Skip to main content

ENDER'S GAME REVIEWED BY JAMES A. GEORGE

Only ten minutes in, a young girl, followed by her mother, ran out of the screening room. “I’m too scared!” She declared. Perhaps she was a bit too young for the vague 12A rating, but it certainly suggested the tone of the book had been captured. Unfortunately this suggestion was quickly shattered.
            The novel, Ender’s Game, was released in 1985 and provided author Orson Scott Card with both the Nebula and Hugo awards, prestigious awards given to the best science fiction novels of the year. A strong following later, and we have around fourteen stories in the “Ender Saga”. While Ender’s Game is often cited in many a top ten of sci-fi reading lists, it has always seemed one of the more easily filmable novels when compared to the likes of Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert A. Heinlein and Philip K. Dick; authors like this have only had successful film adaptions from masters like Stanley Kubrick and Ridley Scott. Ender’s Game has a fairly simple story-telling method, inspired by the invisibility of Asimov, that dwells mainly inside the protagonist, Ender’s, head. Along with this heavily subjective point of view, it even has a beginning, middle and end that clearly screams cinema.
            The indication that this film, sort-of-thirty-years in the making, is a sloppy and lazy adaption came early on: as the young space cadets first experience lack of gravity, one child vomits and you can imagine the rest. The novel handles this with thorough militaristic briefing, ‘no eating a day prior to take-off’. While this particular scene isn’t an offensive error, it signposted what was to follow – a gross abandonment of the book’s themes. The idea of military manipulation, dictation and exploitation that parades through the novel is abandoned in every sense. The training battle sequences are way too short and thus the film never portrays Ender as the child genius he’s meant to be. Instead we have Harrison Ford as Colonel Gruff, I mean Graff, occasionally appearing to remind us of the child’s importance, and Graff’s authorial disregard of his state of mind. Ford does well to bring in the panache this film sorely needs but doesn’t save this sorry state.
            The film paces through these training battles that are so important in the book. A battle-cum-game far more interesting and considered than Quidditch serves as an insight into Ender’s understanding of the world around him, yet here they’re unexplained and passed by to dwell on scenes that really don’t need it. A long time is spent dwelling on Ender’s brief return visit to Earth to see his sister, which is completely redundant since his sisters importance to Ender made so stark in the book is completely unattended in the film. Generally, the drama in this film is swept aside to make way for a focus on xbox-style visuals. This pace couples with its hasty editing and gives no one except Harrison Ford room to breathe, so with that in mind maybe Asa Butterfield, who plays Ender, gives a good performance but it’s hard to know until the end. Only in the final moments of the film does Butterfield’s character become real. Oddly, it’s as if the director had made one last Braveheart stride for success. The (now ironic) theme of tolerance that exists in the book is hammered on at the end of the film, but fortunately it resonates when Harrison Ford and Asa Butterfield finally get to square off in a powerful sequence. This sequence would’ve been even more powerful if the cinematography hadn’t completely saturated the use of the close-up throughout the two hours.
            Fans of the book and saga will no doubt wish a more visionary writer-director had commanded the adaptation, but as a film it isn’t without merit. One can only imagine, but if one is unfamiliar with the novel perhaps they will enjoy the film – a lot! In fact, if I had children I would much rather take them to see this than watch the frankly tedious and empty Pacific Rim (summer robots-vs-aliens blockbuster by Guillermo Del Toro of Pan’s Labyrinth fame – Pacific Rim, a film that replaces Toro’s mesmerising, complex multilevel fairy-tale storytelling ability for Power Rangers). Or even Ender’s Game over Hunger Games. Over Star Wars (any of them). Over most of Dreamworks Animation’s recent offerings. But ultimately, I’d encourage my child to read the 1985 novel.

JAMES A. GEORGE IS THE EYEWEAR FILM CRITIC.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart?  A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional.  Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were.  For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ?  Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets.  But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ?  How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular.  John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se....

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..."

In terms of great films about, and of, love, we have Vertigo, In The Mood for Love , and Casablanca , Doctor Zhivago , An Officer and a Gentleman , at the apex; as well as odder, more troubling versions, such as Sophie's Choice and  Silence of the Lambs .  I think my favourite remains Bram Stoker's Dracula , with the great immortal line "I have crossed oceans of time to find you...".

THE SWIFT REPORT 2023

I am writing this post without much enthusiasm, but with a sense of duty. This blog will be 20 years old soon, and though I rarely post here anymore, I owe it some attention. Of course in 2023, "Swift" now means one thing only, Taylor Swift, the billionaire musician. Gone are the days when I was asked if I was related to Jonathan Swift. The pre-eminent cultural Swift is now alive and TIME PERSON OF THE YEAR. There is no point in belabouring the obvious with delay: 2023 was a low-point in the low annals of human history - war, invasion, murder, in too many nations. Hate, division, the collapse of what truth is, exacerbated by advances in AI that may or may not prove apocalyptic, while global warming still seems to threaten the near-future safety of humanity. It's been deeply depressing. The world lost some wonderful poets, actors, musicians, and writers this year, as it often does. Two people I knew and admired greatly, Ian Ferrier and Kevin Higgins, poets and organise...