"People were always rotten" Edward G. Robinson laments in 1973's sci fi eco-dystopia cautionary tale SOYLENT GREEN. Referring to the good old days of air conditioning and top soil, he can't possibly know the irony of his statement. In point of fact, everything else is rotten, but thanks to a revolutionary, preservative-enhanced freeze-drying process, people are the only things left that ain't rotten: They stay fresh and delicious almost forever...
That famous quote, "Soylent Green is people!" is the purloined letter of the film and I don't feel guilty giving it away because it's long been part of popular culture, a 'gotcha' twist to go alongside Chuck's "Damn you all to hell! You blew it up!" rant to the Statue of Liberty at the end 1968's Planet of the Apes. Taken together, these two films are like sci-fi eco-disaster bookends, a time-loop Greatest Story Hopefully Never Told, wherein the grim future of SOYLENT is the distant past in APES. At least (we consoled ourselves) once we starved our selves off the planet, it could eventually recover. Even in the 1970s, you see, my son, overpopulation was considered a very real problem. At least they had the guts to think about it!
There was also LOGAN'S RUN (everyone dies at 30), ROLLERBALL (bloodsport sets the trends); that forgotten Bruce Dern film SILENT RUNNING (the last plants kept alive in a remote orbiting spaceship), it was all cascading out of our growing awareness that throwing our McDonald's trash out the window while driving home was wrong! There was that 1970s crying Indian. There was Pogo Earth Day poster. These things made an impact. We kids of the time still remember them...
What's disturbing about GREEN, looking back now so many years later, isn't the inevitability of cannibalism in a society choked on humans and starved on everything else, but Heston's naive flare-up of morality and outrage over it all. Why should we think it's so important to keep the terminal truth of 'you are what you eat' from the general public?
The Soylent Corp., the shadowy conglomerate behind it all, is, to my mind, doing a public service by hushing it up. The last gasp of food production in the face of global starvation, the people killing to keep it a secret should be thanked for working so hard to disguise the long pig... it's compassionate. It saves mankind from feeling worse than it already does. Why not tell the delusional Donner party matron shivering in the back of the hogan that its venison, if it gets her to eat it? By the same token, there are cancer-stricken old ladies dying right and left because they don't want to smoke pot, since its illegal and therefore poisonous... why not mix it in her brownies and just not tell her? Would Heston fight to make sure she knew, and that the granddaughter who made her the brownies went to jail? He would.
But cop Heston doesn't want to hear my rationalizations. Near the end he even sneers to his chief, "soon they'll be breeding us like cattle," and it's fitting that the stupidity of that remark is completely lost on him. One asks: With what, Chuck, will they be feeding these human cattle? If there were any feed or grass left, people would be standing in line to be bred like cattle. And 'breeding' us kind of defeats the whole point, doesn't it, Chuck? Like breeding locusts to feed an incoming swarm of locusts... or carrying coals to Newcastle, wherever that is... I assume a place that's already rife with coal.
But for every perceptive, accurate, and nihilistic prediction in GREEN, there's a few that have dated, badly. I dig that the film is not racist--Heston was on point in such matters, even marching with MLK in '63--but it is most definitely sexist. In the future, it seems, women are all sluts, heh heh, that are called 'furniture' because they don't move or pack anymore; they just stay behind for the next man who moves in, and none of this is in the novel by Harry Harrison, which is perhaps why it comes off so half-baked, if you'll forgive the expression.
I also wish to further point out the hypocrisy of Heston's outrage over the Soylent secret when earlier in the film he brings home a pound of confiscated fresh beef to Edward G. Old enough to remember when beef was ubiquitous. Robinson weeps when he sees it. No one even mentions the rough, tough sole-survivor cattle that died so Eddie and Chuck can have their purloined steak! I wonder if Heston's relatively young cop (who doesn't remember the time of ubiquitous beef) would get outraged if he know that the meat was from a cow. I can seem him being both NRA and PETA, why not? "Beef is.... Cows?! Damn you, apes!"
But amid the hypocrisy in SOYLENT is a very touching and moving sequence I need to talk about, involving the disillusioned Eddie Robinson's trip "Home." It's the real climax of the film and if you haven't seen it, stop reading here as it could count as an AMBER SPOILER ALERT!
|I got this off some Christian blog, hence the hilarious subtitle|
Upon entrance to "Home," a man and a woman in white flowing robes let you pick the color of the blazing light you want to subsume you in the chamber, and the line to get a chamber isn't very long at all! And you get a full 20 minute film to bask in, kind of like one of those surround screen exhibits at Epcot Center. I want to encourage the building of just such a room in every hospital, as a place not just for dying, but for tripping, instead of the usual clinical hospital setting where most legally approved medical experiment therapeutic tripping is done.
