Movies I Loved as a Kid: “Soylent Green”

**SPOILERS**

For a time in the 1950s and 60s, Hollywood legend Charlton Heston was best known for his leading roles in Biblical epics—namely, The Ten Commandments and Ben Hur. But for nerdy kids who grew up in the 1970s and 80s, he was the uncontested king of B-Movie sci-fi, having appeared in three of the coolest, most nerd-tastic sci-fi flicks ever made: 1968’s Planet of the Apes, 1971’s The Omega Man, and 1973’s Soylent Green.

Of this trifecta, the only one that hasn’t gotten a remake (or two, or six) is Soylent Green, a snub that seems especially unfair considering the film is, in many ways, the best. Certainly the most prescient. Set in the near-future of 2022 (50 years after the film’s release), it imagines a dystopian world where overpopulation, global warming, wealth inequality, and environmental destruction have turned even America into a third-world hellscape of poverty and crime. New York City has a population of 40 million, whose threadbare, unwashed masses live in stairwells, under highways, or on the street. Fresh fruit and vegetables are luxury items that only the city’s richest citizens—safely ensconced in heavily guarded, high-rise apartment buildings—can afford. Life is cheap, and basic human rights (especially women’s rights) have been abolished. Many beautiful women serve as “furniture”—i.e., live-in mistresses that come with those same high-rise apartments, to be enjoyed by their rich, male occupants.

Crazy, huh? So far-fetched! I mean, the U.S.A. could never end up like that! Not unless a few crazy billionaires stole all the money, installed right-wing puppets in the government, and pillaged the planet’s resources, all while poisoning the atmosphere in the process.

And that could never happen, right? RIGHT?

I state that the film was highly prescient even though many critics, then and now, have condemned it as being a silly, alarmist fever-dream of the environmental left. Specifically, many considered its vision of an over-populated earth to be an artifact of Paul Erhlich’s 1968 non-fiction book The Population Bomb, which predicted a Malthusian nightmare of famine and poverty.

Charlton Heston and Edward G. Robinson

Clearly, Erhlich’s book was incorrect. Earth’s population is expected to stabilize at 10 billion in the 2080s and then begin to decline. Yet, while the movie might have gotten that one particular detail wrong, its overall vision seems all too plausible. After all, we now have cities around the world bulging with immigrants, many of whom are fleeing the consequences of global warming (which the movie does accurately predict). The rise of the far-right in America under Donald Trump was based, primarily, on popular fears of such an apocalyptic immigration surge overwhelming the U.S. The same kind of thing is happening in Europe.

And Soylent Green’s depiction of a civilization ravaged by end-stage capitalism seems dead-n, too, especially in a time when Elon Musk can buy elections and, on a whim, cause the starvation of 700,000 people in Africa. 

But what really makes Soylent Green a classic is, of course, its premise. Like 1992’s The Crying Game, Soylent Green was marketed as a movie with a shocking “secret” (one that most people already knew going into the theater but wanted to see revealed anyway). In keeping with this “secret,” the film is structured like a noir detective mystery. Soylent Green begins with a murder. A rich executive named Simonson sits in his luxurious apartment and watches as an assassin breaks in. Instead of running or calling the police, Simonson merely greets the assassin and waits to die.

Afterward, NYPD homicide detective Robert Thorn comes to investigate, interviewing Simonson’s bodyguard (Western-movie veteran Chuck Connors in a great, villainous turn) as well as his “furniture,” the beautiful Shirl (Leigh Taylor-Young), all the while looting various goodies from Simonson’s apartment. Thorn takes the stolen goods (soap, fruit, vegetables, etc.) home to share with his roommate and research assistant Roth (Edward G. Robinson in his last role). Apparently, all senior police officers have such an assistant—called a “Book”—and Roth soon helps Thorn untangle the mystery.

Leigh Taylor-Young as “furniture” mistress Shirl

The trail leads inexorably to the Soylent Corporation, on whose board Simonson served. The corporation manufactures the only reliable food sources left in America, factory-processed crackers that come in different colors: Soylent Red, Soylent Blue, Soylent Yellow, and (the newest, tastiest product), Soylent Green. Supposedly, the crackers are made out of sea plankton, and they are a staple of everyone’s diet (including Thorn’s).

Even so, supplies are limited, and food riots often break out at the distribution points. One of the film’s most memorable scenes centers around one such riot, in which the police deploy huge shovel-trucks to come and scoop up the rioters to take them away to who-knows-where. All cops are activated during such riots, so Thorn is helping-out when he is attacked by the same assassin who killed Simonson. Thorn narrowly escapes when the assassin is crushed by a scooper-shovel.

