I love a good disaster, the more apocalyptic the better. So
it should come as no surprise that I enjoy apocalyptic movies—even the ones on
the SyFy Channel. Especially those. My love of such movies is life long,
fostered by Hollywood’s fascination with making things burn, even in a ship
flipped upside down and sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I could list my
favourites, and The Poseidon Adventure
would be near the top of the list. But the list would spill off the end of this
page and onto the next one—and it is Independence Day. I’ve got a party to get
to. So I’ll restrict my rambling to movies where the entire
planet is under threat of destruction and the fate of the human race teeters on
the knife edge of extinction. Movies like Independence
Day.
Roland Emmerich is one of my favourite directors, and not
only because he has destroyed the White House three times. More, it’s that he
understands how to communicate the idea of an apocalypse. How it affects people
on every level—individually and globally. Blowing up the White House is a
pretty big statement. It’s the death of a very important facet of America, it’s
also a symbolic move that every other country on Earth will understand. So it makes
a great scene. But even though I’m all about the pyrotechnics, the scenes that
really get me are the little ones. The small, apparently meaningless chats
between a pair of secondary characters that illustrate the stories of the
untold millions, all reacting in very different ways to impending doom.
Though I really like Independence
Day, my favourite Emmerich movie is The
Day After Tomorrow—because it’s an ecological disaster and those are not
only timely, but based on a scary reality. Also, it has The Journey. The Journey
is one of my favourite plot devices, from fiction to science fiction. Done
well, it’s a compelling narrative and emotional thread. In The Day After Tomorrow, Jack Hall treks across America looking for
his son. That his son, Sam, is played by Jake Gyllenhaal is only coincidentally
related to my love for this film. Sorta. As the world freezes, his trek becomes
more perilous and the stakes are raised. By the end of the movie, hope is as
bleak as the landscape, despite all the warm, fuzzy moments between characters
figuring out how to survive.
Why do we find apocalypses so appealing? The chance to watch
large scale destruction is a definite draw. Movie makers and watchers alike
love ‘splosions! I went to see San
Andreas for exactly two reasons. One: Dwayne Johnson. Two: to watch a
cruise ship ride a tidal wave over San Francisco. I don’t care if it’s
plausible or possible, I just wanted to see it—and I did—and it was glorious!
There is more to disaster movies than toppling buildings,
fiery tornadoes, and gaping holes in the fabric of reality, though.
Disasters—apocalypses in particular—show the truth of humanity. Sometimes it’s
ugly, but the reason these movies are so popular is because more often, it’s
not. Inevitably, by the end of the movie, an unlikely hero has emerged. A
stranger has made a sacrifice. People with differences have banded together to
do something more important than bicker. Folks even find love. So, while
everything’s going to hell in a handbasket, people are doing what people do
best: they’re being human. And being human, to me, is being filled with hope.
We have to be in order to get past that fundamental question of ‘Why am I
here?’
So what makes a good disaster movie? There’s a definite
formula. The first scene should involve a warning. The rumble of the Earth or
an alien mothership hovering overhead. A wind that’s just a little bit too
strong to be natural. A crack appearing in the sidewalk. Then we meet the mad
scientist. This is the guy who has been prophesying ‘The End is Nigh’ for
his/her entire career. They’ve written books and have a cult following. But no
one takes them seriously until that crack in the sidewalk widens far enough to
swallow a something or someone. Which brings me to the ritual sacrifice. The
first to die. It’s a stupid and ignoble death and no one wants this part, but
it’s essential. If people don’t die, no one will take the mad scientist
seriously. And if the ritual sacrifice is related to someone important, it’s
even better.
Next, we have the estranged couple—two people who are
separated or divorced. They’re going to find their way back into one another’s
arms by the end of the movie. It’s that whole working together to achieve a
goal thing mixed in with holy-mother-of-God-we’re-all-going-to-die.
On to the kid with skillz. Doesn’t have to be a kid, but
kids are cute and when they’re threatened with serious bodily harm, the
audience naturally leans toward the front of their seats. Either way, someone
needs to figure out how to defeat the aliens, close the wormhole, protect
everyone from the triple-twister/falling building/big freeze/mutant
alligator-turtle-orangutan.
This is where a lot of disaster movies fall under criticism.
The solution. It’s either too easy, or utterly ridiculous. The aliens are
afraid of water? We can take down the shielding of an advanced species’
aircraft by using a computer virus? Nuking the sun is basically just like
hitting a light switch? Thing is—if it wasn’t doable, we’d all be dead, and
that’s really not a fun movie. And it has to be doable by ordinary people.
Yeah, often it’s the mad scientist who has the solution, or the heroic dude
with all the muscles, or the intelligent woman thrown in for the sake of diversity.
But for it to work, it has to be something the last man, woman or child on
Earth can accomplish. I have to be
able to do it. Therefore, it has to be simple.
Next up is the Hail Mary. The solution IS too simple, or the first, overly complicated version is broken.
This is where you hold your breath. Someone usually dies at this point, and
it’s not a ritual sacrifice. It’s a heartfelt one. The anti-hero is often
thrown on the pyre here, and later, when everyone emerges from the rubble with
artistic streaks of dirt across their faces, they’ll say good things about him
or her. It’s usually a him.
Finally, the movie wraps with a hint of the next disaster.
An eyelid opening, another crack in the sidewalk, a puff of smoke from the dead
volcano. This is in case they want to make a sequel—but it shouldn’t detract
from the point, which is that we survived, and that we all learned something
along the way. Might just be to move away from major fault lines, but more
usually it’s that feeling of hope. Human ingenuity and spirit triumphing
against all odds. That, right there, is why we love disaster movies, and why Independence Day embodies the spirit of
the genre. America has always been a fiercely independent nation, and you can
believe that if aliens did blow up the White House on the most celebrated date
on the calendar, they’re going to get mad enough to put their president in a
fighter jet. Fighting tyranny takes more than a reckless spirit, however. It
takes a nation as a whole. It takes people working together. It takes hope.
_____________________________________
If aliens ever do land on Earth, Kelly will not be prepared,
despite having read over a hundred stories of the apocalypse. Still, she will
pack her precious books into a box and carry them with her as she strives to
survive. It’s what bibliophiles do.
Kelly writes the CHAOS STATION series with her best friend
and writing partner, Jenn Burke. The latest release in the series, LONELY
SHORE, came out on May 25th. Visit the Chaos Station website at
http://chaosstation.com to read an excerpt
of both books. While you’re there, consider joining the mailing list for
advance notice of upcoming releases, excerpts and short stories.
Catch up with Kelly to talk disasters and books on:
