creepy android David. And it has stayed with me since watching.
But then, I have always had a soft spot for ambitious failures. Not for me, that aloof perfection of the masterpiece. Heroic failure is so much more approachable. It is why my favourite computer game remains Trespasser, 1998's ludicrously ambitious -- and often plain ludicrous -- first person physics-them-up. The makers' reach exceeded their grasp1. But there is something joyfully human in that shortcoming, in that gap between our dreams and our accomplishments. Ultimately the ambition to straddle that divide has driven human progress through the centuries.
And Prometheus certainly is ambitious, seeking to create a new mythology within the existing Alien world while grappling with complex themes such as faith, creation, life and death.
It just never quite pulls it off. The film leaves you dissatisfied, its tantalising promise unfulfilled.
There are several reasons for this2, but I'd like to concentrate on just one -- its use of mystery.
Mystery is of course a powerful tool in our trade. I think every good script needs it. These mysteries can be big or small - why a plane crashed, or why a father resents his son - but they serve to draw an audience in. Presented with an effective unknown, with an intriguing question, they cannot help but theorise about potential answers. When used properly mystery transforms the audience from passive receptors to active participants in the drama.
This is especially important in the first acts of a script, when the heavy lifting of character, plot and world introduction can overwhelm. The treat of an answer promised but withheld sustains us through those pages, both as audiences and as authors.
The first half of Prometheus works fairly well in this regard. The film asks some intriguing questions and we are right there with the scientists in seeking the answers.
But there comes a time when any film must turn from asking "what-the-fuck-is-going on" to explaining "this-the-fuck-is-going-on". Especially in a "mainstream film" like Promethues, the audience expects it and will eventually demand it. But if mystery is simply piled on top of mystery, unexplained event on unexplained event, eventually the audience becomes restless. This is what happens in the second half of Prometheus.
Who were the Engineers? Why did they leave the map for us? What were they doing on this planet? What the fuck is that black goo? And why is space-underwear so weird?
We get no answers. Instead, the film-makers load yet more questions on top, as if the same story engines that had propelled the first half would satisfy in the second. Our heads spin with more unanswered questions.
Why did they want to destroy earth so long ago? Why does that one living Engineer want to complete the mission? What's wrong with Fifield's face?
Coupled with sketchily explained or simply contradictory character actions3, the second half of the film almost collapses under the weight of this ever-growing mountain of mystery.
This robs the story of its emotional power. Moments such as the death of Dr. Holloway lack all impact -- we do not really know what is happening or why David poisoned him, with the entire process happening too quickly for even any visceral sense of mounting horror to develop4. The grand finale, meanwhile, is reduced to mere spectacle, the stakes unclear, the sacrifice of the ship's captain utterly unexplained and utterly hollow as a result.
I recognise that, in taking on these Big Ideas, Prometheus has not set itself an easy task. Of course, philosophical questions of creation and the meaning of life are too grand, too complex to expect a Hollywood film to answer in a neat bow in 120 minutes. And I don't think the audience would have expected any such resolution. But plenty of questions raised in the film were within the film-makers' power to answer and, I believe, should have been.
There were other problems with Prometheus, but they are minor ones in comparison with this failure. It reminds us of an important lesson in screenwriting -- mysteries are certainly powerful story tools but they must be used correctly, for they contain an implicit deal with the audience. We say to them, "You will find out the answer, and I promise it will be clever, interesting and unexpected...but I'm going to need you to watch this first."
With Prometheus, the audience kept their side of the bargain. The film-makers did not.
FOOTNOTES
1. This is not a tortured joke about the game's famous arm interface.
2. Unattractive and under-developed characters, clumsy exposition, on-the-nose dialogue and inconsistent or unexplained character motivation all let the side down at various points.
3. I am not the first to note this by any means, but the secondary characters Fifield and Millburn particularly suffer from this incoherence. The former declares himself either a money-obsessed mercenary, or a geologist there for the love of rocks depending on the scene, yet his actions never seem informed by either of these traits. The latter meanwhile is a biologist who in one scene sees no interest in the first ever discovery of alien life, and then just a little later in the film fearlessly grapples with a clearly dangerous squid thing with predictably disastrous results.
4. Besides, the guy was kind of a dick anyway. Who really cared when he died?
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