'Volcano' spews social message

By Laksmi Pamuntjak-Djohan

JAKARTA (JP): Since the Rodney King verdict blew the lid on Los Angeles's chronic racial problem five years ago, the city has been at war on three fronts. First, against the ongoing force of a far-from-resolved issue. Second, from posturing moralists who see death and decay at every corner. And third, from the giant machinery of mass popular culture that is Hollywood.

In this day and age, the idea of a volcano rumbling underneath this glittering city of actors, luminaries and paparazzi may not sound so far-fetched. After all, in the space of a few months, we have seen quite a dizzying festival of migratory beasts unleashing retributive power on societies corrupted by greed, violence, racial intolerance and media sensationalism.

Remember the mama T-Rex wreaking havoc in a quiet American suburb (Lost World), or the predator lurking in the basement of the Chicago Natural Museum (The Relic)? In both cases, less attention was accorded the actual monster than the immense satisfaction generated by its laudably pc selection of human victims (e.g. racists, fascists, antienvironmentalists). Yet, on a deeper level, the Great Jurassic Hype is only a natural outcome of overheated fantasies about death and destruction, spurred on by the blockbuster mentality.

Sure, "disaster" movies are now on the upsurge, especially with a rival volcano already spilling its guts out in world multiplexes (the mediocre Dante's Peak). However, Volcano's classification as a "disaster", rather than a "monster" or "event" movie, is essentially an issue of semantics.

Its hey-ho-we're-doomed message recalls Independence Day, and so is its rallying call for a united front to battle a common adversary. If Dante's Peak is about a few people's escape from disaster, this is about facing and defeating it together in a staggering triumph of interagency networking and bureaucratic efficiency -- a concept almost unheard of here.

Realistic? Hardly. Yet for all its arrogant assumption that man can outsmart nature, at least it shows the better side of humans when given the chance. And, beyond the perfunctory plot, and the standard positioning of charbroiled rodents and barbecued workers, it actually has character. A relatively smart script (by Jerome Armstrong and Billy Ray). Snappy dialog. Top-notch visual and sound effects. And competent acting.

Whether indulging in pure dementia in Blown Away and Batman Forever, dipping into poignant territory in Heaven and Earth and Blue Sky, or simply celebrating the art of acting in JFK and The Fugitive, Tommy Lee Jones' prism of personality constantly casts new, engaging images. Even of the most cliched stereotypes.

Jones' character Mike Roark is the director of L.A.'s Office of Emergency Management. He is allowed to command all the city's resources -- that is, the police force, the fire department, etc. -- in the event of an emergency. What's important, though, is that he's the quintessential 1990s man: Brilliant, responsible, faithful to a fault. Sure he has his shortcomings (his dedication to duty drives his wife away and makes a petulant brat out of their teenage daughter), but as the city starts to implode, who gives a hoot about family values?

And still the movie acquiesces to a light spray of dysfunctional family drama, with Kelly Roark (Gaby Hoffman) berating her father for "never being there", a Labrador lapping up fried eggs under the table, and a hysterical ex-wife phoning in every hour for cliche's sake.

But single parenthood has never reached such heights as when an early portent of volcanic eruption sends him back to the streets and pits him against media-savvy seismologist Amy Barnes (the talented Anne Heche, Ellen de Generes' significant other). As usual, they're polar opposites: He is a man of action and she a woman of science. Yet they make a delicate pair. This is supposed to be Heche's major break after long playing second fiddle to Tinseltown heavies (Demi Moore in The Juror, Johnny Depp in Donnie Brasco).

Less subtle is the movie's overall message of human camaraderie. When the urban volcano starts to disgorge lava bombs across the sky and send a magnificent carpet of molten lava down Wilshire Boulevard, race becomes irrelevant as whites, blacks, Latinos and Orientals face the same apocalyptic predicament. Jacqui Kim (Disclosure) cuts a noble figure as a selfless doctor. Even Kelly Roark gets to shape up and stakes her life for another.

Not that the message always sinks in. A Mark Fuhrman-like white cop is loathe to thank a black man for helping erect a cement barricade to block the lava flow. "Can't we all get along?" may be a touchier issue for some, but the movie settles it through the sheer force of will. Stabs at social commentary, however flagrant, are still a mite preferable to mindless pyrotechnics. And everybody does look the same covered in ash.

But perhaps the intricacies of telling stories in the 1990s is what makes Volcano a tougher act to judge. "Metaphor has left art and gone into current events," legendary director Mike Nichols once opined. Plonking a volcano right in the heart of a city as blisteringly alive as L.A. may just be director Mick Jackson's (The Bodyguard) way of underscoring this perpetual dilemma.

Indeed, our introduction to the L.A. on scrutiny is not a candied glimpse at glitterdom, but a hard-boiled look at the city's notorious facets. Visually, it's another sunny day in L.A., but the voice-over narration belies the real values the city thrives on: mass commodification, media chicanery, the peddling of sweet advertising promises. Sample some: "The full new you" (female beauty products), "psychic astrologists" (a New Age take on self-improvement), "The latest Mercedes-Benz" (global indicator of wealth and status).

The media also takes a beating for making a killing out of "human stories" and creating a false sense of democracy. Law enforcers are the other secret enemies. Citizens battle the whims of government, to little effect.

Whether all of the above deserves some Godly act of retribution, we do not know. But for 10 percent less the production cost of Dante's Peak (US$90 million), it sure delivers the goods.