Soylent GreenOne axiom shared by the older generation to its inheritors is that things used to be better when they were younger. That is the testament of "police book" Sol Roth (Edward G. Robinson) to his roommate of their cramped apartment and his NYPD colleague, Detective Frank Thorn (Charlton Heston), as they ponder the "merits" of Soylent's product, purportedly nutritious rations, the futuristic substitute for real food. Sol is right; we know this by virtue of life in our own time, and ponder the same question Sol asks as they later enjoy a rare meal claimed from the food stuffs of the murdered member of the Soylent board, William R. Simonson (Joseph Cotton): "How did we come to this?"
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Soylent Green is an ecologically-minded science fiction movie, which poses as a police thriller. Detective Thorn is the protagonist of the tale, sent to investigate the killing of Simonson, a assassination executed at the behest of the other members of the Soylent Corporation. But Sol is unquestionably the heart of the tale, and our anchor to our world as it "once was". Soylent Green was made in 1973, and is set in the year of 2022; at the time of this writing, closer than ever to that year, there is the benefit of knowing that it is unlikely that things will deteriorate quite so rapidly as depicted in the film, but that the earmarks of the prophetic warnings of overpopulation, ecological deterioration, and the stranglehold over necessities like food are still issues which worsen year after year. One has but to go to the grocery store and look at prices today to see how something which might sound as absurd as a jar of strawberries--a luxury item in this future--going for one-hundred fifty dollars may not be as ludicrous as it sounded in 1973; just watch what's happening to the price of beef and pork today. The bitterness of nostalgia is also shared the caustic acidity of class disparity run amok. Simonson is rich, yes, and lives in a palatial apartment--in any era--with a beautiful woman named Shirl (Leigh Taylor-Young). Shirl is apartment "furniture", a live-in concubine, although Simonson treats her quite humanely in contrast to most, which altogether sidesteps the issue that she is indentured into prostitution. His assassination is done to maintain a "necessary" way of life, something Simonson admits to his killer, in part because of the tragic state of the world, but more so because he--like Sol--is aware of the difference between "now" and "then", as well as the moral paradigm shift which allows for a corporation like Soylent to get away with its terrible abomination, an affront to one of the few taboos universally regarded in the civilized world.
Adapted from the science fiction novel called "Make Room! Make Room!" by Harry Harrison, Soylent Green elegantly elucidates the theme of a populous out of control in the opening montage, a series of photographs aging over a hundred years, gradually going from images of one or two people, to more, and more, and more still, rapidly erupting in stills of violence and economic desperation, answering Sol's rhetorical question more or less. This dystopian future is one where there is not only no futuristic technology, but any technology recognizable as forty years old or more is already broken down and often no more than a useless antique at best. Electricity is supplemented by hardwired car batteries stacked high and by peddling a bicycle to recharge them. Even if cell phones once existed in this world, the suggestion is that they no longer work, and the only reliable means of phone communication is through police boxes or other analog devices. As mentioned before, the most effective scene which sheds light on the contrast in life between now and then is after Thorn--having lifted a haul of personal effects and food from Simonson's apartment--brings Sol the scavenged food and drink, and Sol prepares a dinner for them. Sol shows Thorn how things use to be, even offering him a secreted away set of silverware to use, and the two friends enjoy the meal in different ways. Thorn claims he never ate so well, and Sol remembers how things were before the persistent "greenhouse effect" killed life in the seas and prevented anything from being able to grow.
Watching Soylent Green reveals small details barely noticed beneath the ecological message front and center in the film, namely comments about the "farms" and life in the country, which is heavily guarded and monitored. The crowded cities are forced to endure waiting in line all day for a pittance of Soylent crumbs, when and if they are even in supply, and riots always break out--so often that it is a constant for the NYPD. There are subtle hints--emphasized by the likes of conspirator and Governor Santini (Whit Bissell)--that the shortages and crowding are in part a fabrication, fostered by the rich and powerful to keep the poor under their totalitarian thumb, already herding them and segregating them into their corrals, swept up in the riots by bulldozers--called "scoops"--which treat them like so much offal. While Thorn tracks down his leads on the Simonson case in his conventional, but inevitably ineffectual way, Sol learns the dire secret and in order to lead Thorn to the proof he seeks, he commits to his decision to "go home", a euphemism for assisted suicide, which is administered in comfort and serenity at a facility which resembles a hospital, airport, and movie theater all in one. Even the phrase--"going home"--implies that this world is no longer a welcome place, a sentiment reinforced by the cruel, unfriendly city we've already experienced in the majority of the film. The scene which Thorn is ultimately privy to is powerful and moving, set to Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and selections of the Peer Gynt Suite by Edvard Grieg, basked in the warm, artificial glow of a virtual world that once was. Sol imbibes the venomous drink on his gurney in a shot recalling the classic painting, "La Mort de Socrate" by Jacques-Louis David, drawing a parallel between the wise Sol and the great philosopher; although while Socrates' death was the stifling of wisdom for the sake of the state, Sol's sacrifice is done to lead Thorn to illumination. The path that Thorn follows as the bodies are being processed is chilling to say the least, shot in such a way that although all of the bodies are covered in blank shrouds, we instinctively know which one is Sol's. There is no musical score here, just the cold, unfeeling sound of operating machinery and industry working among the lifeless carcasses of people. When the terrible secret of the Soylent corporation is finally revealed to the audience, it stands as one of the great shockers of cinema. And as Thorn finally shouts his devastating warning to the people in the church where the final confrontation takes place, one wonders if it is enough, that even with this knowledge, would people change? Would they revolt at their diabolical and depraved oppressors? Or has the die been cast, and the path is irreversible? No doubt this is an even more horrible future to behold.
