Brody In Space: A Look Back At 2010 (The Year We Make Contact)
Roy Scheider holds a special place in my heart.
A movie star wrapped in a character actor’s shell, he had an everyman quality, tough but vulnerable. And he was versatile enough to play in any and every genre, from gritty cop thrillers, to domestic dramas, to even taking on the role of Bob Fosse in All That Jazz, dancing in heels and smoking at least seven million cigarettes.
He also holds a prestigious honour within my cinematic memory, being the only actor to appear in the sequels to my two favourite movies of all time, Jaws and 2001: a space odyssey.
However, where Jaws 2 was a workmanlike sequel, essentially a “did you like that? Well here it is again!” type film that Hollywood, particularly in the ‘80s, churned out quicker than a twenty footer with no barrels on him, 2010 (subtitled: The Year We Make Contact) is another matter entirely.
The world didn’t need a sequel to Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: a space odyssey.
Arguably one of the greatest films ever made, Kubrick’s masterwork has been puzzled over for more than fifty years at this point. By the ‘80s, the film had gained a reputation, bolstered by the fact that it wasn’t a huge success upon its initial release, as something of a cultural touchstone, a cinematic experience that paved the way for Star Wars, which in turn was the film that shaped the next forty years of its medium.
This filmic ripple effect is easily traceable, and yet, returning to a well in a vague attempt to draw fresh water, for sequel upon sequel, can often be disastrous, which is what makes 2010 an odd exception.
Scheider plays Dr. Heywood Floyd, originally a role played by William Sylvester, and picks up nine years after the events of Kubrick’s story, which was written in collaboration with science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke.
Racked with guilt over the loss of lives on a mission that was his responsibility, Floyd finds himself part of a crew of scientists and astronauts tasked with travelling to Jupiter, in order to investigate the circumstances as to why the original mission failed, which includes waking up the sleeping, murderous computer HAL 9000 and an encounter with the huge, Ligeti screeching Monolith.
Obviously context is a key part of the narrative here, and a knowledge of Kubrick’s original is advisable. The potential for failure is always present, after all, how do you build on a film that changed the form of cinema?
It would be a little like trying to contextualise an abstract, it’s different things to different people.
Where writer/director Peter Hyams succeeds is in developing ideas, rather than dissecting the original. His story takes place at a time when tensions are at breaking point back on Earth between Soviets and Americans, a timely reminder as to when the film was made, while the Cold War still posed a threat. The notion of a mission into space that brings both Soviets and the U.S. together, acts as a bridge to the bigger themes of the story. Not subtle, but certainly heartfelt and never over played.
Scheider’s Floyd is less astronaut and more observer in this sense, his screen presence as much a character who represents the values of decency, as it is an ‘in’ for the audience.
The actor was always brilliant at behaviour, moving naturally through even the most extreme of circumstances, be it shooting a rifle at a son of a bitch, flying a military helicopter while being pursued by Malcolm McDowell, or, in this film’s case, flirting with Helen Mirren.
He even manages to bring a dash of Chief Brody charm, along with his penchant for a drink or two, to the proceedings, smuggling some bourbon onboard, although I can’t be sure if he manages to mix it with red wine.
These are the little flourishes that make a film. Behaviours that sell the spectacle, characters you can relate to.
2010 is peppered with great character actors: John Lithgow (bringing a chimney sweepers flat cap along for the ride), Bob Balaban (who appears to only do science fiction whilst bearded), Keir Dullea (reprising his role as the astronaut David Bowman), Elya Baskin (whose chemistry with Lithgow is a sheer joy) and even author Arthur C. Clarke himself (as ‘old man feeding pigeons on a bench outside the White House’), gets in on the action.
The film also revels in a multitude of in-jokes, including a Time Magazine cover, which portrays the Soviet/U.S. conflict with a picture of Clarke And Kubrick as the nations’ opposing leaders, along with a character whose name is almost literally Kubrick spelled backwards.
The film really picks up momentum as the crew reach Jupiter, and board the marooned in orbit Discovery. This is where sci-fi fans start to joygasm, as characters walk around recreations of the superb sets that had originally been designed in the ‘60s and haven’t aged a day, including the pod bay, bridge and, most excitingly of all, the logic circuit room of HAL, still glowing an ominous red, to imply threat.
In many ways, the whole story is really about this One-Eyed Willy of Artificial Intelligence, the film’s plot revolving around trying to figure out why the hell he went off the rails in the first place.
Was he evil? Confused? Buffering?
The answer is surprisingly logical, echoing one of HAL’s most iconic lines from the original, in which it was “attributable to human error” and, by the film’s third act, the story pulls a hat trick, making us not only feel for the bulb with a brain, but root for him. It also helps immensely to have the late, great Douglas Rain return to lend his immaculate voice to proceedings.
2010 isn’t perfect, the ‘let’s work together and, in turn, heal the world’ concept feels a little hokey, but, at the very least, its heart is in the right place. And while many of the effects are impressive, the digital work on display once again confirms that Kubrick’s practical, model-led approach is still the benchmark by which any and all effects work must be judged.
Released in 1984, 2010 was nominated for five Academy Awards and made a little over $40 million, garnering a decent critical response, albeit one that came encumbered with the shadow of Kubrick’s original. In many respects, 2010 shouldn’t work at all, the notion of adding a layer of explanation to the original a fairly redundant notion. After all, as Kubrick himself once stated;
“In all things mysterious, never explain.”
And yet, there is care and attention at the heart of this production, a reverence for Kubrick’s work that holds 2010 in good stead, making it both satisfying and, at times, quite haunting. It’s not so much a companion piece as it is a new story within a familiar universe (so to speak), sharing a sensibility that also saw last year’s Doctor Sleep prove such a surprise, another sequel to a Kubrick film that managed, miraculously, to more than hold its own.
It should be noted that Scheider’s name comes before the film’s title, a bittersweet reminder that there was a time when studios had more confidence in their actors, regardless of whether they were young or cute. It’s a shadow of American Cinemas greatest era, the ‘70s, when Gene Hackman or Ellen Burstyn were on the A-List. Today, it’s the concept that sells the picture, unless it stars Tom Cruise.
Scheider’s presence is a comfort to the audience, the person whose hand we can hold to be taken on the journey.
There are few actors working today who had that quality.
Words by Chris Watt
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