Gareth Edwards — Floating World

Gareth Edwards’ Monsters defies genre conventions much in the same vein The Host did back in 2006. It outrages fans of rampant, ravenous beast and excessive gore by going back to classical aspects of fear, where the worst dread is not the cause itself but the anticipation of the cause becoming present.

Looking at the Rotten Tomatoes consensus, I see that it describes the film as “[not] quite living up to its intriguing premise, but [Monsters] is a surprising blend of alien-invasion tropes, political themes, and relationship drama.” This description does the film little service, if any: not once did the film or advertisements claim specifically what Edwards’ cinematic vision would offer, nor does it explicitly explore political themes or relationship dramas. A more accurate description would be this – that Monsters offers a unique perspective into the disaster-monster movie by focusing not on the initial event itself, but the events thereafter and how we humans have simply learned to adapt to such an effect. Offering a incredibly plausible concept from a biological and evolutionary perspective, Edwards’ does what almost no modern horror, disaster or monster film director comes close to – build up an intimate relationship between the characters on screen and the audience, and to sustain us on technical-visual excellence at the same time.

The Appeal of the Monster Genre

Monsters unite humans. For whatever reason they go about terrorizing civilization their very existence gives us reason to set aside differences and to instinctually fear for the survival of the human species. In a strange sense, their (un)natural existence presents to us a entity that is beyond our immediate understanding, a sort of shock-horror appall paired with a awe of something so powerful, so unimaginable that for a few split second the gut instinct is mixed with terror and amazement.

Monsters rarely have any distinguishable personality or motivation other than to terrorize the bejeezus out of us wee people. Godzilla destroyed Tokyo, and King Kong thrashed about New York City; yet it happens that in all of these famous monster conventions it somehow never occurred to these beasts that they could plausibly terrorize some other species, like gorillas, lions, or those bastard dolphins who seem to think so highly of themselves. No, somehow we humans offer or threaten something more to extraterrestrials or mega-sized organisms, whether it be our brains or simply our capacity to be stupid. Either way, monster convention states that the very existence of humans lends itself to jealousy, and that in a moment of absurdity some giant thing will usurped all peace and harmony for the end result of wiping out humanity.

There’s an inherent human-centric side to monster films, in this respect. By making ourselves the sole victim (and perhaps victor) of a (un)natural battle frontier, it goes without saying how much people commonly believe we are somehow “above” nature, and that this de facto instantly makes us the target of enraged megabullies to get out of their slumber and throw rocks at skyscrapers. Somehow, while effectively naked and without many natural defenses other animals have like elongated fangs, rock-like skin or weight to throw around, we humans still manage to upset somebody, and somebody big.

Yet, perhaps another angle on the monster genre is one of environmentalism: by procreating and developing so extensively into the earth, humans have effectively ravished the natural environment for its fertility; distraught and angered, these monsters retaliate violently to shut us down, to slap us silly into existential humility. Still, this doesn’t account for why aliens would simply fly on down through the ozone to zap us away, and again reinforces the primary idea that the monster convention is inherently human-centric.

Why Monsters defies the monster convention

From a production POV, Gareth Edwards does wonders with only a five person crew including himself and the two actors. His feats include being the director, writer, and cinematographer/director of photography for the film, as well as improvising (and encouraging his actors likewise) at each location, and using Adobe Autodesk 3ds Max to create the spectacular special effects – all for only $15,000 (comparatively, Michael Bay spent on $200,000,000 on Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen). Edwards’ production epitomizes independent filmmaking at its best, demonstrating that good science fiction does not need to splurge on millions of dollars to be successful or even tangibly good – a trend that invariably began with George Lucas’s blockbuster success with the original Star Wars back in 1977.

More impressively, Monsters immediately defies convention for multiple reasons:

Chronologically, it does not take place at the initial event of interest when a monster/alien first arrives,
The ‘creatures’ are biologically tangible,
They are not out to terrorize humans,
The two protagonists are not extraordinary,
People don’t change, and do.

Chronologically Hereafter

By not focusing on the initial time of conflict – where creatures and humans first collide – Edwards focuses in on a much more subtle and quieter aspect of human nature: our ability to grow numb to the aftereffects of devastation. At one point in the film, the girl Sam (Whitney Able) turns on the television and sees a newscast about another tragedy/political event regarding the creatures, and her only reaction is to yawn soundly and plop back onto her bed. It’s a subtle detail, and an effective one: ask yourself, how many times have you turned on the telly to see something about the Middle Eastern conflict, or the BP oil spill, or the Haiti earthquake, or even the clean up efforts of Hurricane Katrina and simply found yourself a bit apathetic to what has already happened?

