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BATTLEFIELD EARTH - ISHTAR OF THE APES?
Critics actually prefer bad movies. They are much more fun to write about - which is why critics must be secretly thanking Warner Bros. and actor John Travolta for having made Battlefield Earth. I can't remember the last movie that was this badly mauled by the critics in a feeding frenzy - probably Showgirls, or maybe Waterworld. Of course, reviews of bad movies are more fun to read as well, which is why I gathered all these excerpts from several reviews of what one critic referred to as "Ishtar of the Apes" . . .
The only thing I can figure out is that the Church of Scientology decided that they wanted to ensure nobody else joined up. This movie is like watching the Pope accidentally catch on fire while giving Easter Mass. If that's not a time to rethink your spiritual choices, what is? The primary special effect in the movie is accomplished by filling buckets with dirt and pieces of concrete and then tossing them across the screen. Director Roger Christian has a hard-on for flying dirt like you would not believe. The guys who wrote this should be forced to dictate everything for the rest of their lives so that they can never again touch pen to paper or finger to keyboard and declare themselves writers. If Christian can get a job as a Sears portrait photographer after this movie, Congress should make the use of cameras punishable by death. Every single scene is at an angle, which gave me the urge to slide off my chair and smash my skull into the floor. Action scenes look like they were shot inside a paint mixer. If egos were farts, one imagines John Travolta could destroy an entire
planet himself by devouring a single frozen burrito. That this film even
got made is clearly one testament to that fact, and that they're already
planning a sequel is another.
The first thing to talk about with "Battlefield Earth" is
not the subliminal messages allegedly sneaked in by the Church of
Scientology. (If they're there, they don't work.) Nor is it John Travolta's
unintentionally (I presume) hilarious performance as a villain who's part
community-theater Iago and part Rastaman pimp. It's hair. There's
more of it in this movie than in the sink trap at Supercuts.
The Psychlos make the situation look very dire indeed, cartoonish
spokesmodels for the dastardly unpleasantness that aliens will wreak upon
the earth. This unpleasantness, not incidentally, resembles that narrated by
L. Ron Hubbard in his Scientology tracts, in which aliens have poisoned
earth and its inhabitants long long ago, and so caused the need for much
"cleansing" of spirit and mind, monitored by experts for regular
fees, of course.
Some movies run off the rails. This one is like the train crash in
"The Fugitive." I watched it in mounting gloom, realizing I was
witnessing something historic, a film that for decades to come will be the
punch line of jokes about bad movies. There is a moment here when the
Psychlos' entire planet (home office and all) is blown to smithereens,
without the slightest impact on any member of the audience (or, for that
matter, the cast). If the film had been destroyed in a similar cataclysm,
there might have been a standing ovation. There are only two ways to react to a film this completely awful — you
can either flee in abject horror, or better still, you can embrace it in all
of its cheesy, stupid glory. The movie also has that Dune-ish sense of a massive novel being
shredded down to manageable size. Characters and references flash by
without set-up or follow-through, adding to the generally incoherent
nature of the thing. As was the case when Dune was released, plans
for a sequel are already in the works (the movie only covers the first
half of Hubbard's opus). The public never did clamor for that Dune
sequel, and Battlefield Earth seems likely to repeat that story --
but then everything else about it seems like a repeat, anyway. How did this stinkbomb get made? Short answer: John Travolta's ego. Travolta has said it has been his dream to make a movie out of L. Ron Hubbard's novel, and apparently nobody in Hollywood was powerful enough to stop him. Some will question the Scientology link -- Hubbard, of course, founded
the Church of Scientology, of which Travolta is a well-known member -- and
whether "Battlefield Earth'' carries any Scientology subtext.
Frankly, I could barely wade through the movie's text, and am
disinterested in deciphering whatever subtext is there. Few moviegoers, I
suspect, will care enough to try.
The summer movie season has barely begun and already it has its first
10-ton turkey. Battlefield Earth is a sluggish, soporific dud, the
dreariest big-budget science-fiction adventure since Dune. The film
strives for the cheeky spirit of a high-toned B-flick: It's crammed with
slick-but-chintzy special effects and has a campy sense of humor. But
practically every scene in the movie falls miserably, painfully flat. 30 minutes into this wreck of a motion picture, with thunder crashing
in the sky above, the power went out, mercifully relieving me of my
immediate responsibility to endure the rest of the movie. Since I began
writing reviews, I have never walked out on a film, but Battlefield
Earth would have been a contender had I been so inclined. On this
occasion, fate and the local power grid allowed me to make an early exit
without blemishing my record. And now the
news: It is twenty two years since Ed Wood's death and nineteen
more than that since Wood created what is acknowledged by many to be the
worst movie of all time, Plan 9 From Outer Space. Rumor has it that
somewhere six feet under Californian soil, the corpse of Ed Wood is
exhibiting a huge smile of satisfaction, having heard the hysterical howls
of the crowd watching Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000
with Cranky. In other news, Tim Curry will curse the name John
Travolta forevermore, for upstaging Frank N. Furter with his portrayal
of Terl, the Psychlo.
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