The Man Who Fell to Earth

Science Fiction tends to age badly. Over time, its predictions about science can be quaint, its politics can seem naive, and the state of the art in special effects tends to move forward with relentless speed. It's rare that a film in this genre doesn't fall into one of these traps once its distant future becomes less distant, and smartly, director Nicolas Roeg sidestepped most of these traps when he made The Man Who Fell To Earth back in the mid 1970's.

One wise step was that he didn't set his film in milieus that would really see much change over the course of time as its narrative moved into the future. A liquor store today looks pretty much the same as a liquor store did back in the 1970s. By concentrating more on the crowd than the spacecraft in a lift-off sequence, he manages to avoid much examination of whether its science seems sound. And by playing out an alien sex sequence in an abstract manner, he pretty much makes the idea of realism in its special effects seem almost moot.

In one of his first film appearances, David Bowie was such a genuinely offbeat presence that he became instantly believable as an alien and he hasn't done much since then to shake off that impression, even if you can't help but see David Bowie when you should really be seeing Thomas Jerome Newton, The Man Who Fell To Earth.

Arriving on earth in search of water to save his arid home planet (leaving behind a family that he may never see again), Newton quickly works his way up in the world of corporate wealth by patenting products that are probably commonplace on his home planet -- and again, the story proves to be realistic in the sense that these new technologies are for things like music and media-related devices -- but, for some reason, he doesn't seem able to really do any work toward his stated mission.

Maybe it's addiction that's holding him back. Newton develops a taste for alcohol once he takes up with a human lover, played with a kind of spunky naivete by Candy Clark and maybe it's his love for the sauce that makes him reluctant to return home, where they may have perfected interstellar travel but haven't figured out how to ferment some hops (I guess it would be hard to create alcohol on a planet so barren of liquids).

The collage-like editing style of director Nicolas Roeg may have seemed avant-garde when the film was released but, in this day and age of hyperactive cutting, it fits right into the mainstream. Little weird visual touches, like the coke bottle lenses in Buck Henry's spectacles or the endless parade of wigs that plays out on Candy Clark's head make the film jarring enough to play as the point of view of someone who is not of this world.

In the commentary track included on the DVD, Roeg (who comes off as much less academic and much warmer than I would have imagined), Bowie (who isn't as funny as I hoped he'd be), and Buck Henry (recorded separately) offer up some interesting tidbits. I was surprised to learn, for instance, that the sinister, floating giant balloon that appears at the start of the film was a bit of on-set serendipity and not planned in the script.

Criterion also includes a copy of Walter Tevis' novel, which was the basis for the film. After reading the novel, I was surprised at just how faithful the film actually is to the novel. I imagined that a provocateur like Roeg would have taken some serious narrative liberties like David Lynch did when he adapted Barry Gifford's novel "Wild At Heart," but I guess the story was already odd enough for him.

Certain details that Roeg covers by a quick insert or a few cuts here and there do play out in more realistic detail in the novel and Tevis' prose style is refreshingly direct and tight. It's a nice contrast to the often hyperactive visual imagination of the film to experience the story in the plain-folks, straightforward style that you get in the novel. Tevis was clearly a talented storyteller (he also wrote the novels that "The Hustler" and "The Color of Money" were based on).

A second disc of extras in this heavy-with-lagniappe release from Criterion includes an audio interview with Walter Tevis that is worth a listen and videotaped interviews with Candy Clark and Rip Torn (who, I should mention, does some excellent work in the movie). Like Al Pacino, Torn is a powerful presence who can turn in performances overflowing with hammy gusto but, when put in the right role with a strong director, he can be revelatory and his work in this film as a womanizing college professor definitely qualifies. Overall, this disc leaves one hoping that we haven't heard the last on film from Nicolas Roeg. -- Christopher Hyatt