Recommended for: Fans of a science fiction story about the dangers of living without ecological harmony in the world, as well as the dangers of affording the rich and powerful license to govern what we eat and where we live. It is a sobering look at a very possible future, now as it was in 1973.
Adapted from the science fiction novel called "Make Room! Make Room!" by Harry Harrison, Soylent Green elegantly elucidates the theme of a populous out of control in the opening montage, a series of photographs aging over a hundred years, gradually going from images of one or two people, to more, and more, and more still, rapidly erupting in stills of violence and economic desperation, answering Sol's rhetorical question more or less. This dystopian future is one where there is not only no futuristic technology, but any technology recognizable as forty years old or more is already broken down and often no more than a useless antique at best. Electricity is supplemented by hardwired car batteries stacked high and by peddling a bicycle to recharge them. Even if cell phones once existed in this world, the suggestion is that they no longer work, and the only reliable means of phone communication is through police boxes or other analog devices. As mentioned before, the most effective scene which sheds light on the contrast in life between now and then is after Thorn--having lifted a haul of personal effects and food from Simonson's apartment--brings Sol the scavenged food and drink, and Sol prepares a dinner for them. Sol shows Thorn how things use to be, even offering him a secreted away set of silverware to use, and the two friends enjoy the meal in different ways. Thorn claims he never ate so well, and Sol remembers how things were before the persistent "greenhouse effect" killed life in the seas and prevented anything from being able to grow.
Watching Soylent Green reveals small details barely noticed beneath the ecological message front and center in the film, namely comments about the "farms" and life in the country, which is heavily guarded and monitored. The crowded cities are forced to endure waiting in line all day for a pittance of Soylent crumbs, when and if they are even in supply, and riots always break out--so often that it is a constant for the NYPD. There are subtle hints--emphasized by the likes of conspirator and Governor Santini (Whit Bissell)--that the shortages and crowding are in part a fabrication, fostered by the rich and powerful to keep the poor under their totalitarian thumb, already herding them and segregating them into their corrals, swept up in the riots by bulldozers--called "scoops"--which treat them like so much offal. While Thorn tracks down his leads on the Simonson case in his conventional, but inevitably ineffectual way, Sol learns the dire secret and in order to lead Thorn to the proof he seeks, he commits to his decision to "go home", a euphemism for assisted suicide, which is administered in comfort and serenity at a facility which resembles a hospital, airport, and movie theater all in one. Even the phrase--"going home"--implies that this world is no longer a welcome place, a sentiment reinforced by the cruel, unfriendly city we've already experienced in the majority of the film. The scene which Thorn is ultimately privy to is powerful and moving, set to Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and selections of the Peer Gynt Suite by Edvard Grieg, basked in the warm, artificial glow of a virtual world that once was. Sol imbibes the venomous drink on his gurney in a shot recalling the classic painting, "La Mort de Socrate" by Jacques-Louis David, drawing a parallel between the wise Sol and the great philosopher; although while Socrates' death was the stifling of wisdom for the sake of the state, Sol's sacrifice is done to lead Thorn to illumination. The path that Thorn follows as the bodies are being processed is chilling to say the least, shot in such a way that although all of the bodies are covered in blank shrouds, we instinctively know which one is Sol's. There is no musical score here, just the cold, unfeeling sound of operating machinery and industry working among the lifeless carcasses of people. When the terrible secret of the Soylent corporation is finally revealed to the audience, it stands as one of the great shockers of cinema. And as Thorn finally shouts his devastating warning to the people in the church where the final confrontation takes place, one wonders if it is enough, that even with this knowledge, would people change? Would they revolt at their diabolical and depraved oppressors? Or has the die been cast, and the path is irreversible? No doubt this is an even more horrible future to behold.
Recommended for: Fans of a science fiction story about the dangers of living without ecological harmony in the world, as well as the dangers of affording the rich and powerful license to govern what we eat and where we live. It is a sobering look at a very possible future, now as it was in 1973.