The first thing wot I ever wrote for this here website was a little number about dystopian science fiction films. You know the kind I mean; films in which the future is depicted in ultra-pessimistic fashiom, with society having collapsed in on itself in a varying variety of savage post-apocalyptic worlds. Well, an interesting subgenre growing out of that subgenre (a sub-subgenre?) is, what I like to call, “The Last Man on Earth” film. What generally takes place in films belonging to the ”Last Man on Earth” genre should be pretty self-explanatory, but where these films differentiate from typical dystopian Sci-Fi is that they feature only one, although often a handful, of survivors in a savage post-apocalyptic world.

The most famous examples of “Last Man on Earth” films are those adapted from Richard Matheson’s incredibly influential 1954 novel I Am Legend, which concerns the fate of the sole survivor of a nuclear holocaust battling strange vampiric mutants in the crumbling remains of the world around him. The first adaptation arrived in 1964, and was retitled, appropriately enough, The Last Man on Earth. The story would be filmed again some seven years later as The Omega Man, starring Charlton Heston (who also appeared in the vaguely “Last Man on Earth”-ish Planet of the Apes), before eventually hitting the screen under the I Am Legend title in 2007 as a Will Smith vehicle. Other examples of the subgenre could include 1959′s bizarre The World, the Flesh and the Devil (starring Harry Belafonte!), creepy 70s TV movie Where Have All the People Gone?, George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (and perhaps Day of the Dead, too), and 1984′s brilliantly trashy Night of the Comet.

My personal favourite “Last Man on Earth” film, however, is a relatively little-known effort from New Zealand. The Quiet Earth begins with nuclear research scientist Zac awakening from a troubled sleep. Apparently unsettled by something, he straightens himself out, and gets ready for work. On his way to the lab he is increasingly spooked by the absence of any other people on his journey; there is no traffic on the road, his local petrol station is unattended, and most disturbingly of all, he stumbles upon the site of a horrific plane crash, but can find no traces of any persons, dead or wounded, anywhere around. After arriving at work it soon becomes apparent that the top secret and highly dangerous nuclear experiment he and his colleagues have been working on has malfuctioned and activated, resulting in every single living person being wiped off the face of the earth. Every single living person, that is, except Zac.

Part of what makes The Quiet Earth so special is that it is by far the most credible and realistic depiction of what it might actually be like to be the very last person on earth. The most realistic depiction that I’ve ever seen, anyway. Zac is brilliantly played by legendary Kiwi character actor Bruno Lawrence, and we can’t help but be riveted by and identify with the range of emotions he experiences in the wake of his grim discovery. At first he is eerily bewildered, frightened and helpless. Then, when it slowly dawns on him what must have happened, he becomes determined and pragmatic, and sets out to ensure his own survival, with the lingering hope that he just might find someone else. These feelings soon give way to painful loneliness, and then in turn to laissez-faire thrill-seeking as Zac reasons that he can at least do whatever the hell he likes (this is beautifully illustrated in a sequence in which Zac grows bored of playing with a humongous train set in a shopping mall before we cut to him gleefully piloting an actual humongous freight train, clad in full driver’s garb and smoking a cigar). Madness follows ecstasy, however, with our isolated hero declaring himself emporer of the quiet earth of the title in a ridiculous pomp and circumstance ceremony before a vast crowd of cardboard cut-outs (Hitler, Nixon etc.). Despair triumphs, finally, as Zac goes on the rampage, vandalises a church and blasts Christ off the cross with a sawn-off shotgun, demanding God himself make his presence be known.

A few other survivors turn up eventually, of course. The “Last Man on Earth” film that only has one man (or woman!) in it is a surprisingly rare thing, or perhaps not surprising, as that might be a bit boring. When Zac actually does find some other people, The Quiet Earth loses it’s way a little, and goes from frenzied fantasy to more conventional Sci-Fi. It is, of course, still highly watchable, and the tension soon mounts between guilty Zac (who feels partly responsible for the disaster) and the other survivors; tough but sensitive Joanne and a rugged Maori named Api. The three also attempt to work out how it came to be that they somehow managed to cheat the explosion, and whether or not there is anything they can do to somehow reverse it’s devastating effects. There is also the small matter of both Zac and Api developing feelings for Joanne. All this builds up to an unforgettable finale that is as chilling and cryptic as anything else in modern science fiction.

