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2010: The Year We Make Contact
2010: The Year We Make Contact establishes its agenda immediately, which is to basically strip its prequel, the masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey of all of its mystery and mythology. We know that this is what it will do throughout the course of its running time because in its first few moments, it instantly opens to two men expositing words that shuffle the plot along as quickly as possible. 2001, of course, would never do this—it was far too concerned with the mysteries of the universe to dare focus on something as insignificant as two people having a conversation that benefits a movie plotline. Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, probably the greatest science fiction film ever made (depending on the day of the week, I might give Fritz Lang’s Metropolis the edge), is a film loaded with so much imagery left to interpret that there will never be a definitive answer to what it all means. Therein lies its genius: Kubrick’s point was to represent the universe with the film—to reveal to how small we are, and how impenetrable the secrets of outer space will always be, no matter how much we advance. Under the weight of the universe, we look like the fallible, pathetic mortals that we are as we try to understand it and create definite answers about it. Similarly, as 2010 attempts to strip all of the mysteries of 2001 away to come up with definitive answers to its secrets, it also comes across as, yes, fallible and pathetic. That it tries to wrap the intangible enigmas like HAL’s malfunctions, what happened to the first mission to Jupiter, the origins of the monoliths, and the identity of the Star Child into high-tech, tangible solutions involving alien life attempting to contact Earth leaves us more snickering than enlightened. The film is so bold in its arrogance that it is sort of brilliant. And yet, somehow these criticisms are to the film’s advantage, and not its detriment. Somehow, even in its feeble attempts to define 2001, it reinforces the previous film’s brilliance. It’s difficult to describe this film’s triumph, because I am not sure if it is intentional. But as we watch it try to give coherent, laymen explanations for the unexplainable events of the first film, even as it fails to provide any satisfactory answers, the fact that it tries and fails successfully reminds us of the weight that Kubrick’s film carries. If 2001 is an opaque void, with every shot literally loaded with metaphors and imagery that we have to constantly assess, 2010 is completely free of anything that we need to interpret. It is all interpretation. All of its roads lead to a conclusion that is not predictable but certainly comprehensible, and it never steps away from its clear path to a solution that we will have no problem realizing. The film almost plays like 2001’s antithesis—a work that is so different that it is hardly comparable, and yet it asks us to make comparisons, and when we do, we are able to appreciate Kubrick’s vision more, since the answers here are so lacking in comparison. And inexplicably, this anomaly only serves to make 2010 all the more fascinating. For one thing, it is curious that 2010 restores the role of protagonist to individual human beings. 2001 was content with grouping man—from his ape ancestors to his most futuristically advanced state—into a category of their own without picking out a specific hero. That Dr. Dave Bowman (Kier Dullea, reprising his role from 2001) returns in 2010 for a few moments in ghost-form as the human voice for the monoliths indicates that the writers here have singled him out as the hero of the first film, something I’m not altogether willing to accept. In a way, the universe was the main character of Kubrick’s vision, trying to accommodate its secrets for the humans who have discovered its doorstep. In contrast, 2010 is first and foremost a character-driven story, and if that diminishes the elegance of the universe, it at least tells an engaging adventure in its own right. The plot concerns the next trip to Jupiter, to retrieve the ill-fated Discovery spaceship and bring the ship back home. It is a joint effort by Russians, led by Helen Mirren, who have the ship, and Americans, led by Roy Scheider (whose character was a prominent supporting player in 2001, but played by William Sylvester), who know the Discovery. While they are on the mission, a nuclear war between Russia and America finally breaks out, and there is a very poignant scene in which the scientists from both countries, millions and millions of miles away from home, learn the news, stare and each other, and wonder what they’re supposed to do now. The point seems to be that in light of the universe, it seems awfully absurd to build powerful weapons and aim them at ourselves. We learn that the “aliens” who control the monoliths see this absurdity and rush to aid the earth before it kills itself. I was left wondering why this advanced alien race would even care about a little blue planet that the first film deemed as so insignificant. If the monolith represented the peaceful universe or a Divine Power, as I gathered from 2001, I could understand the significance of the intervention: The universe is trying to restore order by redeeming Earth of its violence. But an advanced alien race doing such intervening seems a little less plausible—why bother with a planet so bent on its own destruction that it will only hurt itself if it completely obliterates? Stanley Kubrick would probably agree with my analysis, but this film belongs to director Peter Hyams, who is far more comfortable telling a coherent and more conventional story. But within the context of the film, the story works, and it generates enough plausibility that 2010 ultimately becomes a rousing anti-war film. It is comforting, as contradictory as it seems, to think that there are galaxy police who want to break up our quarrels before we eradicate ourselves. Peter Hyams also directed the Sean Connery action vehicle Outland, and he knows how to generate credible suspense and interesting characters. The interaction between the Americans and Russians is never forced—they like each other, but under the circumstances, they are not necessarily sure if they can trust each other. In different conditions, Scheider and Mirren might have been in love, except for the duty that calls and the blood-soaked line in the sand between their nations. Much of the film consists of great special effects involving the astronauts floating about the outskirts of Jupiter as they try to repair the Discovery. These moments don’t make us forget the similar, contemplative moments of 2001, but they are exciting and hold our interest. There is at least one truly great scene in the film involving HAL-9000 (still voiced by Douglas Rain) and a countdown: The way that Hyams directs it and the way the HAL interacts with the rest of the cast leave us so breathlessly in suspense that we don’t even realize until the film is over that yes, 2010 all boils down to a conventional “the clock is ticking” moment. But we don’t notice the convention while it is happening, and the scene plays out with real fear and believability—a tribute to Hyman’s skill as an action-thriller director. We learn from the credits that Arthur C. Clarke, who wrote the first film, is also responsible for penning 2010. This is interesting considering how conventional the film is in contrast to the totally unique mystique of 2001. It is clear that Kubrick is the one responsible for the vision of the first film, which reveals itself here to be so undecipherable that even Clarke’s attempts at uncovering it only result in more by-the-numbers science fiction. I think that 2010 is best viewed as a perfectly efficient, character-driven thriller that should be considered one interpretation of the events of 2001 without offering any canonized, authorized explanation. On this level, this film is invigorating and thought-provoking, because it at least stirs in us a reaction to the answers that it provides, and inspires us to watch the first film again and to continue to reinterpret its images. I could imagine a whole series of would-be sequels, each offering different explanations and variations that pay tribute to 2001 and its mysteries without having any sort of continuity to each other (another alternate sequel could be Werner Herzog's Lessons of Darkness). 2010 opens the door to such opportunities and, as a result, reminds us of the original depth of Stanley Kubrick’s classic. As a thriller, is soars; as a sequel, it fails; as a speculation, it is interesting but certainly not the final word. AKA: 2010: Odyssey Two Cast: An MGM release. Directed
by Peter Hyams. Written by Hyams and Arthur C. Clarke, from
Clarke’s
novel. Rated PG for language. Running time: 155 minutes. Original
United States theatrical release date: December 7, 1984. |
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