Prequels: An Unnecessary Story For a Feature

***Spoilers Ahead***

From my current viewing experience, it would seem that X-Men: First Class is the strongest film prequel to date (Prometheus is a close runner up). Both these films, however, are not great in terms of their emotional engagement and there’s also a heavy lack of satisfaction which I experienced upon their initial viewings.

I have not watched many film prequels to date, so I’m not exactly 100% equipped to write this blog; however I feel that it is a subject which I’d like to discuss, so I am at least going to give it my best shot.

For years I would watch prequels with a sense of disappointment throughout the feature’s entire run. It felt almost as though there was no sensation of experiencing something new. The material which was playing out on screen did not feel fresh and unpredictable, but instead felt more like an expected and un-engaging story.

I could never quite put my finger on the problem which made prequels feel so bland and unsatisfactory. But then, several years ago, the BBC Radio 5 Live film critic, Mark Kermode, raised the subject and shed some light on this entire situation.

Whilst reviewing X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Kermode brought up the fact that there was no concern for the wellbeing or fate of the film’s protagonist. Seeing as an initial trilogy set in this same X-Men universe already existed, viewers already knew that Wolverine was immortal and that he survives this prequel story to exist in the Bryan Singer and Brett Ratner directed series.  

As a result of this, we knew for a fact that Wolverine would not end up in mortal danger and would not lose to the antagonist’s twisted aims before the film’s end. There was no threat, no concern for the hero which we have learnt to care about and no possibility that we could lose our beloved protagonist.

Bingo! That was the problem with prequels! We already knew what direction the story was heading in. This means that we have no questions or uncertainties about how the timeline of that universe will pan out. Without that sense of doubt or fear for the protagonists, there’s no tension or sense of dread.

This was also the problem with the revolting Star Wars prequels. One of the most infamous moments in the original Star Wars trilogy was the scene where Darth Vader tells Luke Skywalker that he is his father. This was a shocking sequence that twisted the film’s narrative into a completely new direction. It was a chunk of the narrative’s information which was held back from its audience for almost two entire films and was then pulled out at the last minute to shock its viewers.

However, when the prequels came out for Star Wars in the late 20^th and early 21^st century, this level of surprise was nowhere to be found. We knew that Anakin Skywalker was one day destined to become Darth Vader and that his wife – Queen Amidala – was destined to die in childbirth whilst giving birth to Luke & Leia. We knew the fate of the Jedi’s, the rise of the Empire and the outcome of the core characters. There was no surprise, we had already seen the outcome in the previous trilogy; therefore there were no twists and turns that forced its viewers to remain in the realm of the unpredictable.

But the lack of surprise and uncertainty is not the only problem that prequels have in terms of their narrative, but also the unnecessary use of backstory also diminishes the quality of the storytelling (also suggest by Kermode). For example, if a detailed portrayal of the backstory revolving the fall of the Jedi’s and the descent of Anakin Skywalker was so important, then why didn’t George Lucas tell this story in the first place? Why didn’t he write and direct Episode I back in 1977?

Sure, you could say that he wanted to wait until the technology was available to execute this visual-heavy instalment; however we all know that this is not the case. We know that Lucas didn’t film it because if he did, then it would destroy the memorable twist that was set to shock audiences at the end of Episode V.

Backstory is not there to be made into a full feature film, but to work instead as an engagement technique to keep audiences engrossed. Backstory lies in the background of a narrative and is only brought forward when it can be used to have a particular effect on those who have invested their emotions into that story. The transition of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader was not written up to be made into a three part special effects epic, but was there to keep the audience still in their seats by the time that The Empire Strikes Back was drawing closer to its conclusion.

The same can be said for X-Men. The origin story of Wolverine works better to help give the character an interesting and enigmatic angle in the initial trilogy. We know that Wolverine had a past and when certain ghosts from that past crop up, it helped to either make the story more appealing or to reveal some new truths about his character.

So that is pretty much my issue with prequels. There is no engagement in the story. We know how everything is going to pan out and there’s really no need to tell a story that we’ve already heard about and seen in the initial series.

(Note: Some people might think that I’m also making reference to the J.J Abrams Star Trek Reboot, however that I beleive it is let off because of how the events of that film alter and rewrite the initial Star Trek timeline. The fact that history has been tweaked means that future events are no longer predictable; allowing the film and its future sequels to be taken in an entirely new and unpredictable direction).