So yes, The Quiet Earth is a film of two halves and, as exciting and ultimately haunting as the second half may be, it’ll more likely be the first that will stay with you. In fact, I distinctly recall watching the start of The Quiet Earth on television as a small child. I didn’t know what it was, and of course I shouldn’t really have been watching it at such a young age, but the scene in which Zac shoots Jesus off the cross lingered in my subconcious for years afterwards, finally prompting me to seek out the film in question a few years ago. One of my favourite things about “Last Man on Earth” films (we’re going to have to think up a buzzier name for them than that) is that I often fantasise about being the last person left on earth myself, precisely so I can go mad and ransack a deserted shopping centre like Zac does in the film. Every film of this kind should have a sequence of the protagonist endulging in some unfettered plundering of tinned foods, expensive goods and fancy gadgets, and for my mind The Quiet Earth boasts the best of them all (although I do love the survivors holed up in the shopping mall in Dawn of the Dead, as well. Incidentally, I’m not the only one who feels a tiny pang of regret when Stephen blows their cover, am I? I could have watched a film were the characters simply go wild in a variety of retail outlets for hours and hours quite happily).

But allow me to reiterate that although it is the first half of the film that is noticeably better, the whole thing is still fantastic, and it is superbly directed by Geoff Murphy (keep an eye out for the mesmerising visuals in that finale). The director found initial fame with another Kiwi cult classic in the early 80s, wacky road movie Goodbye Pork Pie, but following The Quiet Earth he sadly became little more than a jobbing Hollywood helmer, finding himself behind the camera for Young Guns 2, Under Siege 2, and the appalling, Mick Jagger-starring, big budget Sci-Fi disaster, Freejack. As already noted, Bruno Lawrence is something of an icon in his native country, and appeared in many of New Zealand’s biggest homegrown hits. It’s just a shame that this likeable and extremely capable performer is not more well-known internationally, and who knows whether or not he may have appeared on more screens worldwide had he not passed away prematurely in 1995.

What better way of paying tribute, then, than by watching a clip of Bruno in his prime? Below for your enjoyment is the chilling church sequence in it’s entirety, and any suggestions for an alternative to “Last Man on Earth” film would be welcome. See ya!

One of the things that blew my mind most about BBC4′s fairly recent documentary about Pink Floyd, Which One’s Pink?, was the revelation that, way back in 1969, the BBC had roped in the prog rock pioneers to perform one of their freeform wig-outs live in the studio while the channel showed coverage of the Apollo moon landings. This substansial piece of interplanetary pop trivia had been hitherto unknown to me, at any rate, and it goes a long way to indicating the sort of intense, excited atmosphere generated by the spectacle of man landing on the moon, that a firmly establishment broadcaster like the Beeb should turn to a band of mindbending psychedelic rockers to provide a bit of background music to the news event of the decade.

Fast-forward forty years, and these days outer space seems to be the last thing on most peoples minds. Of course, it’s not our fault that all they did when they got to the moon was play a spot of golf on it, with nary an alien to be seen. They never made it to any other planets neither, and that’s not very exciting is it? But back in the 50s and 60s space was ace, and the science fiction of the time drew limitless inspiration from the science fact happening all around it. The ”Space Race” between America and the Soviet Union, which kicked off in 1957 with the Soviets sending the first satellite into space, gave space exploration a political edge, in addition to it being technological and fantastical.

Science fiction is at its very best when it reflects the dark and dangerous world around it through imaginitive and inspired allegory. This is why the Sci-Fi of the Cold War (on both sides) is so high-quality (from Invasion of the Body Snatchers to Solaris), while today the genre is utilised predominantly as a vehicle via which to sell board games and pyjamas to adolescent boys (Star Wars etc.). One interesting, overlooked film of the Space Race era is Journey to the Far Side of the Sun (AKA Doppelganger, but that’s a rubbish title). Made in the run up to, and released after, the Apollo moon landings, it is an often ingenious little film that reflects perfectly the sinister and uncertain side of man’s mad dash to conquer the final frontier.

