101 BAD reviews Battlefield Earth see Battlefield Earth FAQ updated 14May00

Title: Battlefield Earth trashed by "MEAN" Magazine
Author: jdrake_deja@dejanews.com (John Drake)
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 11:12:43 -0700

This text is from MEAN magazine, Vol 1, Number 5, Sep-Dec 1999.

See also the MEAN magazine website: <http://www.meanmag.com/> by Mark Ebner



When Quentin Tarantino resurrected John Travolta in his pop pastiche, Pulp

Fiction he had no idea what a gluttonous monster he was re-releasing.

Although Travolta subsequently scored in a hat-trick of hit films playing

had guys (Broken Arrow, Get Shorty, and Face/Off), there are still the

mind-numbing Phenomenon and the miserable Michael to account for. Primary

Colors and A Civil Action did not meet box office expectations, and no

doubt Travolta, distributors and the public would like to forget the

dreary race-based drama White Man's Burden. Those so-so showings--plus

Travolta's insulting turn as a retard in Mad City, and his storming off

the set of Roman Polanski's The Double (in effect, shutting it down) all

should have put the porcine actor out to pasture.



More recently Two-Ton Travolta bailed on his commitment to star in The

Shipping News, and the much-hyped, misogynistic melodrama The General's

Daughter bellyflopped--its first week box office barely enough to cover

the star's salary and that of his retainers and go-fers. Yet Travolta

still commands $21 million a picture. Too bad his extreme largesse has a

way of killing his own best plans.



Standing Room Only, the biopic story of lounge singer Jimmy Roselli, was

to begin shooting in April '99 with Travolta starring as the Sinatra

contemporary who refused to be co-opted by the mob. The star¹s real-life

wife, Kelly Preston, was also on board as Roselli¹s spouse Donna.

Following up his ill-received Psycho remake, the ever-eclectic Gus Van

Sant was to direct the risky project for which Disney had cautiously

ponied up only $23 million--again, an amount barely covering the star's

salary. Travolta's longtime handler/producer Jonathan Krane had allegedly

raised an additional $25 million, bringing the budget to a nearly-workable

$48 million.



Still, as the start date loomed, the SRO production team was caught short;

they needed at least $64 million to produce this show on a 50-day shooting

schedule. According to sources, they went back to Krane and Travolta, hat

in hand, hoping that the actor would defer maybe $8-10 million of his

salary towards getting his pet project rolling. They apparently figured

that since Travolta was dying to sing and dance in a movie again (he had

rehearsed with composer Marvin Hamlisch for nine, hours nightly), he'd

pitch in some coin.



Travolta wouldn't budge. Not a dime more than his contracted $1

million-deferred was going into this production. Yet for one day of test

shooting, the star acted as if he'd actually get to scene-one/take one,

and he ate like there was no tomorrow.



Travolta began the test-shoot work day with a pick-up at his Brentwood, CA

estate, by his $3600- week driver in an $1100-a-week rental on the $70,000

black Lexus star car. Once he arrived on set, before he talked to anyone,

before he rehearsed or even blocked the shots, Travolta had to eat

breakfast. Alone.



Imagine Howard Hughes crossed with the equally eccentric L. Ron Hubbard

and you've got Travolta in his luxury trailer at a table set with silver,

scarfing eggs and caviar prepared by his personal $32/hour craft services

guy, Peter Evangelitos. While Travolta brunched, the director and crew

waited for him to finish as the clock on the star's contracted maximum

ten-hour work day ticked painfully.



After breakfast, an engorged Travolta waddled to the set, but he still had

several hours of prosthetic "aging" makeup to sit through. So, Travolta

spent the first two to three hours of his ten-hour shift sprawled in a

makeup chair getting ready while the crew waited again. And waited,

until... Lunch time! This was on a four-hour test shoot where no lunch was

planned for the crew. But that didn't bother the lipidinous star.

Travolta's personal chef had $49 worth of filet mignon delivered to be

ground into hamburgers. The first burger served was not rare enough. On

the second, some thing was wrong with the mayonnaise. Luckily, the third

burger met Travolta's exacting culinary standards. Almost fifty dollars

worth of meat was thrown away because--well, he's John Travolta.



