Floccinaucinihilipilification is, to my knowledge,
the longest word in the English language.
Now, I know the kids like to throw it around and drop it into every sentence
the same as “like,” but some of us may be completely unaware of it (the mind
boggles). It is defined as “the action
or habit of estimating something as worthless.”
It’s kind of interesting in two senses to me as of this writing. Number one, the story of today’s film, Eugenio
Martin’s Horror Express (aka Panico En El Transiberiano), deals with
two anthropologists. Their job is digging
through dirt most people would find worthless and finding things they feel may
or may not be of value from a scientific/historical perspective. Imagine if you will an anthropologist who
mistakes the greatest find in the history of mankind or even life on this
planet for a Tanzanian pot holder or something.
It’s a value judgment (an educated one, but still…), and at least in
some part, hubris plays a role in its estimation. Number two, the act of being a film reviewer
also has to involve floccinaucinihilipilification at some time or another. Some reviewers make a practice of this,
turning every critique into a hyperbolic screed, and that’s fine when they feel
a film genuinely warrants such dismissal.
But I somehow get the notion that when almost every picture that’s
brought up is treated with merciless derision, either the writer shouldn’t be
writing about film, or they’re writing because they want to show everyone how
clever they are. Either way, it’s a
reason to quit film review. But misery
loves company, I suppose.
In 1906, while on an expedition in Manchuria, Sir
Alexander Saxton (Christopher Lee) discovers a “missing link” frozen
solid in a cave. Carting it back with
him on the Trans-Siberian Express, Saxton runs across rival scientist Dr. Wells
(Peter Cushing) and makes the acquaintance of the beautiful Russian
Countess Petrovski (Silvia Tortosa).
As the train hurtles across the barren landscapes of Siberia, it’s soon
discovered that Saxton’s specimen may have a bit more life in it than
previously thought. As well as having a
few surprises up its hirsute sleeve.
This is yet another of those movies that I initially
encountered in a nasty, grotty print late on a Saturday night on some local
cable channel (I’m thinking WWOR out of Secaucus, New Jersey, but that’s really
neither here nor there). The experience
of seeing something like Psychomania
or Horror Express at an early age and
of that quality of presentation was eye-opening to say the least (or maybe just
eye-straining, hence why I’ve had spectacles since the fourth grade). The marvel of these films isn’t the quality
of their respective productions, though both have more than enough to be very
effective (and Martin’s use of miniatures as well as the interior sets is
impressive). It’s also not in their
originality, since neither one has an original bone in its body. The latter film, in fact, borrows much from John
W. Campbell’s novella Who Goes There?
(most likely unknowingly), and it did it ten years before John Carpenter
went back to the same source material for his remake of The Thing From Another World.
Obviously, Martin doesn’t wring quite the amount of tension and
paranoia from the premise as Carpenter does, but I think the two make
nice companion pieces.
And yet I can honestly say that, at the time, there
was nothing else like these movies coming across my path. It’s not the elements; it’s the mixture of
them and their treatment. Horror Express runs the gamut from
Cosmic Horror to Creature Feature to Siege film to Zombie film to Disaster
film, but it gives you just enough of each genre/subgenre in just enough of a
dose that you swallow it down whole, and the instant that your mind starts to
question anything, gets bored, etcetera, it’s on to another facet and back
again. Playing partly into one idea from
the film, the effect comes from a gestalt of the pieces, rather than focusing strictly
on any one of them. Furthermore, the
fact that almost no one else I knew seemed to have seen this film and no books
or magazines I read had any sort of information about it was mind-blowing to
me. Today, everyone and their brother expound
the virtues of this film, and it’s easy to see why. But back then? If you mentioned this film’s title, you’d
likely get little more than a momentary narrowing of the eyes and a slight
shrug from most people.
A major portion of the film is concerned with eyes
and looking. Everyone wants to see
what’s in Saxton’s crate. The monster’s
eyes glow red when its powers are in effect.
The monster steals the memories and skills of its victims through their
eyes, leaving them devoid of the capacity for sight (even if they were still
alive to see; which they are not) and turning them into automatons, bereft of identity. The monster’s own memories are stored in its
eyes. In these ways the film reveals its
own truth, that knowledge and individuality come from observation or at least from
the power to observe. Yet, the eyes can
be deceived, and this is the flip side of the notion. Saxton thinks that Father Pujardov (Alberto
de Mendoza) is a simple conjurer employing tricks, despite seeing that the
same piece of chalk which writes on the stones of the train station won’t write
on the anthropologist’s crate. Even
after a fellow scientist avers that there is nothing unique about the chalk,
Saxton refuses to accept that anything other than a deception is at work. Wells and Saxton are taken in by a passenger
who turns out to be up to nefarious purposes.
The beast itself has the ability to move from person to person, always
disguised as a means of survival. In
other words, even what can be plainly witnessed with the naked eye cannot be
trusted absolutely.
The film also contains concepts about social
classes, to some degree or another (summed up for me by the classic Cushing
retort, “Monster?! We’re British, you
know!”). Though Saxton and Wells are
both anthropologists, Saxton is haughty and upper class in mien. Wells, by contrast, is not above bribing a
station agent to get a couple of compartments on the departing train or to
sneak a peek at what’s in the crate. He’s
friendlier to the common man. Naturally,
Saxton dislikes Wells, and he only seems to put up with those he considers
lower in class because they serve some purpose for him. The Inspector aboard the train (Julio Peña)
is strictly working class, but he holds power over others due to his
authority. He’s a cog. The Countess and her husband (George
Rigaud) are clearly in the most rarefied of air, and they therefore do not
need to bother themselves fraternizing with the Plebes or burdening themselves
with matters of the soul (to Pujardov, the Count says, “our immortal souls are
your concern”). The priest is little
more than a mongrel in the eyes of all, and it is this humiliation which will
color his decisions later in the film (though he’s the most dichotomous
character here I would argue). Captain
Kazan (Telly Savalas) is the ultimate display of Tsarist power, second in
stature only to the Count (whom he still treats with sarcastic obeisance), but
he is intent of purpose (“the Devil must be afraid of one honest Cossack”). He also has no compunction about using brute
force in order to meet his ends. He has
his men hit Saxton and Wells with their rifles.
He whips Pujardov. Yet his
methods, though cruel, are nevertheless effective. Clearly, Kazan would never Floccinaucinihilipilificate
his own work techniques.
MVT: I love the story of this film. It moves along at a nice clip. It hits just enough sweet spots and turns
just enough of its well-worn clichés to make for satisfying viewing.
Make
Or Break: The Make is Savalas’s
ranting, scenery-chewing display of histrionics after he boards the
express. It’s a delightful little cherry
on top of a sundae loaded with awesomeness.
Score: 8/10