Journey to the Far Side of the Sun has a cracking and memorable opening scene in which devious double agent Doctor Hassler breaks into the space base after hours in order to steal some valueable secrets regarding a proposed expedition across the universe. He records these secrets by scooping one of his eyes out, revealing it to be a gadget-tastic little camera, and snapping away at the coveted info. This intro serves to inject some Cold War-style espionage into the proceedings, and is also a cute way of letting us know just how important this mission is. You see, scientists have discovered the presence of a distant planet, on the far side of the sun naturally, which is mirroring the earth’s orbit exactly. Knowing that the “enemy” are keen on having a look at it too, EUROSEC (a bit like NASA, only British and not really real) speed up preparations and send off their two best men, astronauts Ross and Kane, to go and find this other planet. After a dazzling, Kubrick-esque journey through space, they crash land on the planet; Kane is killed instantly, but Ross is saved. Regaining consciousness, Ross finds that he has actually landed back on earth, and that EUROSEC are putting him on trial for sabotaging the mission. Except it’s not EUROSEC at all, it’s CESORUE! Ross soon works out that he did indeed land on the planet after all, and it’s exactly the same as earth (people, places, things), only everything’s backwards! Can he prove to the backwards equivalents of his family and friends that he’s not insane? And what of the backwards equivalent of Ross? Presumably he’s on the real earth, getting it on with Mrs Ross! The real Ross is determined to get back to the real eath at the risk of upsetting the space-time continuim, and putting the whole universe at risk.  

A superb idea for a Sci-Fi fable, packed with potential, I’m sure you’ll agree. Coming complete with a cryptic, mind-shattering finale worthy of influential science cynicists such as Bradbury and Dick, Journey to the Far Side of the Sun must have really struck a chord with certain cinema goers of a pessimistic persuasion on its release. Aside from as an insight into a time when space was still considered both frightening and captivating, there is much to enjoy about Journey… today. Perhaps most notably it is one of only a handful of live action outings by the husband and wife production team of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, most famous for TV’s Thunderbirds, of course. I think Thunderbirds is great, but even if you’re the sort of person who finds it clunky and insufferably cheesy, fear not. The Anderson’s model effects in Journey… are meticulous and sublime, if slightly dated. As already noted some of the space scenes are realised remarkably well, and even if the production team had one overly self-conscious eye on the previous year’s mega-successful 2001, they deserve credit for almost matching the impact of Kubrick’s visual feast on a tiny British budget.

The cast work well with the occassionally corny dialogue (always a factor in Sci-Fi, no matter how high-quality), and there are a host of familiar faces from both the big and small screens. Indeed, two of my favourite British actors of all time appear in Journey to the Far Side of the Sun, making it even more of a treat. The moody and magnificent Herbert Lom (who’s actually Czech) pops up at the start as Doctor Hassler, and the not quite so well known Ian Hendry plays the doomed Kane. The coldly charismatic Hendry made frequent appearances in British films and TV series throughout the 50s, 60s and 70s. Usually cast as a heavy, squaddy, doctor, cop or thug, he is perhaps most famous for his appearances in The Avengers (his character, Dr David Keel, was the series’ primary focus before the more famous John Steed took over following Hendry’s departure), Children of the Damned, Sidney Lumet’s The Hill, Polanski’s Repulsion, and Get Carter (he’s the gangster who Michael Caine laments as having eyes like “pissholes in the snow”). His best work is perhaps in the hilariously macabre Theatre of Blood (opposite Vincent Price), and he was one of the original cast members of Brookside before his death in 1984.

The career of Journey to the Far Side of the Sun director Robert Parrish is also worth rediscovery. Journey… is perhaps his best work, but aside from that he specialised in slightly off-kilter genre pictures boasting quality casts; the kitsch crime caper, Duffy (starring James’ Coburn, Mason, and Fox), the jaw-droppingly titled spaghetti western, A Town Called Bastard (Robert Shaw, Telly Savalas, Martin Landau, Fernando Rey), and an entertaining action thriller, The Marseille Contract (Michael Caine, Anthony Quinn, Mason again). These days Parrish is perhaps exclusively remembered for being one of the roll-call of directors responsible for the disaster that was Casino Royale (the original, psychedelic slapstick version), but he also directed the successful 50s buddy movie Fire Down Below, starring Robert Mitchum and Jack Lemmon, as well.

