Updated: 22 July 1997

CONTACT

Offhand, I can't name too many films in which the defining moment is the first. It is not only a visual moment, but an aural one as well. A steady progression from cacophony to silence. And the silence holds.

This movie uses silences well. There are many moments without a musical score instructing your emotions. Now, I really like soundtracks. The best of them, e.g. the John Williams score to RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK or the compiled soundtrack to 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, transcend seamlessness and actually merge with the film to create something else--something better. Few directors are bold enough, however, to allow pivotal moments in their films to speak for themselves. And this from the director of FORREST GUMP, in which the soundtrack should have shared billing right alongside Mr. Hanks.

I stress these silences because there are so many times in this film where it's just you and the star and an idea to mull over. Or a pending "moment" to anticipate.

My co-critic and I discussed this over the phone and came to the same conclusion. Basically, there are many scenes in many movies in which profound dialogue and equally profound filming create a moment that could send the viewers mind in millions of potential directions. But you are relieved the burden of having to think when the soundtrack steps in with its contextual clues. Harsh and abrupt string repetitions: someone's about to be stabbed--be afraid. A swelling undertone of violins, cellos, and maybe a solo piano: someone's about to be kissed--be afraid : ) But the general idea here is that Robert Zemeckis has left these moments--and, therefore, the possibilities in them--open to us. It is a very nice and unexpected gift. What does the moment mean? Well, there are 250 in the audience, so there are 250 interpretations. Rare, except in the best of films.

A lot of comment there about a lack of noise. This film is not as good as those which ordinarily inspire thoughtful reactions, so those scenes really stood out powerfully. I got tired of seeing a virtually appropriated Clinton ramble about the space developments, for instance. It was as if the filmmakers had a neat toy they just couldn't get enough of...and I didn't share their awe.

And, after the wonderful opening scenes, it's obvious pretty quickly that we have some run-of- the-mill dialogue here. Also pretty quickly, all characters besides Dr. Arroway (Jodie Foster) are sent into developmental meltdown, and any prior character-building investments are liquidated and channeled into the special effects--the co-star of the 90's. The exception might be the very interesting ex deus machina-role of S.R. Hadden, played by John Hurt as a...it's hard to say, exactly.

Hadden is presented as the type of character you normally wouldn't want your protagonist dealing with, because, in a traditional script, he would represent the temptations that would undo the hero. In CONTACT, he is seeking a quasi-redemption through the hero. Like I said, not a pegged-him-at-a-glance sort of character.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Arroway's nemesis: Dr. David Drumlin, played by Tom Skerritt. He should have been split into a group. That one man could be an obstacle at each and every particular juncture that he is, is so completely preposterous that he loses all his venom by the time we're supposed to loathe him. Let's see...he confounds her on the level of her academic career, her governmental fund-raising, her credit-where-credit-is-due status, and her astronautical aspirations. This man should get an award for versatility, not our abhorrence.

Lastly, I went into the film with the idea running around my head that this film "isn't afraid to raise the big questions," and left feeling somewhat cheated in that regard. In yet another film, we have an instance of people raising moral issues that would have been elementary to generations before, but are now "deep thoughts," according to the filmmakers. This is not to say the film is devoid of thought. It isn't. But the praise for this aspect of the film was heaped a little high.

Enough of the heavy criticism. The film still rises above it by the time it's through.

There are, in fact, some very rare attributes. This film, and the book it's based on, are regularly depicted as anti-religious tracts. Indeed, to hear Carl Sagan's wife tell it, the film lays bare the underlying "arrogance" of religion. I have not read the book, and--therefore--cannot comment on whether that is an accurate portrayal of its narrative. The movie, however, conveyed nothing of the sort to me. Other than the alien's oblique reference to finding only "each other" in the universe, the film is never overtly anti-God in its statements. Rather, I thought it eloquently depicted the near-impossibility of truly communicating sacred experiences. I liked that.

Additionally, despite the negligible script, the idea of the story is absolutely terrific. And it is carried--ably--on the shoulders of our one remaining whole character: Dr. Eleanor Arroway. Jodie Foster is perfect for this movie. She's just her character, nothing more. Sometimes, Eleanor is earthy, sometimes we see her itching to be more--as in the dinner party scene with the Who's-who attendees. And she brings the movie home.

We are meant to have the experiences she is having, right along with her, and in this sense, the movie is magic. In those moments with no sound, Jodie Foster's face reflects the dimensions of a human reaction--the reactions of the audience. Who, in any given emotional turmoil, has solely one inner response? There is, instead, a massive mixture with varying amounts of gratitude/guilt/joy/fear/etc, etc. It shows on her face. And without that score telling us what she's thinking, the imprecision--and the possibilities--echo in our minds. That is some great filmmaking.