Last Sunday the Crack Team went to see a showing of the science fiction classic Forbidden Planet at Popcorn Noir in Easthampton. I had never seen it on a big screen, and it's definitely better than watching it on television.
I'm not actually going to write a review. It's a great movie, even after half a century. There are a couple of things I want to talk about, though.
Let me tackle an issue which is starting to irritate me. One frequently sees Forbidden Planet described as an adaptation of Shakespeare's The Tempest. That's simply false. There are similarities -- a wise old man on a remote island/planet, his innocent daughter, their supernaturally powerful servant. But those similarities are swamped by the differences.
In Tempest, Prospero (if you don't know who he is, go read the damned play) is the master of events. His magical workings bring about the entire action of the play. The visitors to his island are tested, learn a lesson about mercy and humility, and everyone goes off home content.
In Planet, by contrast, Morbius (if you don't know who he is, go watch the damned movie) only thinks he is in command of events. He ultimately learns, to his cost, that he isn't in control of anything, not even his own mind. It isn't the visitors but the wise old man who needs to learn humility, and Morbius's lesson comes at the cost of his life.
This isn't just a minor difference. It shows a change in mindset from Shakespeare's day to the postwar 1950s. Shakespeare was a contemporary of Francis Bacon (no, Bacon didn't write Shakespeare's plays -- he was too busy to bother), and one can see The Tempest as a reflection of Bacon's new idea that "knowledge is power." Prospero isn't Faust, bargaining with Hell for power which destroys him. He's a noble, wise magician whose power is entirely used for good. Knowledge gives Prospero power on an entirely different scale than what he enjoyed as a Duke before being deposed.
Contrast Forbidden Planet. Morbius is a Faustian figure. He has delved into the advanced science of a dead civilization in order to gain knowledge -- but that knowledge literally releases monsters. In the end he destroys the priceless scientific legacy of the lost Krell, as it is simply too dangerous for humans to meddle with, and the movie implicitly endorses this choice. Knowledge is power, but some power is too dangerous.
The two stories neatly bookend the scientific/technological revolution which transformed Western civilization. Shakespeare, in the confident, expansive Renaissance, looks to what may be accomplished by human ingenuity unleashed. Irving Block and Allen Adler, writing just a decade after World War II, were more concerned with the consequences.
And yet . . . despite its alarmist message the film is also a great example of Space Age optimism. The humans in the film are explorers, voyaging outward and taming the universe just like Shakespeare's seafaring contemporaries. The flying saucer C-57D in the movie isn't a mysterious alien craft but a ship built and manned by humans, no more remarkable in its future world than a Sherman-class destroyer in 1956.
One can easily see Forbidden Planet as the spiritual ancestor of Star Trek -- indeed, the entire plot of the movie could be an episode of the original 1960s series. Despite a few "darker and edgier" forays, Star Trek is still the template for optimistic science fiction on film or television. I'm not the first person to notice this, of course. David Gerrold devoted quite a bit of space in his book The Making of Star Trek to the influence of Forbidden Planet.
It's noteworthy that even the plot structure of Planet mirrors an old-school Trek episode: the heroes visit a planet inhabited by a well-known character actor, and it's his character who learns an important lesson before the crew fly away again. The C-57D could stop off at another planet for more adventures a week later. It almost feels like a series pilot episode.
The movie isn't flawless, of course. The entire subplot involving Earl Holliman as the alcoholic comedy relief cook is more tedious than funny, and the dialog handed out to Leslie Nielsen as the starship captain veers wildly between engagingly Heinleinesque "living in the future" naturalism and extremely stilted "as you know, Bob" exposition.
Still, Forbidden Planet's place as one of the great science fiction movies is unassailable. Half a century after it was made, it still works. Moviemakers with twenty times the budget manage to produce works with less than a twentieth of its impact. Watch it if you get the chance.
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