Ah, the 80s – the decade where most of us were born and reared, and arguably where modern cinema began. Many of the franchises Hollywood milks to this day either started or took off into the stratosphere back then. Several of their installments have aged like fine wine (Back to the Future, anyone?) and still air on TV periodically (heck, Back to the Future II!)
Then there are the cult films, the typically low-budget genre fare that were duds and in some cases, modest successes pop culture junkies won’t let you forget about. The concept and existence of cult films pre-dates the decade, but they certainly entered puberty around that time. Their driving force were those of the Gen X persuasion – along with the oldest Millennials – who grew up with stuff like Rocky and Rambo, but by “cult,” I’m referring more to your Halloweens, Friday the 13ths, Elm Streets, Robocops, and Terminators.
I can’t forget the Alien movies either because they are kind of important in this discussion. Ambitious cult faves like Enemy Mine tried imitating Ridley Scott in vain and had to be rediscovered by those Gen-Xers browsing at their local video stores. Not every flop found new life on shelves, however; it took years for some to attain cult status. The epitome of that category is the 1985 sci-fi thriller Lifeforce which faced an uphill struggle to be appreciated, which is a shame.
It appeared to have everything going for it at first. Based on a novel called The Space Vampires, which tells us almost everything we need to know about the plot, the adaptation was directed by horror maestro and Texas Chainsawman Tobe Hooper. He was hot off Poltergeist and, although that was a hit, Hooper looked to prove he could guide a production all the way to its last take without the influence – or interference – of Steven Spielberg.
So Hooper signed a three-picture deal with Cannon Films – that name alone tells you trouble was brewing – to make his “70mm Hammer Movie.” And Lifeforce indeed has similarities to the glory days of Hammer, especially the Quatermass films, but Hooper didn’t simply copy and paste a likeness. He incorporated his influences to make something altogether his own, and unique to Cannon’s catalog,
The premise of a band of the creatures mentioned above overrunning London with their psychic brand of vampirism is B-movie gold, but the overconfident Cannon Group had bigger plans for it than drive-in matinees. The go-go boys who ran the show, Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus, thought it would be their ticket to bigger budgets and mainstream glory. As you can guess, they miscalculated by assuming they could punch above their weight and compete on the same playing field of spectacle as Spielberg, Disney, and George Lucas.
What ended up happening was one of the biggest misfires in cinema history that sent the studio spiraling into a tailspin toward inevitable bankruptcy. A lot of film historians think it was Masters of the Universe and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace that killed Cannon, but they’re only half-right. While those boondoggles were fatal blows, Golan and Globus’ problems really started with the failure of Lifeforce.
With $25 million (a lot for that time), they pulled out the stops to go as big as possible. They not only brought aboard Hooper to steer the ship but also elected Alien writer Dan O’Bannon to help him translate the story to screen. To film it, they brought in veteran Star Wars and James Bond cinematographer Alan Hume. To score it, they hired the legendary Henry Mancini, and artists Hume worked with on Star Wars were responsible for miniatures, creature design, and special effects.
They weren’t playing around when assembling their roster, but sadly things didn’t go according to plan and they couldn’t even make half the budget back. A variety of factors including crazy old studio meddling worked against them. It was bad enough it was released in the same summer as BTTF (Great Scott!) and Ron Howard’s Cocoon which trounced it, but Cannon did what became habitual for them and re-cut Lifeforce for its US release.
The true unrated, uncut version of the film is the international release which had 15 more minutes, a different opening sequence, and an extended first act that set up the plot flawlessly. To recap in short, the crew of the Churchill shuttle discovers the space vamps in an artichoke-shaped ship hidden in the tail of Halley’s Comet within a scene boasting some of the most impressive sets and wirework put to film. US audiences were cheated out of this until recently when the true and definitive cut was finally released on Blu-ray in 2013 (both by Scram Factory and Arrow Video).
Before then, we without LaserDisc had to make do with the theatrical cut on VHS and DVD to become acquainted with it – not knowing what we were missing. The good news is both versions capture the essence of the high-minded existential thrill ride fraught with exploitation bait that Lifeforce is. French actress and dancer Mathilda May’s understated yet revealing performance (putting it mildly) is a focal point of that exploitation as she spends most of her time on screen completely naked and grinding up against Steve Railsback.
However, her narrative purpose ameliorates the nudity into something deeper than its gratuity. As the “Space Girl” (the only name she’s given in the movie), May is more than a run-of-the-mill vampire; she is a metaphor for lust as a deadly sin and the prototypical vampiric entity that thrives on it, the succubus. Attacking in your sleep, this parasitic demon of folklore uses your deepest desires against you.
The Space Girl does just that, preying on Railsback’s character Carlsen in his dreams and in his sleep to coax him into a carnal embrace that would claim his soul. She even lays out these exact tactics when she explains to Carlsen that she read his mind and larps as his image of ultimate femininity. Like the saying goes, the Devil doesn’t come to you as a disgusting beast. He takes the form of everything you ever wanted.
That is the true brilliance of Lifeforce: it uses the tropes of a Medieval parable and brings them into the space age without losing the moral and theological subtext. It helps that the author of the book it’s based on, Colin Wilson, was an existentialist trying to outdo Lovecraft on a dare. He disowned the movie, but writers are their own harshest critics and aren’t always right.
Tobe Hooper is known more for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, its sequel, The Funhouse, and Poltergeist, but I think Lifeforce as we have it today in its purest form is every bit the masterpiece he wanted it to be. Many horror fans and cult film buffs are coming around to that thinking, which is great, though it would be even better if he was around to see the reappraisal for himself. We owe him a Dr. Pepper.