"The guy [Travolta] just eats and eats, he's like one of those geese who

get force-fed foie gras. He eats in almost a panic, shoveling food into

his mouth," remarks one SRO crew member. "He is so corpulent and bloated,

his already huge head is watching his gut catch up." The same source says

that for his on-camera costuming, Travolta insisted on wearing the Donna

Karan tuxedo he wore at the Academy Awards because "it covered up his

massive girth."



One way to lose a day of shooting is to offend Travolta's sense of smell.

A set must not only be fully sanitized for this compulsive movie star, no

outside odors can interfere. To avoid having the star walk off the set at

a club where they were shooting, a team of production assistants was sent

scrambling to mask the scent of a nearby kitchen. And as a bonus

expense--whether his shit stinks or not--Travolta demands that his trailer

be pumped nightly, an unheard of request even amongst the most pampered

celebrities.



In addition to his private chef and personal driver, Travolta had at least

a dozen more people in his on-set entourage during the test shoot. Few

know what they did besides collect production pay checks. "He, doesn't pay

them a dime," said a production source. "The studio pays them. Their

contracts are boiler plate and they are paid way shove union scale." His

staff also has to sign a non-disclosure agreement that is "as thick as a

phone book."



Travolta apparently felt that the right to have him sing and dance in a

movie was an exclusive, premium opportunity that no one has had since

Grease (Tarantino only got the fancy footwork in Pulp Fiction). For

Standing Room Only, Travolta reportedly believed that he should not have

had to take a deferred payment in exchange for a once in-a-lifetime chance

for any studio or producer. Even if this was a project close to his heart.



No financial entities really wanted to gamble heavily on the paunchy

song-and-dance man after the less-than phenomenal box office returns from

his last two films. Disney had agreed to only $23 million for the right to

distribute the picture in North America. And before the movie was shut

down, the $25 million that a company called Interlight Pictures promised

for foreign sales had quickly slimmed down to $20 million.



The only money Krane had definitely secured was a paltry $1 million

advance, from QVC (that's right, the shopping network) for the soundtrack

album. But of course JT's manager, Krane, could not admit that he was

losing control of any hard and fast financing. Instead, he hung Gus Van

Sant and producer Danny Wolf out to dry--blaming them for imaginary budget

overruns and spiraling costs.



Krane apparently couldn't risk having his star client mad at him, so he

took the traditional finger-licking, ass-kissing chicken's route out

smoke-screening the truth with a rain of blame. And spin. On the cover of

the April 12 edition of Variety, Krane claimed that "the numerous musical

numbers and elaborate staging had lengthened the pre-production and

production [schedules]." The bottom line: Krane couldn't raise the money.

[Jonathan Krane did not respond to MEAN's interview request, and Travolta

passed on the same through his publicist].



By mid-April, rumors floated that a financier named George Litto had

offered Jonathan Krane substantial funding for Standing Room Only.

According to a source close to the production, Litto "guaranteed the cash

in the bank through his line of credit with Chase Manhattan Bank." Krane's

apparent concern was that Disney had expressed relief when the show shut

down, and wasn't certain that the Mouse House would stand behind the

original $23 million offer; thus there would be no American distribution.



Adding further conflict is Travolta's other pet project, which he's been

developing for six years: Battlefield: Earth, based on the doorstop novel

by deceased spiritual flight attendant L Ron Hubbard. As MEAN goes to

press, Battlefield has pushed their start date back to August 5.

Consequently, if Standing Room Only really did see funding, BE's earliest

completion date would be August 10, threatening the intended Memorial Day

2000 release of the film Travolta has called 'the passion of his

professional life¹."



Krane's latest idea is to push for Standing Room Only to begin shooting in

October. Theoretically, Travolta could then hibernate and burn off fat all

summer, while getting his skills up or the musical numbers. But instead,

the former Sweat Hog is apparently suiting up on stilts to play the

10-foot ruthless alien "Terl" opposite Saving Private Ryan sniper Barry

Pepper in Ontario and Quebec. Those stilts and the film that goes with

them could permanently hobble tubby Travolta's career.