This is a important aspect of human nature that few filmmakers of the monster convention explore, simply because it is less spectacular and less glamorous to focus on so. Millions of people die every year, yet somehow a train wreck phenomena – in which a great number of people perish in a relatively short time span – unites the world in both horror and sympathy, a immediate common symbol for our capacity to care and act accordingly when disaster strikes. Reality, of course, is that after a few months have passed most people have moved onto the next big news, the next big thing in the public conscious.

In Monsters, this chronological aspect gives the movie’s premise something much more substantial and humanistic. The presence of the creatures is universally accepted, and while they still pose a risk to those in certain areas everyone still goes about their daily lives – culturally, socially, politically, and interpersonally.

Biologically Tangible

A fantastic choice on Edwards’ part was to make the creatures simultaneously extraterrestrial yet biologically tangible as well. The movie states that a NASA probe was sent into space to collect samples came back to earth and crashed into the ocean around Central America, resulting in alien lifeforms infecting and mutating cephalopods into what the world now knows as 'creatures.’ They lay their eggs on trees (thus creating “infected zones”) and travel hundreds of miles to procreate; it’s implied that they are drawn to electricity for reproductive reasons, perhaps for sexual display (not dissimilar to a peacock’s vibrant feather arrangement) or metabolic stimulation, or both.

From a biological point of view, this is absolutely ingenious. Fleshing out the physical presence of the creatures not only grounds them in a sense of reality, but perhaps even a bit of plausibility in the world of Monsters. Foremost, marine creatures are perhaps some of the most extraterrestrial-like creatures marine biologists can account for, and more; it’s more than possible that there are other deep sea creatures we have yet to encounter, let alone account for with current technology. With this in mind, it’s not incomprehensible why so many aliens seem reminiscent of creatures fathoms below – tentacles, cold flesh, bulging eyes, non-mammalian, how could we not subconsciously be influenced to project our ideas about these non-terrestrial beings into ideas about unnatural, extraterrestrial terrors coming down to earth? (An explicit example of this sea creature projecting is easily District 9, where the alien lifeforms are derivatively called 'prawns.’)

Their presence is a biological phenomena, perhaps extraterrestrial but biologically sound nonetheless. Realistically, they won’t always be seen at a given time, which Edwards wisely chooses to depict so from an aesthetic and budget choice; this results in an increased tension and intensity of each scene, since for the most part we rarely see or hear the creatures talked about so adamantly by everyone. This lacking presence creates more impact when we actually see or hear the creatures, perhaps even a mysticism and awe at the same time.

There’s one scene where Sam and Andrew are at a rest stop on their journey, and in the deep jungles they hear a creature roar. A nearby soldier raises his gun, and we can hear some rustling in the deep forest background; for a few moments we are enraptured by the scene’s tension, unsure as to whether or not the creature will make itself present and mark itself as an immediate threat. Edwards takes the time to let the time pass, letting both the characters and the audience hold their breath until the threat passes on – exactly like how nature functions in real life.

The Unwitting Terrorizers

“What is life than to keep meat fresh?” – Doctor Who

Closely tied in with the biological tangibility of the creatures in Monster is their implied drive to reproduce, a drive that is ubiquitous to perhaps every living organism inhabiting planet earth. Their motivation is primitive and plausible, and humans are only unfortunate enough to now be sharing the same environment with creatures otherwise capable of wrecking havoc along their journey to consummate and procreate for the survival of their species. If a few humans happen to get trampled here and there, that’s just the reality of survival of the fittest (and in this case, who can throw their weight around the best).

Monsters is all about survival and favors no one. It’s told from the perspective of people, which only makes sense because the production crew and target audience are presumably human; but otherwise Edwards makes no outright statement that the creatures are horrible entities with some ulterior motive to destroy humans. They are simply coexisting in the same environment we are, driven by the same instinct to survive, proliferate and extend into the next generation – a natural phenomena of biology that does not determine good or bad, but simply dictates what lifeforms can survive and exist in a particular environment at a given time.

This stance on the monster genre detracts away from the human centric convention, perhaps even deflating the human narcissistic tendency to believe we are above other living organisms. The truth is that beyond physical forms and cognitive abilities we humans are no less different than any other species inhabiting the earth: the inherent instinct is to survive, and to survive as a species sexual reproduction is a must. The drive for a sex is a powerful one, and arguably connects our own existence to that of other organisms around us.

The main conflict between the creatures and people in Monsters lies solely in the environmental niche the creatures occupy, and how their proliferation threatens to strain where people are currently able to live safely without worry of resource competition. There is no human-centric conflict at hand, which perhaps detracts away from our natural tendency to pride ourselves as human. Really, in Monsters we humans are just in the way of a new, emerging species that just wants to reproduce and proliferate on earth.

Unextraordinary Characters

There’s something to be said about depicting two characters that are neither heroic or extraordinary, but simply two people who find themselves in a tough situation which invariably draws them closer together.