SFX Cinema: Visual Poetry

***Spoilers Ahead***

I remember two years ago, excitedly sitting down with a university friend to show him 2001: A Space Odyssey for the first time ever. He had never seen Stanley Kubrick’s science fiction masterpiece before and I was thrilled at being the first person to show him. I don’t know why, but there’s something so magical about introducing someone to a film which you love and cherish. It’s almost as though you can feel their emotions toward that feature; like you are viewing it for the first time yourself.

During the opening moments of the film – where the sun rises behind the moon whilst Alzo Spak Zarathustra blasts into the viewer’s eardrums – I felt a rush of adrenaline. I was hoping that my friend was also feeling this exact same rush. Every time I see this opening shot, my heart races at a thousand miles per second. At that moment, I was convinced that my fellow companion was also experiencing that same jolt of euphoric wonder.

As the feature moved forward, my friend watched quietly. He sat through the dawn of man sequence, the shuttle docking scene and the introduction to David, Frank & Hal 9000. Then – around half way through the film’s runtime – my friend turned to me with a look of sheer annoyance and asked “what the hell is this crap?”

My heart sank like a brick in the ocean. Suddenly I felt a wave of embarrassment flood throughout my body. My passion and love for the film instantly drained from my existence. In the end, he turned the DVD off and decided that it would be better to watch some crappy reality television programme on channel 4 instead.

 The next day, I decided to ask my friend why he disliked the film so much.

“It was a pretentious pile of toss with zero story” was his cold and confident response.

A few months later, I decided to ask a few other friends of mine if they agreed with such an opinion. To my surprise, a lot of them did, saying that 2001: A Space Odyssey was a bloated, overrated, artsy fartsy flick with no story and no theme. Even several of my fellow film students agreed with such claims.

It seems that the magic of this film has faded with time. Numerous people today don’t seem to see the film for the masterpiece that I believe it is. However, I’m convinced that this film connects with its viewers in a totally fascinating way that can be found so frequently in cinema; in the sense that it ignites emotions on a purely visual level.

The opening sequence, the transition from alpha male’s club to 21^st century spaceship, the revelation of the moon’s monolith, Dave’s rapid aging sequence and the ending’s star child sequence moves me in ways which are too beautiful to describe with words.

The film, to me, is a visual piece of poetry. It tells the story of the evolution of mankind. It begins with our ancestors, moves on to our present physical form and ends with us moving up into the next stages of life. The whole film is an emotional journey from the dawn to the evolution of our race.

Just because the film doesn’t have a beginning, middle and an end in the traditional screenplay sense, does not mean that it hasn’t got a story. It does have a narrative; a narrative that is instead told through the art of visual filmmaking in its purest form.

I believe it was the film critic Rodger Ebert who said that this film is a philosophical journey told through the art of visuals (I am paraphrasing here, so I apologise about the inaccuracy of this statement).

2001: A Space Odyssey is not the only film that visually moves its audience. There have been numerous other features in recent years which have had a similar effect on me; even films with more traditional narratives have still had the ability to move my emotions due to their aesthetic achievements. The shot of Jack painting Rose in Titanic, the descent of the monstrous ship over Manhatten in Independence Day, the snakelike spacecraft in Alien, Elliot’s silhouetted bicycle flying in front of a silver moon in E.T, the folding up of the Paris skyline in Inception and the opening shot of 2019 Los Angeles in Blade Runner are all visual sequences which have moved me on a purely aesthetic level.

All of the films mentioned above have managed to achieve at least some sort of emotional reaction inside me as a result of the work that was put into their visual effects.

Now of course not all visual-heavy films are great (just watch a Zack Snyder or Michael Bay film to see how horrendous a special effects feature can get), however there are still many that are.

Sadly many of my friends are sticking firmly to their negative opinion’s toward Space Odyssey; however I must respectfully disagree. I think the film is a beautiful and romantic piece of optical art. The passion and labour which was put into bringing this feature alive ignites my emotions in similar ways to that of a piece of music, literature and/or painting.

2001: A Space Odyssey is a special effects piece which shows that visual poetry does exist within cinema and that it can be just as emotionally empowering and engaging as any other art form.