The sky is falling again - and again

USA Today (Society for the Advancement of Education), Sept, 1998 by Christopher Sharrett

Previously have written in this column on the spate of disaster films occupying the megaplexes, seemingly placing us in a time warp. I don't mean to keep thrashing an obviously dead horse mercilessly, but the recent trend in this fare has me viewing the 1970s, hardly a high-water mark of mass culture, as something akin to the Enlightenment.

Two extremely similar pictures were released this summer dealing with giant rocks streaking toward Earth and threatening The End. "Deep Impact" and "Armageddon" put me in mind of 1974's "The Towering Inferno," principally as an example of a moment when Hollywood at least had a bit of common sense. Both Twentieth-Century Fox and Warner Bros. discovered that they each owned the rights to books about burning skyscrapers. In a then-unprecedented move, the studios pooled their resources to make a high-budget blockbuster, with a cast of star actors (William Holden, Paul Newman, Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway) and a script that, while thoroughly risible, at least had words on paper.

No embarrassment

The corporate Hollywood of the 1990s is not beyond pooling resources, but it apparently is not embarrassed in the slightest to pump out two extravagant popcorn movies with the same concept (if that is the word) on budgets that could feed small nations for six months. The entire matter could be allowed to pass if these movies weren't so offensive, with "Armageddon" clearly taking the lead in its in-your-face view of the audience as something like adolescent ultrarightists.

In "Armageddon," the head of NASA (Billy Bob Thornton in casting so eccentric it provides the lone moment of originality) dragoons an oil-well driller (Bruce Willis) to lead a crew of roughnecks to a Texas-sized asteroid that is about to collide with Earth. When they get to the asteroid, the idea is to plant a nuclear bomb that will blow the thing safely out of harm's way. It doesn't take a mental giant to figure the one of two ways this story will go, and if you know the formula for the current disaster film, you know the conclusion at the outset--the only possible fun might be the special effects.

Yet, as craven and crass as they are, the effects aren't the film's only gimmick. "Armageddon" is about faith in Dad, strong men, the flag, old-time religion, and traditional institutions of all sorts to see Americans through. The Stars and Stripes appears in so many shots, one would think we were on the brink of a flag-burning outbreak, or possibly an invasion by Russia. (Not surprisingly, the movie features a Russian cosmonaut played largely for comic relief by Peter Stormare; his creaking space station explodes.) There are a number of shots of Willis' group of eccentric misfits walking toward the camera in slow motion as the score swells on the soundtrack.

Viewers are supposed to be bowled over by the sight of strong men in a self-sacrificial mode. The problem is, one gets to know very little about most of them, and what we do learn doesn't exactly endear them to the audience. The ship's crew hearkens to any number of films about the male group ("The Guns of Navarone," "The Great Escape," "The Dirty Dozen," "The Professionals") coming through in a time of crisis. Although the guys are more or less sociopaths, and although they have nothing like the skills or temperament needed for the assignment, they nevertheless pull it off with alacrity. One of the conventions of this type of story is the idea that the crew doesn't really get along. They have various chips on their shoulders, or some other personal dysfunction that suddenly is put aside when things look really bad. "Armageddon," after all, is not about a disaster to Earth. It is about a bunch of men working against the clock in claustrophobic, impossible conditions.

The faith in male charisma and professionalism is complemented by unbridled faith in technology. "Armageddon" is a virtual ad for more NASA subsidy. At one point, the president reminds the nation how effectively technology serves the U.S., some of it perfected during the many wars in which the country has been involved. So, we are told, war was good for us after all, since it steeled the populace for The Big One on the way from outer space.

Self-sacrifice

Both "Deep Impact" and "Armageddon" get a lot of mileage out of tearful moments of individual (male) self-sacrifice as the planet is saved. In "Deep Impact," veteran astronaut Robert Duvall underplays the cloying moment; no such luck with Bruce Willis, who, replete with signature smirk, makes everyone know his decision in spades, assisted by five-story-high video monitors. What is most offensive about the whole thing is the lack of grief in the face of such sacrifice. Sure, there are the requisite tears as Dad signs off to immolate the Ultimate Other, but the moment quickly is washed away by an orgy of patriotic emotions as we celebrate a job well done.

Then again, "Armageddon," like "Deep Impact" and, for that matter, a slew of latter-day disaster pictures, is very glib about death. In "Armageddon," a meteor shower that spectacularly takes out city blocks is an occasion for one-liners by those who are in the middle of it. Viewers don't see a single body crushed by flying taxis or fractured skyscrapers. The entire city of Paris is wiped off the map without a single cry of agony, and the site of the holocaust is a gratuitous image from 1950s sci-fi comics. The only emotion moviegoers get is at the conclusion, where the public comes out in celebratory droves in scenes reminiscent of Kodak or Pepsi ads. Are these images truly about the American sensibility as 2000 approaches?