The Time Machine

Why do filmmakers decide to adapt classic novels for the big screen, then jettison everything that makes them classic? The latest victim of these extremely questionable adaptation choices is H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine." This novel is truly a landmark of science fiction, using the titular technology both to tell a spellbinding yarn and to discuss philosophical and social issues all too relevant to all human societies. How did it spawn a film that substitutes snarky self-reference and jarring anachronism for stirring dialogue, lazily presented verities for intellectual inquiry, pretty cutouts for actual characters, and amazing visual pyrotechnics for any semblance of storytelling skill? Wells' story does deserve to be told again, but not like this.

As it happens, the story told here doesn't bear too much relation to Wells', except that they both feature time machines and (some) characters with the same names. Alexander Hartdegen (Guy Pearce) is a first-year associate professor at Columbia who lives in incongruous luxury and spews frustration at the bowler-hatted conservatives who stunt his technological ambitions. He finds solace in the company of Emma (Sienna Guillory), a comely lass who stays on screen just long enough to get offed by a wisecracking mugger.

This tragedy (and not the sheer thrill of conquering time, as in the book) impels Hartdegen to invent his machine; he goes back, trying to fix the past, and then forward, trying to find a more hospitable future. The future he finds 800,000 years from now contains a kindly race of humans called Eloi, who are preyed upon relentlessly by the fearsome Morlocks. Hartdegen takes a dim view of this practice, especially when the Morlocks take Mara (Samantha Mumba), an especially comely Eloi, back to their underground fortress. A struggle ensues.

The helmsman of this less-than-fantastic voyage is Simon Wells, who actually is a relation: the great-grandson of the adapted novelist. The residual creative impulses in Simon's DNA, however, inspired him not to write visionary novels but to direct animated features. Unfortunately, Simon's first live-actioner retains the look and psychological impact of a cartoon.

In one scene, Hartdegen leaves Emma for a moment to buy her flowers, but Wells keeps the camera centered on her through the shop window; the setup, beloved of Warner Bros., fairly screams "Catastrophe coming!" When it does, it's more funny than tragic, no matter what Klaus Badelt's overaggressive score thinks.

Wells has a feeling for imaginary landscape and acrobatic action, but the landscapes are pretty rather than majestic and the action feels more like Disneyland's teacups than the roller coaster you're hoping for. Sometimes, especially when no one has talked for a while, the images take over and achieve a vague dynamism. But many of the more striking images are borrowed from other, better movies, like the Eloi's dwellings, spindly aeries on which the Ewoks obviously served as contractors. One would expect the master's great-grandson to show a little imagination, but apparently such faculties skipped this generation.

Yet screenwriter John Logan's failings astonish even more, if only because he seems implacably determined to eliminate everything that worked in the book. Emma gets saddled with the worst anachronisms, spouting lines like "You thought right!" and "Oh, now you're all gallant!" in turn-of-the-last-century New York. Logan gets a few cheap laughs with metareferences to H.G. and the film itself, and a few heartier chuckles with Vox (Orlando Jones), an omniscient hologram-like entity that attempts to acclimate Hartdegen to his new surroundings.

But most of the script is feeble. Pat truths are badly expressed; Hartdegen eventually learns that you can't change the past, even with a really cool machine. The plot strains credulity on its own terms, as when cloistered scientist Hartdegen holds his own in hand-to-hand combat with a Morlock that outweighs him by about 200 pounds and outjumps him by about 30 feet. And Pearce can't do anything with some of the most resoundingly unintimidating ass-kicking dialogue to make it to the silver screen recently.

In fact, Pearce can't do much in this film at all, apart from look good. Mumba may well be a thespian of surpassing talent, as Pearce normally is, but it would be hard to tell here. Jeremy Irons has a commanding turn as a supreme-commander kind of Morlock, but he's only on screen for about five minutes, too late and not long enough to save this film.

By the time he appears, you'll be wanting a time machine of your own, to go back to the moment you entered the theater and consider alternate plans. Buying and reading the book, perhaps?

LEADING WITH MY AMAZINGLY BLOATED IRONY FIND

This used to be the lead before I talked myself out of it, with the help of my mom. It was too damn long, was the main problem. Normally, I reserve stupid press-kit quotes for the marginalia, and this film is no exception. But I remain convinced that someday I will get to hang a film on the dull hooks of stupid quotes from its press kit. I don't care how many metaphors I have to torture to do it.

Studios generally don't make the press notes they provide to movie reviewers available to the general public. For the studios, this is a good decision, as the general public would attend a lot fewer movies if it read some of the cringe-inducing quotes that crop up with dismaying regularity in these notes.

A case in point is the following howler, found in the notes to the newest adaptation of H.G. Wells's classic "The Time Machine." Screenwriter John Logan cites the novel as "the first time anyone had presented so intellectually and in such an exciting way the concept of time travel. And the amazing thing is that he takes the reader on that journey. I believe that's why Wells didn't give his time traveler a name - so you can be the time traveler and witness both the wonder and the horror of what the future might hold. Because, for Wells, both futures were a possibility; the thing that would make the difference is how we individually acted on it, which is why I think the story deserves to be told again."

All true, and admirably recognized. Then the notes continue, "In telling the story again, the filmmakers did make some changes to it, beginning with giving the time traveler a name: Alexander Hartdegen." Anyone who read that would be prepared for...[fault litany followed]

FAR-FUTURE JUNGLE FEVER

An interesting side note in this movie's awfulness is the extremely enlightened attitude Hartdegen shows towards the black characters of Vox and Mara. Whether the casual assumption that a nineteenth-century white New York male would have no problem with admitting his ignorance to and falling in love with, respectively, two black people is cheering or hilariously misguided, I can't tell. I think I'll leave this one as an exercise for the reader.

HOW ATTRACTIVE EXACTLY IS THIS REVIEW?

I had a midterm and two freelance things due on Thursday, and was barely able to drag myself out of bed to go to the screening that provided the fodder for this review. It turned out to be a good thing that I did, as I met a girl who seems funny, smart and cute (hey, it's a dark theater) and who gave me her e-mail after I offered to send her the review you just read. I can't expect too much, since she resides in Fredericksburg (a suburb about 1 1/2 or 2 hours from me), but: If you were a near-stranger and received this review, would you say to yourself, "Hey, someone who uses his subordinate clauses like this is definitely worth a second look?" I also included the marginalia (not this part, though!), which may or may not have been a good idea. It's been a while since I actually felt impelled to try anything like this. If nothing else, wish me luck.

Not only did that whole thing not work out, but the plethora of French words I inserted in part to impress the female mentioned above led one copyeditor at the Diamondback to go berserk with his red pen. Not only did he delete words that no college student could be reasonably expected to know, like "jettison," he wrote a note to my editor on a proof that read (approximately) "Please tell Mr. Malone to stop trying to use big words to pretend he's smart." My editor took the suggestions, unfortunately, and I saw the note, double unfortunately. While the issue with my editor was soon resolved, and we remain down with each other to this day, the whole incident made me realize that trying to impress women is a sucker's game that can only lead to trouble. If my normal prose ain't doin' it, then no prose I write is gonna do it.

And there were too many French words in this review. I have removed one to improve the critique for posterity.

Science Fiction Home

Movie Reviews Home

Spam-O-Matic Home