It all begins with Sam Wynden running away to Mexico, and then her executive father requesting his employee/photojournalist Andrew Kaulder (Scoot McNairy) to take her back home to the states, where her fiance awaits. Initially bound by Wynden’s father’s request, Sam and Andrew grow close because 1) Andrew finds Sam attractive and 2) Sam can relax around Andrew, and feel comfortable too.

Many reviewers have commented that Monsters centers around a love story between the two leads. I disagree, primarily because loneliness is the primary emotional drive between the two, and love is perhaps a secondary symptom of their relationship. While I wouldn’t call ita Lost in Translation of the monster convention, Monsters’s substance is in the same vein of Sofia Coppola’s quiet character study: a situation pairs two people into an unlikely company, and the weight of their relationship lies solely on the situation which brought them together in the first place.

It’s implied that Sam and Andrew have turmoiled lives beyond their current get-through-the-infected-zone-and-stay-alive situation, and that perhaps the dangers of being trampled and killed by a creature, while intimidating and terror inducing, is only temporary compared to their chronic situation at home. There’s one scene where finally, at a gas station awaiting an army rescue troop, Sam and Andrew make phone calls separately – Sam to her fiance, and Andrew to his biological son. It’s a poignant scene because up until now, we’ve more or less been engrossed with Sam and Andrew in a situation centered around creatures possibly coming out and threatening their position; now presumably safe, the two separate temporarily to make their personal phone calls, and while they cannot see each other we can see a marked difference in how they act over the phone: Sam’s fiance is cold and perhaps overbearing, and the stiffened way she talks with him implies that she not only ran away from him, but also from her father with whom she similarly interacted with over the phone earlier in the film; Andrew emotionally breaks down after talking to his son, and forces himself to keep a steady voice while tearing up at the sound of his son’s ecstatic voice.

The scene effectively rules out the primary emotional connection of love between Sam and Andrew, suggesting instead that they are bound by desperation and sadness recurrent from their lives outside the presence of the creatures. It’s an incredibly moving scene, and perhaps marks Monsters as one of the few monster-disaster films to truly flesh out a real, substantial couple of protagonists.

People don’t change. And people do.

Monster convention commonly indulges in the notion that a disaster changes character, and more often than not for the better. In Monsters, people haven’t changed much since the creatures became integrated in the world: politics are still in perpetual turmoil, political statements are just as pervasive, and money means everything. On one occasion, when trying to get back to the States by ferry (the safer route), a Mexican official charges Sam a total of $5,000 for one ticket in a blatant rip off; on another, the woman Andrew has a one-night stand with ruffles through his bags and steals his and Sam’s passports. In a world with giant creatures, people are somehow still motivated by money.

There’s a funny dialogue between Sam and Andrew where she asks if he has any qualms about taking pictures and making money off of deaths and other’s misfortunes; he replies that doctors are just the same, and later elaborates that under Sam’s father’s publishing company, a picture of a dead child sells for a few grand while a picture of a happy child sells for zero. I chuckled and sighed a bit at this part, mostly because it’s true: a great majority of our world functions off of other’s misery, and money perpetuates it.

However, there is one scene that struck a particularly humanistic note: it occurs after Sam and Andrew’s caravan have been attacked by a creature, only leaving the two alive. As Andrew goes out to assess the situation and pick up supplies for the remainder of their journey back to the States, he sees the body of a dead girl lying sprawl on the ground, the result of the creature initially attacking the truck in front of them. He sets down his bag slowly, taking out a camera; our initial reaction is that he will take the opportunity to take a picture or two, less he secure some amount of fortune upon returning to his regular life; however, it turns out that he was only taking out a camera to get to his jacket, which he uses to cover the body of the dead girl. The scene unravels quietly and marvelously so, and while perhaps moralistic gives a sense of humanism and hope amongst turmoil and a perpetual, subconscious obsession with something as immaterial as money.

Closing Remarks

Monsters is not a great film, but it is certainly a fine one. Defying convention of genre and production, director Gareth Edwards’ cinematic debut is a strong one, and definitely a noteworthy one to date.

There have been numerous comparisons of Edwards to director Neill Blomkamp of District 9, as well as comparisons between Edwards’ and Blomkamp’s films. I feel, however, that this comparison is unfair: Blomkamp had the luxury of Peter Jackson’s producing and residual budget from an unmade Halo film, and while District 9 began with an intriguing premise rife with political and social implications it eventually fell way to a generic space opera convention. Conversely, Edwards effectively funded Monsters on a pennies-equivalent budget, and wisely kept the tone of Monsters constant throughout without promising anything it neither accomplished or aspired towards.

If anything, go see Monsters to see why there are still avenues in the science-fiction/monster-disaster genre to explore, and why a good story with a strong and dedicated vision can accomplish things otherwise unfathomable. Monsters will undermine and surpass your expectations, guaranteed.

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