Snowpiercer
(2013)
(SPOILERS) It would be fair to suggest that Snowpiercer is fairly polarising, caught
between those berating huge holes in internal logic and those raving about thematic
depth. For witnesses of the former persuasion, there’ a need to highlight how
implausible the futuristic scenario is, and how the movie does little to make
it any less so as it progresses. This is fair comment, although how crucial it
is to enjoyment, within context of the picture’s yo-yoing tone, is debatable.
For those in the latter camp, at the other end of the scale (or rail), Jong-Ho
Boon’s latest film is a skilfully manifested allegory for the eternal mechanism
of societal and/or political power structures. Snowpiercer is undoubtedly eager to make much of this element, but
I’m not sure anyone could seriously label Boon’s sledgehammer approach deep. The
resulting film is an enjoyable, often exhilarating mess; alternatively silly on
purpose and by mistake, smart and yet dumb, thrilling but banal, both very funny
and unfortunately po-faced.
One only needs to hear a brief plot outline to raise an
eyebrow, or indeed both, at the film’s mangy premise. An experiment to defeat
global warming (using a substance called CW-7) goes horribly wrong, inflicting
a new ice age upon the Earth. The only survivors managed to board a ginormous
train, one that somehow speeds along a track that extends right around the
world (there’s a complementary enactment movie within movie called The Wilford Story, explain how “hero” Wilford
achieved this, which is amusing for its home-made quality but, really, only
emphasises rather than atones for the daftness). This train never stops (even
though there are only polar bears outside to maintain the tracks; presumably the
avalanche in the movie is the only such occurrence in 17 years) and runs on a
perpetual-motion engine (just like the indefatigable apparatus of society,
geddit?). The passengers have been instituted according to the merits of their
ticket purchase; First Class, Economy, and “the
freeloaders” (as Tilda Swinton’s grotesquely amusing Minister Mason puts
it). The latter are consigned to the rear section, existing in filth and
darkness and living off protein bars made from CGI cockroaches (the CGI in this
movie is reasonably lousy, but this isn’t a make-or-break issue). One such of
their number, Curtis (Chris Evans), is attempting the latest in a series of
revolutions; as he says to mentor and leader Gilliam (John Hurt), “All past revolutions have failed because they
couldn’t take the engine”. The writing is on the wall for Bong’s intentions
when he also announces, “If we control
the engine, we control the world”. It’s the perpetuation of control that
counts; the individual players are interchangeable.
We follow Curtis’ revolt and his progression through a
series of carriages and environments (social classes and milieu), some of them
kinetic, some dramatic, some satirical, some plain dumb. The name of Hurt’s
character is clearly invoking the controlled lunacy and dystopian fever dreams
of Terry Gilliam (as can be seen in Brazil,
12 Monkeys and most recently The Zero Theorem) but, much as some may
blanche at the idea that Gilliam possesses such a thing, Bong lacks the
giggling Python’s consistency of tone. Individual scenes are hilarious,
overblown and excessive, but the thematic content is likewise untamed. Indeed, its
director-writer lays it on with a trowel in a manner Gilliam would surely baulk
at. Bong co-wrote the screenplay to his first (mostly) English language film,
based on the French graphic novel Le
Transperceneige, with Kelly Masterson. Masterson was previously responsible
for Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead,
Sidney Lumet’s ridiculously overwrought final film.
Snowpiercer is a classic film for bringing out belittling
exchanges between those who sit on one side or other of the appreciative fence.
The rallying cry of those who adore the movie tends towards “You didn’t
understand it”. One area that consequently invites much discussion and
brickbats is literalism, and drawing attention to logical deficiencies in a
narrative; or, missing the wood for the trees, as seems to be general beef
towards those fixing on inconsistencies. I don’t think it’s quite as simple as
that; after all, there’s no “one-size fits all” to critical gaze. Sometimes examining
the innards is entirely justified, as the plot invites scrutiny through the
nuts and bolts of its construction (for example, a detective thriller). It can
be a basic requirement for anyone who values verisimilitude. At others such
evaluation can become an obstacle to embracing the otherwise merits and the
cut-and-thrust of a piece; be that an emotional core, an overt commentary or a
pervading subtext. If the latter aspects are strong enough and sufficiently well
executed then other criticisms ought
to become negligible or mere niggles. I say this because, though the idiocy of
the premise of Snowpiercer didn’t affect
my enjoyment, I can quite see how it could
be a turn-off and I wouldn’t seek to disavow another’s view of the picture on
that basis.
