Leviathan
(1989)
(SPOILERS) Two
films called Leviathan revolving
around the ill-effects of vodka, and which do you think is superior: the
Russian social commentary/ political critique or the waterlogged George Pan
Cosmatos rip-off of Alien/ The Thing? The latter is so unmemorable,
I wasn’t even certain that I’d seen it before. Compounding this is how very familiar
it feels. A pungent déjà vu lingers throughout, as the post-Alien tropes are lined up and ticked off
but never in an interesting or remotely stylish manner.
David Webb
Peoples’ (Blade Runner, Unforgiven, Twelve Monkeys) name is on the screenplay, asked for Alien underwater by the studio, but failing
to delivering a screenplay that was quite Alien
enough, which is why Jeb Stuart rewrote it. Possibly the presence of Cosmatos (Cobra, and the nominal director of Tombstone, though Kurt Russell was really
calling the shots) incapacitates any positives in the script. Certainly, while
the creature work isn’t Stan “Aliens”
Winston’s best, the director has absolutely no idea of how to make the most of
it, and Jerry “Alien” Goldsmith is
unable to ring any atmosphere from the dripping sets. Additionally, in stark
contrast to the bruising realism of James Cameron’s sub-aqua yarn of the same year
The Abyss – Deepstar Six being the low budget third in a 1989 trio of
underwater science fiction movies – Cosmatos could barely be bothered to take
the plunge; it’s all-too obvious that he’s mostly opted for simulated
underwater look (to be fair, Alex Thomson’s cinematography is solid in the
main, but it’s a lost cause).
If one is
so inclined, one can pass the time ticking off the genre clichés, which include
Machiavellian corporate manoeuvring (“This
company’s commitment is to the almighty dollar”) under the aegis of
alien-eyed Meg Foster, keeping the crew of the Tri Oceanic Mining Corporation,
with only a few days left in their 90-day shift, down below with the monster
(it’s implied the company knew about it in advance, just like Alien). Which, we learn, is a genetic
aberration. “No shit!” exclaims Ernie
Hudson’s Justin Jones on learning this detail. Hudson also gets a line almost
worthy of LL Cool J in Deep Blue Sea
when, having surfaced, they hit more problems; “Sharks! Talk about having a bad day”. It’s a line only topped by “Gone? Bitch we’re still here!” in
response to Foster’s “I realise you must
have gone through hell”. None of which gives Ernie a free pass to the end
credits, though.
The crew of Russian vessel Leviathan were subject to an unbeknownst experiment with a mutagen laced in their vodka, and there’s even a Thing-esque scene where Richard Crenna’s doctor views a computer simulation of the virus’ progress, the crew having already investigated a Thing-esque wreck with no survivors. Before long it’s necessary to break out the Thing and Alien-esque flamethrowers, always to hand in case of an aberrant freak, even deep down on the seabed.
Like Alien, the creature changes in form. Like
The Thing it retains semblances of
its victims (some of whom we assume are dead, but of course aren’t) and absorbs
their intelligence (about the only aspect that isn’t derivative is victims
remaining conscious as part of the creature, Michael Carmine’s DeJesus pleading
for help). Occasionally Winston hits the mark in a Rob Bottin, kind of gross, way,
but too often the creature amounts to a sub-Alien
thing slithering through vents, or an unconvincing giant rubber fish thing.
There’s even a chest-burster scene and a body part with teeth that isn’t a
mouth. Most mirthfully, crewmember Sixpack’s leg escapes at one point and swims
off.
And in the
realm of brazen copying, Amanda Pays strips down to her skimpies, just like
Sigourney. During the opening stages, there’s the occasional moment suggesting
a better Peoples script that was thrown out; Peter Weller’s Beck rehearses
extracts from The One-Minute Manager in
an attempt to keep control of his disrespectful crew. But, mainly, this is a
B-movie cast (Hector Elizondo, Daniel Stern is Sixpack, Richard Crenna, who
worked with Cosmatos on Rambo: First
Blood Part II, is the doctor; they go dutifully through their paces, but
they’re all fully aware this isn’t going to be anything special) with B-movie
dialogue (“Say ‘Ahhhh’, motherfucker!”,
offers Beck, nursing the strange belief that blowing the creature up might put
an end to its reign of terror; he then punches out Foster) and B-movie
motivation (all are devoid of common-sense, in common with such movies but
accentuated here, be it attempting to conceal the death of Sixpack or repeatedly
straying near infected cremates).
Quite why Search and Rescue is still about when Foster has issued a press release announcing the death of the crew is beyond me, but then so little here follows rhyme or reason, including the survivors’ miraculous ability to decompress superfast thanks to a red light announcing “Decompression” (earlier, a skull and crossbones signals oxygen depletion, which is a bit indelicate). Cosmatos has zero grasp of suspense or terror, meaning everything happens in a noisy, careless and/or gory manner, which is fairly of-a-piece with his career. Leviathan arrived at the opposite end of a decade that began with numerous cheap and shoddy Alien imitators, but managed to learn nothing in the meantime.