Journey to the Far Side of the Sun is well worth getting hold of for anyone who likes their Sci-Fi served up with a nice helping of grandiose paranoia and some ace retro special effects. It’s also a welcome reminder of a time when Pinewood Studios was a veritable production line for inventive British cinema, rather than a literal tax haven for bloated American productions, as it is these days.

In lieu of a clip from Journey to the Far Side of the Sun (I couldn’t find a decent one on YouTube), enjoy below Barry Gray’s stirring theme from the film, accompanied by some nice stills of Gerry Anderson’s models and what-not. You’re in good hands with the underrated Bazza, after all he did the mighty music for Thunderbirds, Stingray AND Captain Scarlet (“INDESTRUCTIBLE!!!”).

The future, eh? It ain’t what it used to be. There was a time when the world gazed dewy eyed onto the horizon and dreamily mused over what delights the dawn of a new age would herald. Food in pill form, perhaps? Flying cars, you say? What’s that? You believe that all pavements will be replaced by those travelator things that you get in airports? Why, that would be wonderful!

There were some among us, however, for whom the future did not seem so bright. We feared the breakdown of society. We shuddered at the thought of non-stop technological and scientific advancement one day becoming the proverbial noose around our collective necks. And we shit our pants at the threat of overpopulation, global warming and stuff like that. For people like us the dystopian sci-fi film, the most intriguing of all loosely defined subgenres, best projected our darkest fears and fantasies onto the silver screen (generally BBC2 at around 11pm).

But now I believe we actually are living in the future. Not only is it quite gobsmackingly the year 2008AD, but I have just seen a mobile phone what you can watch YouTube on. Why, just the other day I was perusing the Guardian website and observed that they had gone for the rather humdrum “Top Gear stars stall over contracts” over the alarming “Man gives birth to baby” as their headline. Yes, we’re a bit blasé when it comes to all this future shit now, ain’t we? America even appears to be on the cusp of electing a black president, which, as all keen science fiction students will tell you, is proof indeed that The Future Has Arrived.

What better time could there be then, to reassess some of these dark visions of the future from a bygone age, and see just how accurate they were in their predictions? Join me now on a journey back to the future (although I will not be doing the film Back to the Future, as it is not a dystopian sci-fi film. Back to the Future 2 kind of is, but I won’t be doing that, either) if you dare…

Things to Come (1936) – Written by none other than H.G. Wells (from his own novel) Things to Come does very well in getting it’s work in early. It’s not strictly the first dystopian sci-fi film (from here on in DSF), Fritz Lang’s Metropolis for example could also qualify, but I’m starting with it because it only makes sense to begin with the best prediction we’re going to hear all day. Yes, made in 1936, Things to Come predicts that four years later there will be a Second World War. It was a year off, admittedly, but we’re not going to mark it down for that, are we? Where it fares less well is in its prediction that in the aftermath of this war the world will be ruled and rebuilt by a collective of rather camp chaps calling themselves The Airmen, and that World War III will kick off in 2036 as a result of man’s first attempt to fly to the moon. That’s obviously not going to happen now.

(NB: Things to Come is now in the public domain, and therefore available for free on many websites. It is, of course, a little dated but is nevertheless excellent and boasts trailblazing set design and special effects which still astound)

The Last Man on Earth (1964) – I have opted for this version of Richard Matheson’s 1954 novel I Am Legend over the 1971 version, The Omega Man, and the 2007 version, erm, I Am Legend, for the simple reason that this one has Vincent Price in it, and the others don’t (I haven’t actually seen the 2007 version, starring Will Smith, but it is probably pants. Non?). Price stars as the titular survivor who is holed up in his bungalow listening to “jazz” on his “hi-fi”, whilst frightening, but really weak, vampire zombies waddle about outside. Can our hero, who was conveniently a scientist back in the civilised world, come up with the antidote to save these puny monsters? Or will he be doomed to spend the rest of his miserable life on his own? That is if you can really describe being plagued by vampire zombies as being truly alone. That’s one for Sartre. The film has it that these creatures came about after a bizarre plague infected the world in 1965. Now, we know this isn’t going to happen because, well, it didn’t happen. But what did happen in 1965? Well, Liverpool won the FA Cup. That definitely did happen.