At the same time, though, I’m not fully on board with the
free pass approach of, “Well, duh, stupid! It’s an allegory! It doesn’t have to
make sense”. Which is effectively what Bong told Chris Evans, just without the
“duh, stupid”. The real trick, as alluded to in the preceding paragraph and
arguably where Snowpiercer doesn’t
fully succeed, is that if your allegory, or more simply put your story, is sufficiently
compelling the viewer isn’t going to become mired in questioning the supporting
paraphernalia of the fictional world. Bong engages in more tonal shifts in Snowpiercer than a John Landis movie and,
if as many hit the target as miss, it means he struggles to sell some of his
more provocative moments just as he invites derision for some of his less
considered.
Some have paralleled the film with The Matrix Reloaded, and it was persistently in my thoughts as it
concluded. Unlike most who have made the comparison, I think it’s Snowpiercer that suffers. Not because Reloaded is wholly successful (it
certainly is not, although I like it a whole lot more than most; it’s Revolutions where great chunks are
redundant), but because it is genuinely more audacious, and less on-the-nose,
in saying essentially the same thing and in so doing pulling the rug from under
viewer expectations. Both pictures arrive at the point where a character
unleashes a torrent of exposition; the excessive loquacity of Will Ferrell’s
Architect and here Ed Harris’ Wilfred. We discover that everything that has
transpired is part of a pre-determined system; even the insurgencies have been
planned out (both pictures emphasises cyclical culls or resboots, in order to
keep the presiding structure essentially intact). The “Revolt of the Seven” stands as an annual reminder, a cautionary
tale to those who don’t submit to the prevailing world of the train. This is an
edifice of conditioning, of which even those who are self-aware at the top and
bottom – Wilfred, and Gilliam – are inmates; “We are all prisoners in his hunk of metal”. The lie presented is
that there is no other way; it this is the lie that allows Wilfred to justify
his horrific choices. That it is for the good of all, the perpetuation of the
eternal machine. As Wilfred tells the stunned Curtis, “It is easier for someone to survive on this train if they have some
level of insanity”; as such he takes it upon himself to ensure that “We need to maintain a proper balance of
anxiety, fear, chaos, horror, in order to keep life going. And if we don’t have
that, we need to invent it”.
All well and good; it’s a particularly neatly placed idea
that the mechanism of control is mutually agreed at top and bottom; “The front and the tail are supposed to work
together”. That hierarchies, at whatever level of social order, or under
whichever political system, essentially amount to the same thing. Where Snowpiercer stumbles is that its
allegory needs to be especially affecting if it is to justify the excesses in
plot and tone. Some may celebrate Bong’s inconsistency, but the danger is that
the stuff that really matters fails to cohere. When Wilford follows his explanations
with “The train’s the world, we the
humanity” you have to even question the validity of labelling Bong’s
picture an allegory. Is it any longer an allegory when announces explicitly
what it is? When there is no hidden meaning for the viewer or reader to surmise
for themselves? I can see how Bong went and did it; he got so carried away he
wanted to make the statement outright. It’s the same kind of thinking that
leads to the achingly literal device of showing where all the children
disappeared to; they have become mere parts in the engine, replacing its
failing gears. This is what the system does! It makes slaves of us before we
have a chance to think for ourselves!
Where Snowpiercer
and The Matrix (Reloaded and Revolutions)
differ is that Bong offers an olive branch of hope; unlike the Wachowski’s
endless cycle, it is possible to step
off the train and strike out, ploughing one’s own furrow based on one’s own
principles. As such it’s the children (Marcanthonee Reis as Timmy) and the free
thinkers (Ah-sung Ko as psychic Yona) who will inherit the earth. Those such as
Nam (Kang-ho Song) can see that it is possible to survive outside of the
pre-ordained milieu (he uses the same faculty to do so that got humanity into
this mess – scientific reasoning – but he is notably a drug addict, a
traditional a disillusioned reject from society; its debatable whether drug use
stands as a freer from or just another control system, but it’s a handy
metaphor in this case). Perhaps Bong’s Catholic background comes into play
somewhere here, even subtextually; psychic abilities are the closest anyone
comes in the film to displaying spiritual consciousness; a personal awareness
that is, as opposed to the trappings of religious iconography voiced by Mason
and her “The engine is sacred, and
Wilfred is divine! Wilfred is merciful!” Likely, Bong is lumping any system
of control, be it religious or scientific (The
Host also had a dim view of the latter’s propensity for misapplication) in with
wider social and political rule.