Knowing he is hot on the trail of something big, Thorn doggedly pursues the mystery, even as he begins a blissful affair with Shirl. Meanwhile, Roth is doing his own digging. He soon discovers the “secret” of the movie—a revelation so devastating that he goes to a public euthanasia center to be injected with a fatal drug. Thorn reaches him in his last moments, and Roth whispers the secret into Thorn’s ear. The viewer doesn’t hear what he says, but we know from Thorn’s expression that it must be something really, really horrible.

Indeed, it is. After Roth dies, Thorn stows away on the garbage truck that collects the centers’ corpses. The truck takes the bodies to—guess where—the main factory of the Soylent Corporation. There, Thorn witnesses the cadavers being dumped into vats and then processed into Soylent Green!

Thus is the secret of the film revealed: cannibalism, on an industrial scale.

Throughout the history of literature from Swift’s “A Modest Proposal” to Cormac McCarthy’s The Road to Thomas Harris’s The Silence of the Lambs, cannibalism has always represented the ultimate evil. The final breakdown of civilization. I suspect this is because cannibalism—in Western cultures, at least—is the only taboo on a level with incest and matricide. Even more importantly, it suggests a failed society. Afterall, culture that eats its own is doomed.

Yes, even in our jaded culture, the concept of cannibalism still manages to horrify us. That’s why the last line of the movie—though often parodied—still packs something of a punch. After Thorn makes his gruesome discovery, he is pursued by Soylent agents. During the chase, he is punched, stabbed, bludgeoned, and shot. Thorn survives, however, and as medics take him away on a stretcher, he reaches one bloody hand into the air and yells, “Soylent Green is people!”

People. Not “human flesh.” Not “corpses.” People. Human beings, who have been reduced to abjection—an industrial product, churned out of a factory. And that’s the real secret horror of the movie. In the future, unless things get a lot better and fast, we might all be reduced to Soylent Green, or something very much like it. Food for the proles, who serve the rich and wait to die.

Soylent Green is a very dated movie—it often looks and feels rather like a 1970s TV show—but it’s still a fine one. Luckily for us, a new 4K Bluray version has been released by Arrow Video. Check it out.

Great Movie Countdowns – Part 004: “The Andromeda Strain”

It’s just three days until my first book becomes a Kindle Daily Deal. And so, I thought I would count down the days with…a LIST OF COUNTDOWNS.

That is, the Best Countdowns in Cinema.

The countdown is an obvious dramatic instrument. You might think it was strictly a modern invention—depending, as it does, on a clock ticking—but I think it goes back to at least the 19th Century. Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days is based around an (extremely long) countdown. And in the Sherlock Holmes stories of the 1890s, Holmes often finds himself racing against the clock, desperate to find some missing treaty or compromising letter that, if not secured in time, will spell certain doom.

As for film, one of the greatest westerns of all time, High Noon, has an obvious, analog countdown, with the camera often showing the town’s clock as it sweeps toward noon. (That’s when a gang of bad guys is expected to arrive on the train and kill the heroic sheriff, Gary Cooper.)

In modern fiction films—and especially genre films like science fiction and spy movies—the digital countdown has become something of a staple. Over the next four days, I’m going to discuss four of my favorites.

For this first installment, I choose what is still one of my favorite sci-fi movies of all time, Robert Wise’s 1971 masterpiece, The Andromeda Strain. The story of what happens when an alien pathogen arrives on Earth via a crash-landed satellite, it is perhaps the first great techno-thriller film, combining science fiction with a tale of a military and political crisis.

 When fighter jets are sent to overfly the satellite’s crash site in the Arizona desert, the authorities see that everyone in the nearby town of Piedmont is already dead. They activate a secret “Wildfire” team of scientists, who are grabbed from their homes and flown to a secret, underground biolab that is also (a bit too conveniently) located in the Arizona desert. Most of the drama takes place in the sterile, spaceship-like interior of the lab, where the scientists bring the satellite and isolate the germ. They also bring along the two surviving inhabitants of Piedmont—one, an old, alcoholic man and the other a month-old, helpless infant—who seem mysteriously immune to the alien bug.

The scientists name the bug “Andromeda” and discover, to their horror, that it is a crystalline-based life form with no DNA, which cannot be killed by heat, solvents, or even radiation. Indeed, it laps up X-Rays and uses the energy to mutate at an alarming rate.