(NB: The Last Man on Earth is also available for free on many websites. Whilst not quite up to Things to Come standard, if you like Vincent Price (and I know you do) it is well worth watching)

Soylent Green (1973) – We’re into the 70s now, something of a heyday for the DSF and this classic example stars none other than the late Charlton Heston, a true icon of this sort of fare, what with starring in this and The Omega Man (and to a lesser extent Planet of the Apes). Please look away now if you haven’t seen it, and you don’t want to know how it ends, but there’s no getting around this… Charlton Heston daringly plays against type as a macho, no-nonsense, beefcake police detective in an OVERPOPULATED world with CHRONIC FOOD SHORTAGE that, as a result of which leads the government to supply a STRANGE UNKNOWN FOODSTUFF called Soylent Green to the starving millions. So, there are too many people and not enough food, and the food that there is, well, nobody seems to know where it comes from? Mmmhhh… Could it be that Soylent Green is people? SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE. Yes, it could and it is. The film is set in 2022 so, to be fair, it still might happen, especially if food prices keep going the way they are. I really hope it doesn’t happen, though.

A Boy and His Dog (1974) – A proper curio, this one, so give yourself a minute or two to digest the preposterous premise. It stars a young Don Johnson, no less, as a young scavenger living in a post-apocalyptic world. His only companion is his dog, with whom he can communicate telepathically for reasons unknown to the rest of us, and who helps him to sniff out women so he can rape them. One day Don and his dog chance upon a particularly nice young lady whom Don really wants to rape, so he follows her, sans dog, into a subterranean community. This community is all done up like a quintessential American 50s white picket-fence type of place, and is ruled over by Jason Robards. Jason Robards in clown makeup. It then turns out that Robards had Johnson lured down to this community so he could use his semen to repopulate the town by injecting it into the women cos the men are no longer up to it for some reason. You’d think Johnson would be pleased, but he decides to escape after Robard’s android henchman, Michael, starts breaking people’s necks. All good stuff. Now, A Boy and His Dog takes place in the aftermath of a nuclear war so that kind of makes it a post-apocalyptic film, which is sort of a subgenre of a subgenre, in a way (see also Mad Max, which appears to have taken its look from ABAHD), but because of the Robards bit, I say it also counts as DSF. It doesn’t exactly say when it takes place, but the prologue explaining the nuclear apocalypse bit features snippets of Nixon banging on about China and the Soviet Union, which probably places it a few generations on, maybe the 90s. Now, the threat of a nuclear holocaust doesn’t seem quite as pronounced as it did in the 70s, but I still hope it doesn’t yet happen, telepathic communication with dogs or no.

Death Race 2000 (1975) – No prizes for guessing when this one’s set, then. The legendary Roger Corman produced this pulp satire concerning a futuristic, fascist America where the national sport is a cross country race in which participants must mow down and kill as many pedestrians as possible. The Death Race’s answer to Michael Schumacher is Kill Bill’s David Carradine who must outwit a terrorist group whilst staying ahead of main rival Sylvester Stallone. Oh, yes. While we were afraid of many things at the dawn of the new millennium (the Millennium Bug, the Millennium Dome, Robbie Williams’ hit ‘Millennium’), being run over by Sylvester Stallone was not necessarily one of them. Therefore, Death Race 2000 misses by miles. Also, the way oil prices are rising, it might not be too long before nobody can afford to run anybody over. So there.

Logan’s Run (1975) – This is it. The Citizen Kane… The Vertigo… The Pee Wee’s Big Adventure of DSF. I scarcely feel the need for a quick synopsis, but nevertheless allow me to take the pleasure. Logan’s Run is all about this ace futuristic world that, funnily enough, actually looks really 70s where everybody lives in this massive domed city where they kill you when you reach 30! And not only do they kill you, but they kill you in this amazing, spinning psychedelic thing that everyone calls “Carousel” and it is Michael York’s job to shoot you if you don’t want to go along with this. But he gets a bit disillusioned and him and Jenny Agutter escape from the dome and fight this mad robot that freezes people. Then they discover the ruins of the White House, and in there they find the only person over the age of 30 they have ever seen, so they decide to take him (it’s actually Peter Ustinov) back to the dome to show people that it’s ok to be over 30.

