WARNING: REVIEW CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS - ONLY READ IF YOU'VE SEEN THE FILM
Futureworld is the weak follow-up to the superb Westworld (7). While points can be awarded for the fact that it tries to do something new with the format, it ultimately proves the adage that less is more.
Whereas Westworld had a childishly simple - yet devilishly effective - plot, Futureworld's plot is muddled and lacks focus. The start of the film is a mock quiz show, reminiscent of the later Running Man which, unlike the original's news report, doesn't make things abundantly clear for the audience. This gives us Jim Antonio as "Ron", the quiz winner who receives a free trip to Delos. While his introduction pre-credits would lead you to believe that Ron would be a major character, he's quickly fazed out about halfway into the film, his blatantly unamusing "southern hick" act not achieving any of the laughs required. I wonder what happened to Ron? Did they bother to duplicate him? Did he become head of the project? Was he killed off? Who cares?
We are then introduced to Peter Fonda, star of Cheesy Rider, sporting a haystack on his head courtesy of the stylish seventies. He's paired with Blythe Danner as "Socks" Ballard, a nickname given to pretend that she has a character or is in any way interesting.
Ultimately, Westworld, for it's "robot-goes-mad-and-kills-people-in-theme-park" is good science fiction. Futureworld is bad science fiction. Robot doubles taking over the Earth. Samurai warrior robots that teleport into a rocket. A device that records dreams. A holographic chess set, which involves Fonda and Danner looking at a board then cutting to a close-up of some blokes dressed up as knights and painted bright red. All it needs is for some nude female aliens to land and say "show us this Earth custom you have called love."
For the majority of the film every time we see something good, it's followed by something lame. We see an impressive rocket set, with a huge, awesome circular doorway. We then see a "Martian ski" setting, which are basically shots of skiing in normal snow, the film print rather obviously tainted red. And like Mars has snow and all...
The initial dream sequence isn't that bad as it features random, spooky images like the girl and her dog. But then it cuts to a protracted chase sequence, which pays lip service to Yul Brynner. You know, the scary guy from the first film? Well, it turns out "socks" has the hots for this brooding slaphead and his element of danger and so fantasises about him. That's right. Bring him back to miscast him. Imagine if Terminator II had a completely different cast of characters and they brought back Arnhuld to do a cameo song and dance routine in a dream. That's what this is like. The scenes of Brynner dancing with Danner are so embarrassing I couldn't actually bear to watch the screen.
Some characters are okay. Stuart Margolin as Harry, and his oddly poignant scenes with his robot friend Clark do carry some weight, though his odd way of telling Danner that he and a pal once slept with some robots and that they "blew some fuses that night" are unsettling. Believe me, this is not a conversation that would appeal to a lady. I should know, I've tried it. On several occasions.
But it's the end where it all comes down. After the main protagonist has been reduced to a laughing stock, we find the real villains this time are robot doubles of the two leads. The fact that you've been watching a film that has such a small budget that Delos is controlled by 1960s oscillators unconsciously tells you that they won't have the budget to do a convincing split screen. So the wooden Fonda tries to shoot himself from long distance, and my God, he's not scary at all - just a rather silly old man in huge glasses and a suit with flared trousers.
The film is 16 minutes longer than the snappy Westworld, and its runtime is built up by dull chases, which are padded with even duller incidental music. But the major, desperate flaw with this just-about-adequate sequel is that there is absolutely no suspense or tension. We know that there's probably something going on, because Fonda tells us at regular intervals. ("There's probably something going on", he says). But the fact that we are not shown this until the final quarter of the movie, and that nothing but his suspicions have alerted us to this fact, mean that a catatonic state is inevitable before the big climax. After the wonderful original, this dated pap comes as a crashing disappointment. 5/10.
Futureworld is the weak follow-up to the superb Westworld (7). While points can be awarded for the fact that it tries to do something new with the format, it ultimately proves the adage that less is more.
Whereas Westworld had a childishly simple - yet devilishly effective - plot, Futureworld's plot is muddled and lacks focus. The start of the film is a mock quiz show, reminiscent of the later Running Man which, unlike the original's news report, doesn't make things abundantly clear for the audience. This gives us Jim Antonio as "Ron", the quiz winner who receives a free trip to Delos. While his introduction pre-credits would lead you to believe that Ron would be a major character, he's quickly fazed out about halfway into the film, his blatantly unamusing "southern hick" act not achieving any of the laughs required. I wonder what happened to Ron? Did they bother to duplicate him? Did he become head of the project? Was he killed off? Who cares?
We are then introduced to Peter Fonda, star of Cheesy Rider, sporting a haystack on his head courtesy of the stylish seventies. He's paired with Blythe Danner as "Socks" Ballard, a nickname given to pretend that she has a character or is in any way interesting.
Ultimately, Westworld, for it's "robot-goes-mad-and-kills-people-in-theme-park" is good science fiction. Futureworld is bad science fiction. Robot doubles taking over the Earth. Samurai warrior robots that teleport into a rocket. A device that records dreams. A holographic chess set, which involves Fonda and Danner looking at a board then cutting to a close-up of some blokes dressed up as knights and painted bright red. All it needs is for some nude female aliens to land and say "show us this Earth custom you have called love."
For the majority of the film every time we see something good, it's followed by something lame. We see an impressive rocket set, with a huge, awesome circular doorway. We then see a "Martian ski" setting, which are basically shots of skiing in normal snow, the film print rather obviously tainted red. And like Mars has snow and all...
The initial dream sequence isn't that bad as it features random, spooky images like the girl and her dog. But then it cuts to a protracted chase sequence, which pays lip service to Yul Brynner. You know, the scary guy from the first film? Well, it turns out "socks" has the hots for this brooding slaphead and his element of danger and so fantasises about him. That's right. Bring him back to miscast him. Imagine if Terminator II had a completely different cast of characters and they brought back Arnhuld to do a cameo song and dance routine in a dream. That's what this is like. The scenes of Brynner dancing with Danner are so embarrassing I couldn't actually bear to watch the screen.
Some characters are okay. Stuart Margolin as Harry, and his oddly poignant scenes with his robot friend Clark do carry some weight, though his odd way of telling Danner that he and a pal once slept with some robots and that they "blew some fuses that night" are unsettling. Believe me, this is not a conversation that would appeal to a lady. I should know, I've tried it. On several occasions.
But it's the end where it all comes down. After the main protagonist has been reduced to a laughing stock, we find the real villains this time are robot doubles of the two leads. The fact that you've been watching a film that has such a small budget that Delos is controlled by 1960s oscillators unconsciously tells you that they won't have the budget to do a convincing split screen. So the wooden Fonda tries to shoot himself from long distance, and my God, he's not scary at all - just a rather silly old man in huge glasses and a suit with flared trousers.
The film is 16 minutes longer than the snappy Westworld, and its runtime is built up by dull chases, which are padded with even duller incidental music. But the major, desperate flaw with this just-about-adequate sequel is that there is absolutely no suspense or tension. We know that there's probably something going on, because Fonda tells us at regular intervals. ("There's probably something going on", he says). But the fact that we are not shown this until the final quarter of the movie, and that nothing but his suspicions have alerted us to this fact, mean that a catatonic state is inevitable before the big climax. After the wonderful original, this dated pap comes as a crashing disappointment. 5/10.