I've been told that people either love or hate this film, that it was weird and random; that it made very little sense, and that it would appeal to my appreciation for the bizarre. Though initially skeptical, I was sold by these words of warning. These were all the proper ingredients for a perfect film.
Yet The Forbidden Zone, a compromise between Rocky Horror and Monty Python, directed with questionable funding, talent, and motives, didn't work for me. I feel that it's my duty in life to support all misunderstood cinematic acts of deranged genius, so it therefore troubles me that I don't feel compelled to celebrate this one. What could have gone wrong? I guess my search begins by attempting to define what makes a "weird" film work. In my opinion, there are two ways. The first is when a director leads you through the weirdness with care and craft. Even in a film like Napoleon Dynamite, which makes no attempt to explain or even acknowledge its own purposeless randomness, the director is very consciously presenting this as if it were perfectly normal of both life and cinema, creating carefully calculated reactions of confusion and humor. These films work because the directors make them work. They cause you to either embrace the weirdness or to at least appreciate it.
The second way in which a "weird" film can work is quite the opposite. A "weird" film can succeed when the director has no intention of making it weird. These are the much beloved "b-movies" made by directors who had fully intended to be taken seriously, but who were simply too bizarre to be seen as anything else. Ed Wood's Glen or Glenda is my favorite specimen of this kind of film. No one really knows what expectations Wood had for this film, but unrestrained laughter at a Satan with pipe cleaners for eyebrows certainly wasn't it. These films work because they present weirdness in its truest form, without the hindrance of a conscious lens attempting to frame and explain it. They are pure weirdness incarnate. No artificial ingredients added.
But The Forbidden Zone falls into neither of these categories. Its particular brand of weirdness can best be compared to a party. Imagine arriving at a friend's party and discovering that you don't know any of the guests. They all grew up together and know your friend intimately, which makes matters all the more awkward. Your friend makes only the most meager of attempts to introduce you and make you feel welcomed, so the conversation quickly descends into old stories and in-jokes with which you have no familiarity. The Forbidden Zone is this friend, whom you are dependent upon for clarity and involvement, but who makes no effort to tailor the conversation (film's content) to your level of understanding. Rather than make any effort to present it to you, it merely leaves you to bear witness to the madness, watching gags and humor that seem very entertaining to the actors and director, but which only manage to evade and confuse you.
I'm the kind of person who can find the unexpected use of the word "carrot" funny, so I don't consider myself a prude when it comes to off-kilter weirdness. But "carrot" can only be funny when we have some guess as to why it was said; what reaction it was intended to provoke. A stranger on the street, muttering "carrot" without context or helpful facial expression, is someone who causes us to move to the other side of the street and avoid eye contact. It's more an anomaly than humor. The Forbidden Zone rubs me the same way. The plot is incomprehensible, the humor is odd, over the top, and carelessly delivered, and as we watch this whole mess unravel, we're given no entrance point. We don't identify with the characters, we don't care about the plot, and we're not given any context for understanding the weirdness (which is everywhere). Granted, a film can do without any two of these things. But for all three to be absent, it leaves an audience with no incentive for following along.
The production value of this film is a similar problem. Imagine an amateur home video that some eight year old kids put together. Now imagine a masterpiece of cinematography, complete with ingenious special effects and evocative, expressionistic backgrounds. Now imagine a compromise, somewhere between the two, but far from being either. It's hard to tell when this mediocrity is fully intended, and when it's entirely accidental. No doubt the cardboard walls of Cell 63 are an intended part of the film's look and feel, but what do we make of the characters' entryway into the Forbidden Zone, which includes them pressing themselves against a wall with a giant mouth painted on it, for one second too long, before the scene cuts to a cartoon of them journeying down the esophagus? I personally have no idea.
This film does have some high points that almost make the view worthwhile. Danny Elfman's appearance as Satan is highly amusing for the first two seconds, before his subplot descends into similar incomprehensibility and then ends just as quickly. My favorite moment had to be the death of the queen, which was surprisingly well done and clearly quite funny. Unfortunately, it was not enough to redeem the film for me.
In all fairness, this film has no responsibility to make itself understood. It's important to keep in mind that this was a college project, no doubt produced for the pleasure of a very small and specific audience. In this sense, exclusive humor might well be appropriate. It's not Richard Elfman (director) who owes me a response to my dumbfounded "What the F***?" It's the fan base that I don't understand, the people who have kept this alive as a cult classic phenomenon. Clearly, they're seeing something in the film that I'm not, and that frustrates me beyond belief.