As luck would have it, one of these mutations is able to dissolve rubber, which allows Andromeda to escape into the lab’s silo-like core. Naturally, this triggers a countdown to the automatic detonation of a nuclear bomb placed under the lab, intended to sterilize the site before the contamination spreads. Realizing that the bomb’s radiation will not kill Andromeda—it will, rather, cause the germ to flourish, perhaps ending all life on earth—the Wildfire team rushes to cancel the countdown. The only member with this ability is a surgeon, Mark Hall, who has also just solved the riddle of the two unlikely survivors (it has to do with their blood acidity). Hall bravely enters the core and begins the long climb up to the one level where the bomb can be disarmed, using a high-tech key that he has dangling around his neck.

The last five minutes of the movie show Hall desperately trying to avoid the automatic laser guns that guard the core (one of which shoots a hole through his cheek), as well as the nerve gas that the lab’s central computer releases.

Does he make it in time? Does he save the world? You’ll just have to watch the movie…

Movies I Loved as a Kid: “Rollerball”

It still amazes me that Norman Jewison, the same guy that directed Moonstruck, also directed Rollerball. I can’t imagine two films that are more different in content, genre, style, and tone. Moonstruck is a rom-com (imho, the best ever made); Rollerball is a dystopian sci-fi movie. Moonstruck is a comedy; Rollerball is a violent, brutal drama.

And yet, when one thinks about it, the twinning of these two movies under Jewison’s visionary eye kind of makes sense. Both are about an individual seeking personal freedom—self-actualization, as the shrinks say. The main difference is that, in Moonstruck, the obstacle is the protagonist’s own self-doubt and traumatized soul, while in Rollerball, it’s an oppressive, corporatist state. 

Moonstruck is the better film, by far. But, as a kid, I absolutely loved Rollerball. It came out fifty years ago, in 1975, and it’s hard to describe how incredibly cool it was among the 11-to-14-year-old boy demographic. It checked all the teenage-boy boxes: sci-fi, sports, violence, motorcycles, and sex. 

And then there was the novelty of the game itself, a nightmarish blend of NFL football, roller derby, motocross, and MMA. Of these, football seemed to be the primary influence, with the protagonist coming off very much like one of the celebrity quarterbacks of the era (think Joe Namath or Snake Stabler). 

So, basically you had a futuristic, ultra-violent sport where Joe Namath got to kill people! How cool is that??? The film also had the appeal of forbidden fruit. A “hard R”-rated movie, its violence was deemed shocking, even transgressive, at the time. This was especially true considering the film’s A-list imprimatur; it was released by a major Hollywood studio (United Artists) with a major star (James Caan) and a major director (Jewison).

In retrospect, the fact that Rollerball was made at all seems a bit miraculous. It’s a good movie, and there is still much to love about it. Set on a near-future Earth where huge mega-corporations have replaced governments, it tells the story of an elite athlete, Jonathan E., who plays the violent, gladiatorial sport of Rollerball. Jonathan is so good that, after ten years in the sport, he is its oldest living practitioner, as well as its best. He is beloved and famous—so famous, in fact, that he worries the reigning cabal of corporate bosses, who use the game as a kind of panem et circenses form of mass entertainment, giving the oppressed masses an outlet for their (potentially revolutionary) rage. 

Mr. Bartholomew, the CEO of the corporation that owns Jonathan’s team (and, it is implied, Jonathan himself, bodily, as a kind of company chattel), is especially concerned. He orders the aging star to announce his retirement. Jonathan refuses. Bartholomew orders him again. Jonathan refuses, again. Unfortunately, Jonathan is too famous to arrest or kill, so Bartholomew contrives to make the next few Rollerball matches so absurdly violent, even by the standards of the game, that Jonathan will change his mind, get injured, or get killed.

If this plot sounds familiar, it’s because it is. Rollerball essentially invented the extreme-sports-of-the-future sub-genre of sci-fi, beginning with Death Race 2000 and continuing all the way up to The Hunger Games series. It also anticipated cyberpunk, in which evil corporations have taken over all aspects of modern life, creating an authoritarian hellscape of haves vs have-nots. 

In our current, CGI-corrupted age of cinema, Rollerball is especially impressive for its great, practical stunts. Supposedly, the stuntmen got so adept at the titular game that they would play matches amongst themselves between shooting sessions. And the acting is great, too. James Caan’s understated, nuanced performance as Jonathan is one of his best. He was bashed by some film critics for seeming “checked-out” in the role, but I think they were wrong. He’s playing a somewhat inarticulate but courageous character who is trying to make sense of his plight—and find a way to win.

Now that I have said all those good things about Rollerball, it’s time for me to add that it is also an extremely dated film. Alas, it suffers from much of the garishness of the 1970s, as well as a whiff of misogyny that even the patriarchal/fascist setting cannot quite explain. But if you can get past these flaws, it’s a good movie. 

Check it out. It’s currently streaming on Amazon Prime.