LIFESPAN

An injection of unprecedented vitality, intellectualism, and uniquely 'cold' emotional atmosphere into the lethargic sub-genre of the pseudo-science medical thriller, Lifespan approaches its sensationalistic subject matter with mature reflection, concise direction, and a slow if thoughtful pace. This pacing is required for the subversive themes and subtext of this scathingly poignant attack against morality and mortality to work its beautifully dark wonders on mind and heart.

Intelligently conceived and elegantly told, this vivisection of human culpability both honors the conventions of classic science fiction, and expands upon its dramatic capabilities. Clearly in the mold of such reflective speculative fiction as Frankenstein (the novel, not the wonderful but far removed Gothicism of the Universal film), evoking in its philosophically mature approach to scientific possibility a grim and dark extrapolation as believable as it is frightening. Just as Mary Shelly's work (and others in a similar vein) focused more on the intellectual basis of her literary nightmare and its emotional results than on the base character of the monster, this film wisely chooses to emphasize the dimensions of rational scientific experiment with the moral (or immoral) implications of its subversive use and monstrous effects. While fans of genre won't be disappointed by the movie's attention to atmosphere and decidedly dark tone, violence is implied rather than shown. Terror and awe are equally in evidence in this surreal attack, using rationality against itself, evoking such emotions by a disturbing story given life by wonderful performances.

Originally released in 1974, this thinking person's story demands an investigative mind willing to reflect on its various themes and the complex development of its mysteries. Neither completely an experiment in art-house sentiment and fragmented logic nor completely entrenched in genre sensibility, Lifespan is that rarest of cinematic beasts, transcending genre completely; the film enjoys both the thematic originality and stylish maturity to occupy its own unique borderland between sensationalism and intellectualism, genre and form.

Unfolding in a confessional first person POV, this story of everlasting life and the Faustian ideal tragically undertaken to obtain it is related by Dr Ben Land (Hiram Keller), an American scientist, who has came to a new land to work with gerontologist Dr Linden. Continuing the revolutionary, secretive research of a colleague who committed suicide, Land discovers that he might be on the verge of curing the aging process for humanity. When the later is found dead, a sense of unease and surreal doubt in the midst of the everyday is established by both surface occurrences and the very ambiguous nature of Land's acting. Klaus Kinski, the owner of a sinister pharmaceutical company, lends complexity to the already cerebral plot as the age-old, archetypal conflict occurs between science and nature, might and right, with the film refusing to give audiences an easy answer to horribly frightful questions. Similar to the characteristics of a player in a Gialli, Land's inability to trust authority provokes him to investigate the death, which leads him into a labyrinth of conspiracy challenging his life and soul. From the discovery of mice which act unnaturally young to the terror of an old folk's home where elderly patients mysteriously die from a flu epidemic, intrigue and mystery are the pivotal steam which keeps this expose of paranoia going. Contacting the sado-machistic Anna (Tina Aumont), Linden's girlfriend, Dr. Land's descent into depravity deepens, with the mechanics of plot and theme further mirroring the paranoid atmosphere, red herrings, and textual emphasis on the main character's POV -- again a device often depended on in the Italian thriller

Focusing on the body both as meat and as an instigator of its own destruction -- a tool of pleasure and pain inviting similarities with David Cronenberg's early thematic focus - Lifespan also opens the philosophical debate between medicine's ability and/or right to tamper with natural processes. This question is as much a scathing criticism of cultural views against aging (and our general fascination with the body) as it is a cinematic attack against self complacency. Genre legend Klaus Kinski brings to his struggle for power his customary as an amoral industrialist obsessed with the search for the not-so-mythical elixir of life - a medicine for melancholy not found but made by the confused hands of science, whose progresses throughout the ages have been mirrored by tragedy. A surreal net of implication, death, and insanity, the picture omits a sense of dream-logic, questioning the nature of perspective and such flimsy concepts as reality and fantasy, illogic and sense.

Unerringly sombre, frightful, and grim, the unique plot is strengthened by an atmospheric aura which physically mirrors its internal unease, and a stealthy sense of direction that doesn't call attention to itself, content to weave controversial elements into a world that we don't question, believing at once in its truth. Brazen enough to face taboo questions of science, faith, and power-hunger, the movie likewise chooses to exchange the usual rubber stock-monsters and special effects of traditional creature-features and sci-fi for the emotional resonance and reflectivity of drama.

Director Whitelaw manages to make symbolic facets of life and death intimate. A ménage of science fiction and horror, the director recycles somewhat stale conventions by a quiet yet intense approach to terror, suggesting horror rather than screaming it. The scope and delivery of the theme of artificially prolonged life and its potential effect on the soul and mind, is represented in a wonderfully vivid, decrepit fashion by the elderly, who themselves summon further implications of sadness, guilt, and fear. Lifeforce is also a cynical example of post-modern existentialism, questioning the very natures of right and wrong, good and evil. Perception itself is a major character, and like atmosphere, propels the plot along as characters who we both understand and fear for head towards their dark absurdist destinations. There is no defined interpretation of right or wrong, no saving grace. And this may be the scariest, most profound aspect.

The winding streets and byways of the city of Amsterdam are characters worthy of study, physical decay and winding confusion mirroring the alienation and deceit of human characters. These lush locations and such cruelly erotic enticements as Tina Aumont's B&D scenes are lovingly encased in strong vibrant colors courtesy of Mondo Macabro, who present this uncut transfer re-mastered in 16:9 widescreen. Flesh hues and the magnificence of city exteriors are well represented, while the quiet intensity of the nightmarishly clinical polish of the interior scenes feel startlingly cold. Just as capable of provoking controversy today as when it was made, an experimental soundtrack provides soul to image, adding a depth of emotional resonance.

Specials for this modern 'elixir of life' fable are generous and, as usual with Mondo Macabro, suggest the respect and affection with which the film was approached. Perhaps the best feature is the insightful interview with co-writer Alexander Whitelaw, which treats the subject as both an artist and as a man with his own prejudices and passions, fears and personality. This featurette alone is a wealth of information, covering everything from gossip about Kinski and his editor to the film's initial reception. Personality bleeds through the interview, which introduces points pertaining to the planning, filming, and post-production of the movie. The history behind, and context of, the movie is continued is further established in the audio commentary with Whitelaw, which is itself followed by production notes, a theatrical trailer, and, of course, the groovy Mondo Macabro reel.

Review by William P Simmons