If Snowpiercer and The Matrix (Revolutions)
conclude on different notes, Neo and Curtis arrive at the position of
self-sacrifice from very different places. True, both are chosen, but Neo is
relatively guileless and well meaning. Curtis, in a customarily strong
performance from Evans, leads the recognisable path of the revolutionary who
becomes that which he despises; a predilection for power and control (despite
protestations to the contrary from Curtis) is the corrupting influence, no
matter which side of the social divide one sits on. Curtis is willing to
sacrifice his men as pawns in a game (most notably Jamie Bell’s Edgar, whom he could
have saved but instead he chose to press onwards). It is also evident that Bong
is not going to single him out as the kick-ass action maestro like Grey (Luke
Pasqualino). Curtis notably fluffs his chance to take out heavy Franco the
Younger (Vlad Ivanov), a failure that results in many of his friends dying.
The contrast between Evans’ earnest performance and the
rapacious scenery chewing elsewhere is mostly effective; in fact, the
performances are one of the few areas where Bong can’t be faulted. There’s a
refreshingly international melange of acting styles on display. But this kind of mismatching doesn’t help
Evans in the crucial and in/famous “I
know that babies taste best” scene (this is a line Harvey Weinstein
apparently wanted excised). The idea behind it is sound enough; the depths we
can plunge to, where the man we thought was the hero is actually one who was
reduced to the status of a wild animal, doing anything to stay alive, but it’s
far from a rending moment. For it to be, we’d have to be sold on the world
created and the characters that inhabit it. As colourful and crazy as it is, it
never attains any level of depth so Curtis’ revelation fails to deliver a gut
wrenching impact. Especially when we are told, “One by one others started cutting off arms and legs”, to provide
food. It conjures images of a Monty Python sketch. Who knows, perhaps Bong
meant it to be darkly humorous. Either way it’s an uneasy line and I don’t
think the scene sustains the intent. The problem is, as with the kid in the machine,
it falls on the wrong side of “a bit silly” and so fails to carry a really
hefty punch.
It should be little surprise then that the aspects of Snowpiercer I enjoyed most don’t relate
to its ungainly allegory. If Bong is absent of the more usual Gilliam surrogate
of the dreamer protagonist oppressed by a malignant external world, at times he
successfully summons the cartoonist’s lunatic spirit of wonderful weirdness.
Top of the list is Swinton’s deranged performance as Mason, a strangled
mish-mash of Maggie Thatcher and Janet Street Porter combed over with a broad
Yorkshire accent (“This is not a shoe.
This is disorder”). With this and The
Zero Theorem (and her work with
Wes Anderson) Swinton seems to be having enormous fun letting her hair down and
playing broad at the moment, and she’s enormous fun to watch.
The various carriages encountered initially suggest we’re progressing
through the levels of a computer game, or a spin-off from The Raid, since various effectively staged fights ensue (the odd
handheld aside) taking in brutal weaponry, including gimps wielding choppers
dripping with the blood of a dead fish and an attack by guards wearing night
scopes that turns into a flaming rumble. There’s also a nutty shootout between
far distant carriages as the train rounds a long, long bend. Along the way we
see a ceiling aquarium, a cramped rave, a Victorian tropical garden, a school
and a meat locker along with various other distractions including tailoring,
dentistry, steam baths, computers and cages. Best of the lot is the school
class, where an egg proffering schoolteacher disengages from indoctrinating her
children to open fire at Curtis and company with a machine gun. It’s utterly
batty and very funny.
As engaging as Snowpiercer
is, I don’t feel it is owed a debt of gratitude for actually saying something
about something. Bong’s at his best here when he’s revelling in the weirdness
of his world, rather than over-enunciating his allegory. It’s a much more
interesting, if still very flawed, piece of work than last year’s technically
brilliant but intellectually banal Elysium,
but what it has to say and the means by which it says it are frequently as
clumsy as they are enervating.