Yet The Forbidden Zone, a compromise between Rocky Horror and Monty Python, directed with questionable funding, talent, and motives, didn't work for me. I feel that it's my duty in life to support all misunderstood cinematic acts of deranged genius, so it therefore troubles me that I don't feel compelled to celebrate this one. What could have gone wrong? I guess my search begins by attempting to define what makes a "weird" film work. In my opinion, there are two ways. The first is when a director leads you through the weirdness with care and craft. Even in a film like Napoleon Dynamite, which makes no attempt to explain or even acknowledge its own purposeless randomness, the director is very consciously presenting this as if it were perfectly normal of both life and cinema, creating carefully calculated reactions of confusion and humor. These films work because the directors make them work. They cause you to either embrace the weirdness or to at least appreciate it.
The second way in which a "weird" film can work is quite the opposite. A "weird" film can succeed when the director has no intention of making it weird. These are the much beloved "b-movies" made by directors who had fully intended to be taken seriously, but who were simply too bizarre to be seen as anything else. Ed Wood's Glen or Glenda is my favorite specimen of this kind of film. No one really knows what expectations Wood had for this film, but unrestrained laughter at a Satan with pipe cleaners for eyebrows certainly wasn't it. These films work because they present weirdness in its truest form, without the hindrance of a conscious lens attempting to frame and explain it. They are pure weirdness incarnate. No artificial ingredients added.
But The Forbidden Zone falls into neither of these categories. Its particular brand of weirdness can best be compared to a party. Imagine arriving at a friend's party and discovering that you don't know any of the guests. They all grew up together and know your friend intimately, which makes matters all the more awkward. Your friend makes only the most meager of attempts to introduce you and make you feel welcomed, so the conversation quickly descends into old stories and in-jokes with which you have no familiarity. The Forbidden Zone is this friend, whom you are dependent upon for clarity and involvement, but who makes no effort to tailor the conversation (film's content) to your level of understanding. Rather than make any effort to present it to you, it merely leaves you to bear witness to the madness, watching gags and humor that seem very entertaining to the actors and director, but which only manage to evade and confuse you.
I'm the kind of person who can find the unexpected use of the word "carrot" funny, so I don't consider myself a prude when it comes to off-kilter weirdness. But "carrot" can only be funny when we have some guess as to why it was said; what reaction it was intended to provoke. A stranger on the street, muttering "carrot" without context or helpful facial expression, is someone who causes us to move to the other side of the street and avoid eye contact. It's more an anomaly than humor. The Forbidden Zone rubs me the same way. The plot is incomprehensible, the humor is odd, over the top, and carelessly delivered, and as we watch this whole mess unravel, we're given no entrance point. We don't identify with the characters, we don't care about the plot, and we're not given any context for understanding the weirdness (which is everywhere). Granted, a film can do without any two of these things. But for all three to be absent, it leaves an audience with no incentive for following along.
The production value of this film is a similar problem. Imagine an amateur home video that some eight year old kids put together. Now imagine a masterpiece of cinematography, complete with ingenious special effects and evocative, expressionistic backgrounds. Now imagine a compromise, somewhere between the two, but far from being either. It's hard to tell when this mediocrity is fully intended, and when it's entirely accidental. No doubt the cardboard walls of Cell 63 are an intended part of the film's look and feel, but what do we make of the characters' entryway into the Forbidden Zone, which includes them pressing themselves against a wall with a giant mouth painted on it, for one second too long, before the scene cuts to a cartoon of them journeying down the esophagus? I personally have no idea.
This film does have some high points that almost make the view worthwhile. Danny Elfman's appearance as Satan is highly amusing for the first two seconds, before his subplot descends into similar incomprehensibility and then ends just as quickly. My favorite moment had to be the death of the queen, which was surprisingly well done and clearly quite funny. Unfortunately, it was not enough to redeem the film for me.
In all fairness, this film has no responsibility to make itself understood. It's important to keep in mind that this was a college project, no doubt produced for the pleasure of a very small and specific audience. In this sense, exclusive humor might well be appropriate. It's not Richard Elfman (director) who owes me a response to my dumbfounded "What the F***?" It's the fan base that I don't understand, the people who have kept this alive as a cult classic phenomenon. Clearly, they're seeing something in the film that I'm not, and that frustrates me beyond belief.