Film of the Day – Journey to the Far Side of the Sun (Robert Parrish, 1969)
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!!!”).
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