Sam Neill seemed an odd choice for a John Carpenter
film...
His first association with
Carpenter came in 1992, with Memoirs of an Invisible Man. The qualities
that Carpenter typically traded in - a slick yet pulpy comic book dynamism, with
characterisations typically drawn in a blue-collar directness - seemed
diametrically opposed to the reserved, even uptight, and softly spoken demeanour
that Neill typically evoked - and had reinforced with other films of that era
such as Dead Calm (1989) and The Hunt for Red October (1990). A
year before Memoirs, he'd given us a quirkier and working-class
characterisation in the Australian black comedy, Death in Brunswick,
but, on the whole, it was local audiences only who came out to see it.
Then came Memoirs, a film
that seemed caught in an identity struggle: perfectly diverting and slick, but
not entirely satisfactory as a noir-ish comedy-drama, or as a special effects
chase movie. For followers of Carpenter, it also felt like Carpenter, the
artist, had been subsumed by the dreaded studio; the compositions that employ
the entire Panavision frame to such striking effect are largely absent here. As
is the heartbeat of a pulsating Carpenter-composed music score. Typically, you
can spot a Carpenter film by the sound, style and attitude, but you'd be hard
pressed to pick his input with this one.
Given that it's possibly the
most reserved of Carpenter's oeuvre, it would seem the most appropriate of the
director's landscapes for Sam Neill to navigate. The interesting thing, then,
is that Neill actually emerges as the strongest element in the film to evoke a
Carpenter-esque cheek, spunk and spirit. Kurt Russell, take note: Sam Neill has entered the building.
But the next level of interest
here is that Neill doesn't move his characterisation into a demonstrative gear,
but instead retains his understated charm. In a way, he brings the Carpenter
universe towards his style; but having done so, he then imbues his character
with a great deal of mischief. (It's all in the eyes and in the sly grin.) He's
also essaying a character with an evident thirst for life .... or is it
domination? Not insignificantly, in the semi-subtleties of hairstyling, the
Neill sweep has been given an oily rendition.
Neill provides ruthless pursuit of Chevy Chase's invisible man, and he's ruthlessly enjoyable as he does so. Midway through an insincere assurance - "If you're hurt, I'd like to help you" - he breaks out into a self-amused smile. (Anyone who enjoyed Neill's son of the devil in 1981's The Final Conflict, should thoroughly embrace Neill's finely distilled slyness here.) At another point, while he's taking a public grilling (something he seems to experience often, given his weary disinterest), he politely asks his interrogator to repeat the accusation. Most memorably, when the invisible man fools him into a death plunge, he spits out "You son of a bitch" as he begins his descent. And so, with enjoyably sardonic touches such as these, Neill's amoral introvert takes a memorable place amongst Carpenter's famous pantheon of characters - from Kurt Rusell's Snake Plissken to Donald Pleasance's Dr Sam Loomis.
Neill's villain was also a
participant in what has proven the most lasting and oft-quoted image from the
movie, that great interaction of physical comedy and ILM effects where Neill is
lead away by the invisible man, his back comically arched and with
"floating" gun to his head. And on the matter of comic skill, it
should also Neill has a nice line in "understated theatricality",
which might seem a contradiction in terms, but is perfectly welcome in the
intimacy of the cinematic close-up. For instance, there a range of occasions
where he positions his face vaguely askew to the camera, and it works to an
unconventional but curious effect, a lightly comedic, undemonstrative
suggestion of an off-kilter character; an effect he'd take further in his next
Carpenter collaboration.
While Memoirs constituted
another stifling and oppressive studio experience for Carpenter, Neill
appreciated that Carpenter allowed him much creative leeway. Further room to move was granted when Neill was offered the lead in In The
Mouth of Madness, a comparatively low-budget piece that afforded Carpenter
greater creative freedom. What a difference some freedom can make: this
Lovecraftian horror oddity is most impressive, and from music to
cinematography, it clearly possesses the Carpenter vibe. And Neill's standout
performance - a journey from atheist to believer - is driven with a playful,
tongue-in-cheek and wild-eyed energy. Room to move, indeed. Memoirs, it
became clear, was merely the appetiser.
Carpenter was interested to
discover that Neill viewed the film - where a horror novelist's mad, monstrous
fictional world is gradually revealed to Neill’s disbelieving private
investigator as the "new world order" - as being a comedy. Indeed,
Neill's quizzical looks, presumptuous raised eyebrows, "mad dog"
double takes, and weary moans (that ask "how demented can this universe
get?") are all engagingly campy; but that's not to suggest his character's
journey is anything less than vivid, vital and authentic - or that Neill is
dismissive of the genre. (Unlike his character, that is, who is amusingly
mortified to be spotted purchasing some of the horror author's novels.) It's a
farce performance; tragedy at high speed, as such farcical things have
been described. Finding that your sanity renders you the craziest outcast in
the neighbourhood is both an amusing and frightening conceit - and Neill is
clearly receptive to both impulses, and enjoys how they play off and inform one
another. I'm not sure I've seen another performance where losing one's
sense of self looks such liberating fun.
Neill's character, as written,
could easily be interpreted and evoked as a cynical "smart ass".
Neill, however, positions him - I think more winningly, but certainly less
conventionally in terms of cinematic archetypes - as a man whose cynicism has
rendered him endlessly amused and bemused by the world around him. And
ever-ready to demystify it. And I think the level of humour Neill and Carpenter
encourage in the character make his eventual breakdown all the more acutely
revealing of how the "slick cynic" is actually anxiously
self-protective, more innocent than he'd loathe to admit, and but a moment from
terrified.
There are many more Neill
performances to recommend (Dean Spanley, Perfect Strangers, Framed, to
name but a few) but I think partially why his Carpenter collaborations stood
out is that, as alluded to, they were such an enjoyable contrast to the
typified Neill of the time. By the time In The Mouth of Madness arrived,
the uptight Sam Neill persona had solidified - via his 1993 hits Jurassic
Park and The Piano - in the public conscious. I suspect Neill's
filmography in the early-to-mid Nineties would greatly appeal to any actor who,
in desiring to add something a little different to their repertoire, has been
met with "Oh, we know what you can do."
Carpenter's films were sterling
reminders - wake-up calls, really - of all that Neill can do.
First published on 4 November 2016 as JOHN CARPENTER’S BRIGHT STAR.