Battlefield Earth
"Battlefield Earth", with John Travolta, Barry Pepper, Forest Whitaker and a bunch of other people. From a novel by L. Ron Hubbard, adapted by Corey Mandell. Directed by Roger Christian. MPAA rating PG-13 for intense sci-fi stuff and tyrannically bad dental hygiene. Run time, endless.
I have been told that "Battlefield Earth", the novel, is a science fiction cornerstone, L. Ron Hubbard's magnum opus, and a masterfully written must-read for any true sci-fi aficionado. Well children, I've never been very good at reading science fiction. I have the attention span of a Yorkshire Terrier on a two-week espresso jag and have largely had to rely on Hollywood's ability to package science fiction into digestible parcels, little Communion wafers of fresh Soylent Green that I can get my head around.
"Battlefield Earth" is completely indigestible. It may, however, be an excellent source of dietary fiber. Sold as an epic about the battle for Earth in the year 3000, it's really a dark treatise on office politics in the Reagan years. Terl, (John Travolta) a middle manager and head of Psychlos security on an Earth mining colony, has been passed over for promotion. It's probably his haircut or his manicure, to say nothing of his black teeth. I mean, if you expect senior management to kick you upstairs and into your own little corner paradise, you'd better look like management material, buster. If you look, as Terl does, as though you're the love child of Bobby McFerrin and a Ferengi transvestite, you can't expect the corporation to take you entirely seriously. NOTE: I should mention that my spell-checker thinks the closest match for "Travolta" is "Triviality".
The corporation, the previously mentioned race of Psychlos, exists for the sole purpose of making a profit. They conquered Earth for its natural resources - it took nine minutes for the great Psychlos war machine to eliminate all but limited pockets of humanity - but their technology wasn't good enough to find the natural resources they came here for in the first place. They are forced to enlist the help of the increasingly brilliant but still sublimated humans to find anything.
A human - a "man-animal" - Jonnie Goodboy Tyler, (Barry Pepper) rises out of the ooze, aided by the greedy and manipulative Terl, and is given access to as much information as his grunting little monkey brain can soak up. Being a human, and endowed with your standard indefatigable human spirit, Jonnie and the remaining cluster of man-animals take on the Psychlos in a winner take all Intergalactic Texas Death Match. Guess who wins. Yup, the lowly humans, led by Jonnie, overcome the superior technology and the over the top acting of the Psychlos, send them packing, and save the world for generations of humans yet unborn. I probably made it sound too easy, but that's okay, the humans had 1000 year old Harrier Jump Jets, their tanks all filled with fresh Jet-A, which they learned to fly in (what? - hand cranked?) flight simulators. Aargh!
I can't tell you how badly this stinks, how poorly it's conceived and implemented, how easy it would have been to walk out after thirty minutes.
Yes I can - it stinks like last week's limburger cheese in a double-wide litter box; it's so badly conceived and implemented that I would rather sit through a double feature of "Grease" than sit through this one again - and babies, I HATE "Grease". I sat through "Battlefield Earth" thinking that at any moment, my significant other, a calm woman with the patience of a Job's Tree Spike, would turn and dope-slap my shiny skull and say "Let's get the hell out of here!" Instead, she waited until the credits started to roll, and then she turned to me and said, "You owe me!" Anyone who's married or involved with another human being in any way knows that the debt owed for such saintly tolerance is a burden stretching to the horizon in every direction.
It is in this spirit of infinite servitude that I put Warner Brothers on notice that this time, they OWE ME a cow. That's a minus one, kids! You've been warned. Stay home!
I have been told that "Battlefield Earth", the novel, is a science fiction cornerstone, L. Ron Hubbard's magnum opus, and a masterfully written must-read for any true sci-fi aficionado. Well children, I've never been very good at reading science fiction. I have the attention span of a Yorkshire Terrier on a two-week espresso jag and have largely had to rely on Hollywood's ability to package science fiction into digestible parcels, little Communion wafers of fresh Soylent Green that I can get my head around.
"Battlefield Earth" is completely indigestible. It may, however, be an excellent source of dietary fiber. Sold as an epic about the battle for Earth in the year 3000, it's really a dark treatise on office politics in the Reagan years. Terl, (John Travolta) a middle manager and head of Psychlos security on an Earth mining colony, has been passed over for promotion. It's probably his haircut or his manicure, to say nothing of his black teeth. I mean, if you expect senior management to kick you upstairs and into your own little corner paradise, you'd better look like management material, buster. If you look, as Terl does, as though you're the love child of Bobby McFerrin and a Ferengi transvestite, you can't expect the corporation to take you entirely seriously. NOTE: I should mention that my spell-checker thinks the closest match for "Travolta" is "Triviality".
The corporation, the previously mentioned race of Psychlos, exists for the sole purpose of making a profit. They conquered Earth for its natural resources - it took nine minutes for the great Psychlos war machine to eliminate all but limited pockets of humanity - but their technology wasn't good enough to find the natural resources they came here for in the first place. They are forced to enlist the help of the increasingly brilliant but still sublimated humans to find anything.
A human - a "man-animal" - Jonnie Goodboy Tyler, (Barry Pepper) rises out of the ooze, aided by the greedy and manipulative Terl, and is given access to as much information as his grunting little monkey brain can soak up. Being a human, and endowed with your standard indefatigable human spirit, Jonnie and the remaining cluster of man-animals take on the Psychlos in a winner take all Intergalactic Texas Death Match. Guess who wins. Yup, the lowly humans, led by Jonnie, overcome the superior technology and the over the top acting of the Psychlos, send them packing, and save the world for generations of humans yet unborn. I probably made it sound too easy, but that's okay, the humans had 1000 year old Harrier Jump Jets, their tanks all filled with fresh Jet-A, which they learned to fly in (what? - hand cranked?) flight simulators. Aargh!
I can't tell you how badly this stinks, how poorly it's conceived and implemented, how easy it would have been to walk out after thirty minutes.
Yes I can - it stinks like last week's limburger cheese in a double-wide litter box; it's so badly conceived and implemented that I would rather sit through a double feature of "Grease" than sit through this one again - and babies, I HATE "Grease". I sat through "Battlefield Earth" thinking that at any moment, my significant other, a calm woman with the patience of a Job's Tree Spike, would turn and dope-slap my shiny skull and say "Let's get the hell out of here!" Instead, she waited until the credits started to roll, and then she turned to me and said, "You owe me!" Anyone who's married or involved with another human being in any way knows that the debt owed for such saintly tolerance is a burden stretching to the horizon in every direction.
It is in this spirit of infinite servitude that I put Warner Brothers on notice that this time, they OWE ME a cow. That's a minus one, kids! You've been warned. Stay home!
