New Robinson Crusoe offers weak social commentary

By Laksmi Pamuntjak-Djohan

JAKARTA (JP): Talk about writers' block. After scoring triumph after triumph with its daring updates of genre films, Miramax seems headed towards a more common platform: mediocrity.

Since Miramax entered the genre business three years ago, it has proven that fresh versions of traditional stories are more than welcome even by the "dumbed down" movie audience of the 1990s. The Crow injected poetry into Gothic dystopia; Scream gave the ailing horror genre a new lease on life; The English Patient proved that a literate period drama set mostly in a desert could sweep up all the Oscars in the midst of a blockbuster bonanza.

But there has to be a compelling reason for Miramax to turn to Robinson Crusoe, an antiquated fable that has been committed to the silver screen four times before. Is it the fact that the screenwriters have decided to bring back Friday, so conspicuously missing in Caleb Deschanel's 1989 film, Crusoe? Is it the reassertion of the hero's Scottish identity as opposed to Deschanel's indulgent American twist? Is it the downplaying of the slavery dimension? Or is it plain Pierce Brosnan?

Stripped to its barest essence, Daniel Defoe's celebrated classic novel tells of the adventure of an British castaway who is stranded on a remote and uninhabited island. The time is the 18th century, when the seafaring British nobility ply foreign waters in search of jade, spices and slaves and write authoritative journals in copious volumes. It is the time when civilization means Western, tribal societies are "savage", and the world is divided between "Us" and "Them".

Destiny introduces Crusoe to a native he names Friday, whom he rescues from a tribe of cannibals. An unlikely friendship develops between them. Through Friday, Crusoe learns that Western civilization was not the be-all and end-all of existence, and that one should not strive to change the other. Yet the novel's real emphasis is on man's fear of, and difficulty in overcoming, solitude and isolation.

Now to the Miramax perspective. The film begins promisingly, with a duel scene set against the backdrop of Scotland's green pastures. Pierce Brosnan is in fine acting form, playing the gallant Scottish nobleman he's best suited to. After some wrangling over a shared love interest, he kills his best friend in self-defense, bids his lady love (Polly Walker) farewell, and puts himself on a ship bound for no-man's land.

Soon, glorious vistas of the ocean dance to the steady tune of a voice-over narration from which Defoe's forbiddingly grave lines flow. Two purposes are served: first, to lend the film an air of authenticity. Second, to provide emotional context, presumably to save Brosnan from the strains of acting it out.

In principle, there's nothing offensive about this condensation method other than it is frequently distracting. But, coming from Miramax, it somewhat trivializes the story.

Providence has decreed Crusoe a man without a country, but his "background and education" (read: British-ness), spoken like a true believer, gives him the license to chronicle what will one day become great literature. His comeuppance arrives in the form of a storm, and soon he finds himself the ship's only survivor. Stranded on a tropical island, redolent of lush foliage and pineapple, he immediately begins his crash course at survival.

Laissez-faire

Ignoring Defoe's overriding theme, solitude and survival seem to come naturally to Brosnan's Crusoe. Although he attempts a few stabs at desperation, hardly a moment is given to silence or introspection. One year has passed and he's a long shot from losing his sanity.

The heavily-bearded Brosnan seems to languish in the rare opportunity to slum it out. His character's firm Christianity, brandished as the ultimate weapon against the forces of savagery and evil, lacks immediate conviction. Even the death of his loyal dog, a defining moment in the novel, doesn't perturb him enough.

This somewhat laissez-faire submission to fate is complemented by equally straightforward story-telling by George Miller, the Australian director who gave us Mad Max. His streamlined linear perspective moves the reel through Crusoe's various stages of adaptation with the clear-eyed efficiency of a flow chart.

The cinematography by David Connell, Ian McMillan and Greg Ryan is also beautiful, milking every inch of sumptuous Papua New Guinea for all the "exoticism" it's worth. But a film cannot survive on slick packaging alone.

Superficial

Granted, Crusoe's friendship with Friday (William Takuku) forms the substance of this fare, which makes it a great deal more faithful than Deschanel's 1989 interpretation. Occasionally, visual wit offers poignant moments when two kindred souls try to reach out to each other against a massive religious, racial and communication barrier. Takuku's soulful simplicity also provides a lovely counterpoint to Brosnan's slightly overdone histrionics.

Sure, Crusoe is the ultimate pedant, saying things like, "That he (Friday) is a savage is indisputable, but I hope to wean him off his pagan ways. Perhaps this is my true mission in life." Initially, he is also the ultimate colonizer, dubbing himself "Master" and treating Friday as nothing but a slave.

Yet the film's feeble exploration of Christianity vs. Animism and White vs. Black is a far cry from the hard-boiled repudiation of colonization we have come to expect. Furthermore, there lingers a certain mechanical coldness that renders the whole proceeding superficial at best.

But if Brosnan makes a somewhat tentative racist, his wizened Crusoe is weaker still. Even when Crusoe has fully overcome his racial prejudice, Miller's lean directorial style leaves him little room for real intimacy and spiritual contact. The final fatal scene comes closest to showing how much Friday means to him, but it comes too late for much emotion to register.

That said, this is a handsome, if somewhat simplistic, film that makes pretty reasonable viewing. However, in a more politically-correct movie, Robinson Crusoe would have waived his opportunity to return to "civilization" and opted to cross-over completely and live happily ever after as a proudly enlightened savage.