Body Snatchers (1993, Abel Ferrara) (Patreon)

39/100

Misguided on virtually every level. What's singularly unnerving about Finney's enduring scenario is the feeling of paranoid impotence: You can tell that something vital has changed in a loved one, to the point where you're convinced it's not actually her, but you can't prove it, and the pod person seems perfectly normal to a casual stranger. That's why the novel (in common with both of its best-known film adaptations) begins with a doctor dismissing freaked-out relatives as evidence of mass hysteria, after speaking with the snatched and observing nothing amiss. That just-slightly-off vibe—which works best in Finney's original small-town setting (as seen in Siegel's version), significantly less well in San Francisco (Kaufman's), and not at all on a military base—is absolutely crucial. So it's hard to comprehend why Ferrara and his three screenwriters choose not only to dispense with the first-act creepiness (which gets condensed into a single anodyne speech by Forest Whitaker's concerned Major), but to have the little kid actually witness Mom's body crumble into dust and then see her replacement emerge, eradicating any doubt. Ferrara is far more interested in showing the pod's tendrils wrapping themselves around people's faces and invading their orifices, a conventionally horrific approach that doesn't frighten me half as much as our far-too-brief view of emotionless Meg Tilly. Neither Dad nor Marti notices any change in Mom until she more or less outs herself by refusing to flee, which is just an inexplicable missed opportunity. The entire "Is this person who I think it is?" aspect—which is to say, the story's raison d'être—pretty much gets chucked out the window. What the fuck?

Also, is it just me (apparently so) or is Abel Ferrara one of the filmmakers least temperamentally suited to depict the excision and deliberate suppression of emotion? Would never have guessed this is his work just from watching it, since operatic-verging-on-crazed is his signature style. That's not to say that the film is completely devoid of effective moments—I did shudder at Andy's grade-school classmates all holding up the exact same drawing of tendrils in a sea of red, and this version is unique (I think; might just have forgotten previous instances) in having the pod people make provocative remarks in an effort to unmask impostors. But most of Body Snatchers feels rote and impersonal, and some aspects, like the point-'n'-scream alarm (which here gets blended with a musical sting, undermining rather than amplifying its discomfort), are just outright lifted from earlier adaptations. Setting the action at a military base seems meant to inspire theses about the nature of conformity, but Ferrara & Co. decline to actively develop that idea, which as noted above is counterproductive in any case, adding superficial thematic resonance at the expense of moment-to-moment suspense. (Might have worked had the family actually lived on the base, rather than just showed up to visit so that Dad could run some tests.) #Resistance ending tries to be simultaneously hopeful and bleak, achieves neither. Don't know why this was in Cannes Competition, apart from Ferrara's name, and don't know why it gets any respect now, apart from Ferrara's name. You may now point and scream in my direction. (Minus the sting, if you please.)