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Dis­cov­er the pres­sure-cook­er ten­sion of this alien inva­sion thriller

04 Jun 2019

Words by Anton Bitel

Two astronaut-like figures in white suits standing over a prone figure on a dusty ground, with an old car in the background.
Two astronaut-like figures in white suits standing over a prone figure on a dusty ground, with an old car in the background.
Robert Wise’s 1971 sci-fi The Androm­e­da Strain tapped into space race and Cold War anxieties.

In HG Wells’ 1897 nov­el The War of the Worlds’ and the many adap­ta­tions that it had inspired, the fero­cious alien invaders of earth were even­tu­al­ly undone by micro­scop­ic bac­te­ria. The oppo­site is the case in Michael Crichton’s 1969 nov­el The Androm­e­da Strain’ and its 1971 film ver­sion, adapt­ed by Nel­son Gid­ding and direct­ed by Robert Wise. Here the aliens are them­selves microor­gan­isms, attack­ing humans and oth­er earth­ly life­forms at the cel­lu­lar lev­el, so that their vic­tims’ blood turns instant­ly and fatal­ly to crys­talline powder.

This remains a bold devi­a­tion from the movie con­ven­tion where­by extrater­res­tri­als are either anthro­poid (as in Wise’s The Day The Earth Stood Still from 1951) or mas­sive and mon­strous, allow­ing The Androm­e­da Strain to play with the idea of dead­ly vis­i­tors that tru­ly are alien in every way to our very notion of what con­sti­tutes life (and not just because of their minus­cule size). It also means, of course, that these new invaders come with the decid­ed­ly uncin­e­mat­ic qual­i­ty of being invis­i­ble to the naked eye.

Wise responds to this prob­lem’ in two very dif­fer­ent ways: first by focus­ing most­ly on the small team of sci­en­tists tasked with rapid­ly deter­min­ing the nature of the off-plan­et attack­er and any vul­ner­a­bil­i­ties that it might have; and sec­ond by even­tu­al­ly visu­al­is­ing micro­scop­ic views of the alien cells through what was then pio­neer­ing com­put­erised pho­to­graph­ic visu­al effects pro­vid­ed by Dou­glas Trumbull.

From open­ing text which intro­duces what fol­lows as the four-day his­to­ry of a major Amer­i­can sci­en­tif­ic cri­sis”, The Androm­e­da Strain pur­ports to be doc­u­men­ta­tion of a true if cov­ered-up inci­dent. In fact the sto­ry is a fic­tion, but a fic­tion told with one eye on a real­is­tic style of film­mak­ing (let’s call it pathogen pro­ce­dur­al’), and the oth­er eye on the con­tem­po­rary real­i­ties of both space trav­el and the Cold War (both merged in the recent race between the USA and the USSR to be first to put a man on the Moon). For it is fear of a dif­fer­ent kind of hos­tile adver­sary which dri­ves the film’s para­noid ten­sions, and explains how the unearth­ly enti­ties came to be here in the first place.

When a frag­ment of a secret gov­ern­ment satel­lite comes crash­ing down into the (invent­ed) com­mu­ni­ty of Pied­mont, New Mex­i­co (a state asso­ci­at­ed with arms test­ing and the Man­hat­tan Project), seem­ing­ly the entire pop­u­lace of this small rur­al town, as well as a two-man recov­ery crew sent in by the mil­i­tary, drop dead in their tracks. In fact there are two sur­vivors – a six-month-old baby who nev­er stops cry­ing, and a 69-year-old alcoholic.

Res­cued by Dr Jere­my Stone (Arthur Hill) and Dr Mark Hall (James Olson) in haz­mat suits, the patients are rushed with the rem­nants of the satel­lite to a secret under­ground facil­i­ty, code­named Wild­fire’, in Neva­da, where Stone, Hall, Dr Charles Dut­ton (David Wayne) and Dr Ruth Leav­itt (Kate Reid) have been assem­bled to work on the organ­ism, in a sophis­ti­cat­ed lab­o­ra­to­ry five floors beneath the surface.

Four people in professional attire reviewing a document under bright lighting

This facil­i­ty comes with a dras­tic fail­safe: should there be any risk of the pathogen escap­ing its sub­ter­ranean con­fine­ment to the out­side world, the entire base will be destroyed with a nuclear mech­a­nism. There will, how­ev­er, be a five-minute grace peri­od in which the auto­mat­ic nuclear process, once start­ed, can be stopped.

Hall is entrust­ed with the key that can switch off the nuclear self-destruct process, in accor­dance with the Odd-Man Hypoth­e­sis’ which claims that an unmar­ried man is more capa­ble of mak­ing ratio­nal, objec­tive com­mand deci­sions than a mar­ried man or an unmar­ried woman. Yet this inher­ent­ly sex­ist notion is chal­lenged – at least to a degree – by a gen­der switch which sees the novel’s male char­ac­ter Dr Peter Leav­itt changed to the female Dr Ruth Leav­itt, a chain-smok­ing, sharp-think­ing researcher whose one flaw, a med­ical con­di­tion, she con­ceals not because she is incom­pe­tent or wicked, but rather because there are already enough prej­u­dices and pro­fes­sion­al bar­ri­ers stacked against her to jeop­ar­dise her career and standing.

She is a great char­ac­ter – cyn­i­cal yet humane, and in no way a token mem­ber of the oth­er­wise all-male crew – and if her unde­clared ill­ness cre­ates prob­lems, that is just part and par­cel of a film that is con­stant­ly con­cerned as much with human error as with inhu­man threats. Every­one here makes mis­takes: Stone and Hall’s call for Pied­mont to be nuked to pre­vent the spread of the microbes almost brings about the end of all human­i­ty. The President’s entire­ly unsci­en­tif­i­cal­ly based hes­i­tan­cy to car­ry out this action in fact saves the world.

Mechan­i­cal errors too engen­der poten­tial­ly fatal mis­com­mu­ni­ca­tions: a shred of paper arbi­trar­i­ly slip­ping into a computer’s phys­i­cal bell mech­a­nism stops all noti­fi­ca­tions of cru­cial White House delib­er­a­tions reach­ing Wild­fire. Mean­while, the facil­i­ty, still under con­struc­tion, has an insuf­fi­cient num­ber of work­ing key sta­tions where Hall can dis­able the nuclear bomb. All these com­pound­ing errors cer­tain­ly raise the stakes of The Androm­e­da Strain, but they also oblique­ly drama­tise the vast poten­tial for sna­fus in America’s mil­i­tary, polit­i­cal and sci­en­tif­ic respons­es to Russ­ian hostility.

Dur­ing the Cold War, with its per­ilous poli­cies of Mutu­al­ly Assured Destruc­tion, every­one felt that the slight­est mis­step could eas­i­ly and rapid­ly lead to atom­ic oblit­er­a­tion. Insid­i­ous and under­min­ing, the aliens here alle­gorise the con­stant pres­sure-cook­er sense of threat that dom­i­nat­ed East-West rela­tions of the peri­od. The film also offers a daz­zling­ly plau­si­ble in-depth account of virol­o­gy at work, with method­i­cal sci­ence our best hope for a future. It is a bunkered SF dis­as­ter sce­nario where, in strait­ened cir­cum­stances, the humans are half the prob­lem, but also the solution.

The Androm­e­da Strain is released on Blu-ray by Arrow Films in a new restora­tion form a 4K scan of the orig­i­nal cam­era neg­a­tive on 3 June.

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