Most of all, I wish my 100 year-old granny could have access to an assisted suicide set-up like that one; they won't let her just die in her nursing home and she's fairly healthy for a 97 year-old. She can barely hear or see anymore, and can't walk because of a bad hip, and can't really think straight for long periods but she could be good for another 5 or 10 years. I know she'd at least like to have the option. Her own mom died at 107--and the last 17 years (!) were, as she put it even then, shamefully superfluous.
And the scene where Heston says good-bye to Robinson in the chamber is so beautiful and touching it contrasts the general misery of the rest of the movie to such an extent we can hardly bear to return. And there's a reason it's some of the best acting Heston has ever done:
"This was the 101st and last movie in which Edward G. Robinson appeared; he died of cancer twelve days after the filming, on January 26, 1973. Heston was the only member of the crew that Robinson told of his cancer (immediately before filming the scene of Robinson's character's death), knowing that this knowledge would deeply affect Heston, and therefore his playing of the scene. Robinson had previously worked with Heston in The Ten Commandments (1956) and the make-up tests for Planet of the Apes (1968)." (WIKI)John Nesbitt at Old School Reviews put it this way:
Those ARE real tears falling from the Chuckster's eyes when he gazes upon Sol's poignant farewell. Heston need not resort to his Ben Hur technique of burying his eyes to feign heartbreak; this time the tears flow . . . effortlessly and honestly. Immediate "method acting" is forced on Heston naturally since he knew that Robinson truly was dying and that this would be the last scene that the legendary actor would ever perform. Thus, the tears are real—a gut wrenching fusion of fiction and real life drama. That alone makes the film well worth examining.
Robinson's devotion to his chosen craft was full and total, so it's fitting and courageous that he uses his impending death to transform what might have been just a so-so or even hammy moment into something very, very beautiful. The film never spells out directly what's to come as Robinson enters "Home" but we have a pretty good idea and it makes the kindness of the assistants and the air conditioning extra vivid. For all the sorrow and misery in the rest of the film, before and after--all the sweaty packed-dusty starving, sweaty misery--here, finally, is some grace. Just knowing that Robinson will at least have a beautiful 20 minute drugged-out trip into the yawning blazing white yoni light of death is enough to make us happy for him. He can finally appreciate his legacy, like a painter who at last steps back to see the big picture.
And during a pause button moment he told me about how his doctors wanted to give him an enzyme treatment that might extend his life by as much as a month (and maybe not at all), but he had decided to save Medicare the $200,000.00 price tag. I thanked him on behalf of America. Without the staggering power of Lumet's film, the maginifficent acting and O'Neill's fearless dialogue, that conversation might never have happened. I was proud of my dad for his decision, and it seemed the magnificent, brooding dysfunctional drama unspooling before us was inspiring us to unleash all our boozy courage and wit to bear on the most painful and eternal of all topics...
And then the next morning I didn't even have time say goodbye, as he was in the shower when I left and my mom was hustling me to the airport. The next time I saw him, he was a bag of ashes.
If he came back as Soylent Green, I'd have a few honorary nibbles. Why not? He'd do the same of me. We're not fussy about food. Why the hell shouldn't my dad get the same sacramental props as the Big Jesus with his bread and blood red wine? Farmers can bond with their future breakfast, it's not that hard. Native Americans pray to their kills. Are you daring to say my Big Daddy's not as tasty as a cow or a buffalo or Jesus? (PS - I get my sense of gallows humor from his side of the family, so don't worry about me offending his ghost).
|Long Day's Journey into Night (1962)|
The hypocratic oath and fundamentalist bible thumpers would never let "Home" happen, of course. For them death must be a desperate, miserable, lonesome ordeal, every last inch of ground and time fought over, all so doctors can bankrupt our unborn grand children's Social Security. I say Euthanize the Vote! Naked Lunch of the future, it's time to write your last menu and testament. Then again, the doctors of our world do dish out opiated hospice-strength cocktails to the truly terminal (my mom crushed up and threw away my dad's before I could swipe it, alas), and there's angelic visiting hospice nurse Phillip Seymour Hoffman, in MAGNOLIA (1999), pretending to light LONG DAY's Jason Robards cigarette as he dies of cancer. I hope someone does that for me.