What Makes a Manimal?

DVD Review: THE ISLAND OF DR. MOREAU
12 – 99mins – 1977
Screenplay by: Al Ramus and John Herman Shaner
Based on the 1896 novel by: H. G.Wells
Directed by: Don Taylor
Starring: Burt Lancaster, Michael York, Nigel Davenport, Barbara Carrera, Richard Basehart, Nick Cravat, Fumio Demura
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I had actually ordered the much-detracted Marlon Brando-starring 1996 remake – a film I never hated as much as the general consensus yet I hadn't actually seen since I last watched my now obsolete (well, in my house at least) VHS copy waaaay back in the day. When this earlier adap of H.G. Wells' sci-fi allegory of man's overly controlling attitude towards nature arrived in error (no doubt due to its lack of popularity, the newer film is darn hard to obtain, while this '77 version was granted a 2008 Optimum re-release), I decided to give it a look-see nonetheless.

Michael York – exasperatingly, a man I will evermore regard as Basil Exposition from Austin Powers – plays the re-named protagonist Andrew Braddock, washed ashore on an exotic island after surviving the sinking of his ship. Taken in by the tropical isle's sole household, Andrew becomes a guest of the scientist Dr. Moreau (Lancaster), a brilliant and determined man who conducts his radical research with the help of an associate, Montgomery (Davenport), and a slew of Neanderthalic servants native to the island.

As Braddock awaits the next cargo ship to hitch a ride home, he begins to learn more about Moreau's unorthodox experiments; inhumane experiments which tamper with the untamperable. Convinced he can create a race of fully sentient animal/human hybrids who will live in a “civilised” society and abide by a set of laws much like man does, Moreau plays God and threatens to turn this lush jungle paradise into a sinister and ugly living hell.

With a concept which drips “exotic”, "perverse" and “bizarre” from every pore, I was disappointed that this seventies incarnation was a rather flat and dispassionate depiction. Lancaster's Moreau may be visually akin to his prose namesake (something Brando's outlandish reinvention certainly wasn't), but he was far too calm and blasé for a man so utterly devoted to a cause that he is blind to reason. I never believed that he truly believed in his monstrous vision, and I likewise failed to sense a strong-enough objection from York's ostensibly outraged Braddock.

Furthermore, the make-up and creature effects – while undeniably impressive for their time – failed to really sell the atrocious aspect of Moreau's Frankenstein hybrids. The pack of communicative man-beasts, led by the creature known as Sayer of the Law (Basehart), are too pretty and cuddly to truly sway the argument against meddling with the codes of life. Some may rebel, true, but that is also true of humanity – where are the abhorrent freaks and hideously deformed trial runs which would reinforce the abortion of such practise? What we see here are minor variations on designs from The Planet of the Apes – and Charlton Heston snogged one of those!

I was left with the lamentable impression that while H. G. Wells wrote The Island of Dr. Moreau with a grand philosophical message to impart to his audience – a message both capturing the zeitgeist of the technologically-naive-yet-scientifically-curious late nineteenth century and concurrently timeless due to its intrinsic interrogation of what makes a man – this 1977 film was made simply because the filmmakers thought it would look totally wizard to have actors don animal masks post-Apes and not because they had an interesting argument to supplant or support Wells' wise words.


In a CR@B Shell: A shallow and toothless splicing of a revolutionary concept watered down by a lack of passion for the argument, The Island of Dr Moreau 1977 is watchable enough fantasy fare (and it certainly isn't the most despised of the novel's adaptations), but “middling” still doesn't do justice to such a powerful and prototypic prose parable.
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And Then There Was Aslan

Book Review: THE MAGICIAN'S NEPHEW
Written by: C. S. Lewis
Originally published in: 1955
HarperCollins edition printed in: 1995
171 pages
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It has become so engrained in our cultural heritage over the last 60 years that it's fair to assume that everyone knows the story of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, whether because of the original C. S. Lewis novel, the new Disney film adaptation (reviewed HERE), or even (as is the case for this CR@B) the late 80's BBC serialisation (such nostalgia!).

For reasons unknown, however, the other (less celebrated) volumes which comprise the seven strong “The Chronicles of Narnia” completely alluded me until viewing the recent big screen reimaginings of Prince Caspian (reviewed HERE) and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (reviewed HERE). Upon hearing that Fox/Walden are next planning to eschew both the publication order and chronological order of the prose series by filming prequel The Magician's Nephew, I set about familiarising myself with the children's novella so I won't go in cold when the film eventually hits cinemas in 2014.

Written last but set before Lion..., The Magician's Nephew literally goes back to the very beginning by depicting the mythical creation of Narnia and its myriad of fantastical folk and talking animals. We are present at the very dawn of this new world, reading in awe as the great lion Aslan's song brings light then life to a void of nothingness. Lewis's renowned Christian allegory is pretty hard to miss: this is Genesis in all but name – with Aslan (God) even setting a “son of Adam” the task of plucking (but not eating) an apple from a sacred garden (Eden).

The slippery serpent's role is here taken by a familiar figure to the Narnia-verse: Jadis the White Witch, who is accidentally transported to Narnia and immediately sets herself up as Aslan's immortal foe. No catalytic cause is specified for the ensuing rivalry between the paradoxic pair, merely the corrupt Queen's malevolent lust to control everything.

Other welcome correlations to the classic series are provided by the reasoning given for the iconic lamp-post coming to be positioned in the middle of a Narnian forest, and the story's young human protagonist, Diggory Kirke, who will grow into the knowingly sympathetic Professor with the labyrinthine country mansion and magical Wardrobe.

Exploring the rafters of their semi-detached London homes one wet Summer, young Diggory and next door neighbour Polly happen upon the lad's eccentric Uncle Andrew's secret study, wherein the disagreeable old man fools the children into donning magical rings which transport them to a mystical woodland realm which allows them access to any number of universes.

Despite being understandably outdated (there are even a couple of instances of what we today would consider flagrant sexism towards women), Lewis's prose is so easy to read and so tantalisingly magical that it's hard to put down or find issue with. I was entranced from page one.

The fantasy does unfortunately get bogged down in unsubtle religious motifs; the Narnia-shaping centre-piece is so vivid in grandiose detail that it brings the book's pacing to an almighty halt. Nevertheless, uncovering the mysteries to this otherworldly realm keeps you engaged. In particular, the explanation behind Professor Kirke's mysterious wooden coat cupboard providing a gateway to Narnia is an acute retro-fit addition; the strawberry atop this already sweet cake.


In a CR@B Shell: Atmosphere and wonder take precedence over plot in this slimline children's fantasy, but The Magician's Nephew is nevertheless a charming and enchanting tale which succeeds in making Narnia all the more tangible but no less miraculous.
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