It is a testament to the enduring power of Logan’s Run that with each subsequent birthday I enjoy, I think of myself in Logan’s Run years. As it currently stands, I would only have three years left, so thank goodness the society depicted in Logan’s Run has not come to be (although you might be forgiven for thinking otherwise if you watch MTV). But it might yet, however, as it is the only film here to really cover it’s ass in terms of time by taking place in the far-flung 23^rd Century. Kudos Logan’s Run. Kudos.

(NB: If you enjoy Logan’s Run, or if you are just a bit ageist and enjoy this sort of thing generally, you should check out the simply outrageous Wild in the Streets about a 22-year-old US president who wreaks havoc on the old folks under his rule. It comes equipped with the greatest tagline in film history: “Haven’t you always wanted to put your dad in a concentration camp?” You can get it on a bargain double DVD set with Roger Corman’s similar, and similarly brilliant, Gas-s-s-s)

Escape from New York (1981) – Poor old Escape from New York would have done well to have paid attention to Logan’s Run shrewd pragmatism, asking us, as it does, to believe that by 1997 (1997!) the entire island of Manhattan will serve as a walled prison housing America’s deadliest convicts in a bleak future where the world has fallen foul of a Boris Johnson bewildering 400% increase in crime. Now, I first went to New York a few years ago, and stayed in Manhattan. Not only did I have a really pleasant holiday, but at no time did I see a single trace of it being employed as any kind of futuristic prison-style setup. So either a lot must have changed since 1997 or, more likely, that just never happened. It’s just as well, then, that Escape from New York is absolutely brilliant and Kurt Russell is sneeringly awesome as the ruthless antihero Snake Plissken, who must enter Manhattan and rescue the president who’s only gone and crashed his bloody plane there. Plissken would return in the undeserving sequel Escape from L.A., set in the year 2000 (2000!) by which time the entire city of Los Angeles has, erm, become an island on which lots of horrible criminals do reside like it is a big prison. But that is another story. Although, only slightly.

Demolition Man (1993) – It’s that man Stallone again, this time as 90s cop John Spartan awoken up from cryonic freezing (like what Disney and Hitler had done) in 2032 to capture similarly revived super villain Wesley Snipes. We’ve still got some 24 years to go before we can see how much of Demolition Man is to come true, but these are the things to look out for. Firstly, there’s been a massive earthquake and for some reason Los Angeles is now known as San Angeles. Secondly, all popular music has been replaced by 50s advertising jingles, but this would not be such a bad thing, considering it is preferable to Timberlake et al. Thirdly, somewhere between now and 2032, Arnold Schwarzenegger will have become President of the United States of America. Stallone is unsurprisingly thrilled upon hearing this. Most importantly, however, society has become a complete utopia where there is no violence, crime, murder or even swearing, and everybody seems to be really nice to each other, except to Dennis Leary, but he’s annoying old Dennis Leary, so who cares? The film, which is in no way knuckleheaded or reactionary, insists however that no such society could ever exist and that big lug musclemen like Stallone should have access to as many guns as they want so they can shoot the bad guys when they inevitably appear. Demolition Man is still immensely enjoyable at times, thanks in no small part to Wesley Snipes, who is not so much scene-stealing as film-kidnapping. There are also many gratuitous references to Aldous Huxley’s seminal DSF novel Brave New World shoehorned into the script, presumably to provide sufficient evidence that at least someone involved in the making of this film had actually once read a book.

(NB: Whilst writing about Demolition Man just now, I actually looked up the definition of the word dystopia for the first time in my life. I had always assumed it meant the opposite of utopia, but I wanted to be sure. It turns out I was correct in my lifelong held assumption)

So there we have it, a series of terrifying glimpses into the future (and, confusingly at times, also the past). So what have we learnt? That there is still much to fear from the future if one is wary of travelling to the moon, vampire zombies, bizarre foodstuff of untraceable origin, being raped by Don Johnson, being run over by Sylvester Stallone, turning 30, holidaying in Manhattan or Arnold Schwarzenegger becoming president. We have also learnt, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the exact definition of dystopia IS that it means the opposite of utopia. And we have also also surely learnt by deduction that the film of George Orwell’s DSF benchmark novel 1984, starring John Hurt and Richard Burton, can’t be particularly noteworthy, and thus is NOT a glaring omission from this list.

Here’s to the future!