Congo
(1995)
I doubt that Congo
would be top of anyone’s list of Michael Crichton adaptations. Indeed, the
Golden Raspberries (generally a
boorishly literal arbiter of quality) gave it the dubious honour of seven
nominations. I don’t think it’s nearly as bad as that rotting garland might
suggest, although neither is it especially good. The picture’s one saving grace
is a sensibility usually quite foreign to Crichton’s self-important storytelling;
it sets out to have a bit of fun.
Post-Jurassic Park,
there was renewed interest in the author’s work (the ‘80s were significant for producing
only under-achieving directorial efforts from Crichton himself), and the
prospect of utilising the CGI that brought dinosaurs to life was seen as the key
to realising the apes of Congo. This
stumbled when hair was found to be tricky (even the King Kong remake, 10 years later, renders a very definitely CG
creation for all its detail; even with Rise
of the Planet of the Apes, for my money suits and animatronics are less
distracting). Kathleen Kennedy sequestered Stan Winston to make ape the suits,
which are pretty good for what they are, and brought in hubby Frank Marshall to
direct. As I understand it, Crichton wasn’t overly impressed with the results
and wished he’d been consulted. I don’t think that would have helped matters, as
a big part of the picture’s problems derive from his source material.
Crichton was inspired to write a King Solomon’s Mines-style adventure, and pitched it as a film even
before he’d written the novel (which was published in 1980). So this is a tale
of lost cities, valuable diamonds, strange tribes, exploding volcanoes and hitherto
undiscovered animal species. And, being Crichton, cutting edge technology. In
the novel, the diamonds were required for boring old semiconductors. The movie
changes this so they now power communications lasers. Much sillier and zappier,
and therefore appropriate to the general tone. Also to be learnt from Congo; African countries in a state of
political upheaval are a whole a lot of fun! Did I mention the talking ape,
Amy? I guess she’s the key attraction. I’ve never really seen the appeal of
monkey movies, Planet of the Apes
excepted. Their underling anthropomorphic tendencies don’t draw me in, and
having one talk in a computerised girly voice derived from sign language does
nothing to persuade me otherwise. But this is element makes it abundantly
clear; the only way to adapt the
novel without throwing out half the plot is to embrace its essential silliness.
With a talking ape you can’t even rely on a sub-Indiana Jones semi-seriousness.
Having said that, Congo
probably has more merit than the most recent Indy movie (it’s a close call, but at least Congo makes me laugh in places). The production actually bothered
going to Africa to film, while Spielberg and Lucas showed stayed at home. If Crystal Skull looks like it was
filmed entirely on sound stages (even the bits that weren’t), the joins in Congo are readily apparent, particularly
during the lost city climax. That seems appropriate, however. I can’t imagine
any version of this movie not being cheesy. If it had been made during the ‘70s
it would have featured Doug McClure.
As such, Frank Marshall is exactly the right guy for the
job. Spielberg’s long time producing partner has only directed four features
but could have directed 10 for all I knew. He’s so anonymous that I confuse him
with another of the Spielberg family, Joe Johnston. Marshall debuted with Arachnophobia, trumpeted to be Jaws for spiders to public indifference.
I suspect it was too formulaic in its adventure-comedy styling, aware that a
determined effort to make spiders scary would be a tougher sell than it seemed.
He followed it with plane crash cannibalism,
Alive. He’s competent, but so bland. You could interchange his with
Johnston’s work on the same year’s
Jumanji and I doubt that anyone would notice the difference.
Confusing the key personnel seems to be a running theme for
me with this movie. I had the vague recollection that Chris O’Donnell was the
lead. Remember O’Donnell, the least memorable would-be young star of the ‘90s?
I guess devotees of NCIS: Los Angeles
will respond in the affirmative. I’ve never troubled myself with it, and I
doubt I am missing out. Having also never bothered with Nip/Tuck, I had no idea who actual
lead of this picture was even on seeing his name. The visage of Dylan Baker only drew blanks.
Was this the slightly less shlubby older brother of Seth Rogen? What had the
director seen in him? What had the director seen in the script? Michael
Crichton’s name in bold letters, probably. Baker’s ape fancier is as unengaging
as Marshall’s direction, so they suit each other perfectly.
It could have been so different. Bruce Campbell, who appears
in the prologue as the leader of the lost expedition that ignites the plot, was
up for Baker’s role. Instead he received the consolation prize of a character that
is offed in the first five minutes. He’s a blast during those few minutes,
coming on great guns and with lines like “This
whole place does the shimmy!” you’d think he was adlibbing. The makers add
insult to injury by dangling the carrot that he might be still alive (Laura
Linney’s motivation for going in search) only for his (or an extra’s) corpse to
show up during the third act.
But, imagining Campbell as the lead, the movie suddenly
makes sense. You can see him trading ham with Tim Curry, Delroy Lindo and Ernie
Hudson. And the grating cuteness of the gorilla expert and his ape companion
takes on a whole new dimension of self-awareness. The picture instantly becomes
a camp classic, making a virtue out of all its deficiencies. The point where
Baker, the animal lover, pulls out a gun and starts killing angry apes becomes
hilarious if Campbell replaces him.
In the final film it is spectacularly misjudged. A movie
that, if it has any message, is about man messing with nature rather than preserving
it (a hot Crichton theme that, interfering with the natural order) climaxes
with the protagonists blasting the aberrant new species into extinction. And
we’re presumably supposed to go along with this? I mean, it is funny because it’s such an oblivious
choice. And the sight of Laura Linney laser-zapping the crazed creatures is spectacularly
silly ("Put them on the endangered species list!"). The novel speculated that these apes where gorilla/chimpanzee hybrids or
gorilla/human hybrids. The latter is unsurprisingly dropped as this is very
much a kids’ movie, but thematically it makes sense; the interaction between
Baker and Amy verges on Max Mon Amour
tenderness.
So be grateful for the trio of Curry, Hudson and Lindo.
Linney is game, but her role doesn’t allow for much exaggeration; Grant Heslov,
Joe Don Baker and Joe Pantoliano all make an impression, and there’s an early
role for Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje. But none of them are blessed with the
opportunities for scene-chewing that these three wholeheartedly seize. Curry
plays a “Romanian philanthropist”
complete with an outrayyygeous accent that wouldn’t sound out of place on an
episode of ‘Allo”Allo. I’ve never
paid much attention to Hudson’s career; he’s the most boring part of Ghostbusters, so I didn’t expect him to
be so funny. His accent is that of a posh English toff and his cheerful bravado
towards adventure is a consistent high note; “Monroe Kelly; I’m your… great white hunter for this trip. Though
I… happen to be black”. Hudson is
having a great time. “I’m black, I should
have luggage on my head” he says, as explanation for a tribesman’s surprise
that he is head of the expedition. Lindo is only on screen for a few minutes,
but his heavily accented (they’re all at it!) Captain Wanta manages to steal a
scene from Curry (no mean feat) as he screams at him “Stop eating my sesame cake!”)
If it weren’t for Timeline,
Congo might even hold the dubious
distinction of being the worst Crichton adaptation. Unlike Timeline, Congo was a
moderate hit. It made the Top 10 of the summer of ’95 to the tune of $150m
(inflation-adjusted). I don’t think anyone’s going to claim Marshall did the
novel a great disservice. You can’t make a silk purse out of a gorilla’s ear.
And for the first two-thirds the picture splutters along in a likably silly
fashion. Come the lost city, however, and the director is engulfed with
substandard clichéd action heroics and plot developments. The earlier sections
had a bit of fun with the familiar tropes, but by the end they just become
tiresome.
**