To the press jowly John has commented, "Because Battlefield: Earth is one

of the biggest-selling science fiction novels of all time we could be next

summer's Star Wars." Of course, not all big-selling science fiction novels

translate well to screen (Robert Heinlein's Starship Troopers comes to

mind), and reviews of Hubbard's lengthy sci-fi tome have been far from

kind. The Ultimate Guide to Science Fiction gave Hubbard's 1000-plus page

opus a ranking of "zero stars", while The Economist called the it "an

unsubtle saga, atrociously written, windy and out of control...The plot

clanks along like a giant, lumbering engine."



Travolta has managed to secure the services of director Roger Christian,

who, after a string of unnoticed flicks in the mid-'90s, shot the second

unit (action) footage for Star Wars Episode 1 The Phantom Menace. The

screenwriter on BE is an unknown quantity; Corey Mandel has no produced

credits.



Travolta has always been more appealing as a bad guy--witness Carrie,

Face/Off and Broken Arrow--than as a protagonist. He exudes menace and

charm in bulk, fine qualities for a villain, but the adipose actor has a

few hurdles in BE that not even the four-foot stilts can help him cross.

As Terl, the evil leader of the aliens, the actor's familiar rubbery

features will be disguised. Enthused Travolta about his Mardi Gras-style

drag ensemble, "It will be my face, but I'll be wearing an elaborate

head-dress. I'll have talons for hands and amber eyes." And if

pre-production reports are to be believed, a giant furry egg head.



The make up is the least of the problem. Battlefield: Earth is

sub-standard sci-fi fare: evil aliens, good humans. In Hubbard's turgid

space opera, the humans must save earth from the nefarious

halitosis-ridden "Psychlos." In a clear sci-fi elaboration of his personal

ideology, Hubbard semantically linked the bad guys with his personal

bugabears, psychiatrists, who he felt were out to enslave and destroy

mankind. The removal of psychiatrists from planet Earth is a basic tenet

of Scientology, the multi-level marketing religion Hubbard founded some

thirty years before Battlefield: Earth was originally published.



Barry Pepper, who debuted strong as the Bible-quoting sniper in Saving

Private Ryan, has been cast as "Jonnie Goodboy Tyler," the human who is

captured by Travolta/Terl and goes on to save humanity through his bravery

and brains. Forest Whitaker, who appeared in Phenomenon, is also on board

the wacky spaceship. In other words, cliche doesn't even begin to describe

the ennui that will hit the screens next year.



And theaters will not be the only outlet for Travolta's megalomaniacal

magnum opus. If things go as planned, toy stores will be filled with

action figures from BE. Author Services (the Scientology owned and

operated literary agency whose only client is the late L. Ron) is

reportedly in for a piece of the merchandising, since they hold all the

copyrights on Battlefield: Earth and the sequels and prequels that make up

Hubbard's Mission: Earth series--a book package that one review referred

to as "a door stop." Battlefield: Earth was originally published by St.

Martin's, but is now owned by Bridge Publications, whose catalog includes

(surprise) all the works of the late L. Ron Hubbard.



Reports from Cannes had BE's director Roger Christian arriving with set

drawings, animations and production notes, hoping to raise the lacking $40

million needed to save Earth from the murderous Psychlos. Will Travolta

kick down some of his bulky paycheck to cover costs? Don't bet on it,

because his track record indicates that even if he wants a picture made,

he wants the fatted $21 million purse even more.

Travolta's behavior--the overpaid entourage on 24-hour call, the

compulsive-face stuffing--are the Emperor's haute couture disguising

slobbering greed and pathological insecurity, overshadowing any artistic

integrity. While his Scientological counterpart Tom Cruise--who clearly

travels the same cosseted universe--only does maybe one movie every two

years and carefully chooses the directors he'll work with, Travolta seems

eager to sign on to any project that will lay out the cash for him and his

pampering employees. One insider speculated, "He's so afraid that the

bottom's going to drop out, like it did after Saturday Night Fever, that

he's going to make every penny he can."



Travolta is a gross example of what's causing Hollywood's current downward

spiral. He has no compunction about damaging our already fragile film

economy by taking the Battlefield: Earth production to Canada. Now, of

course his fifteen-per-center, Jonathan Krane, can argue that runaway

production is a sound business decision, but how can he defend the

obscenely obese fees paid to his client and his personal staff? When stars

reap such ridiculous numbers, the studios cut below-the-line expenses. And

as studios fiercely slash those below-the-line costs, they are paying less

to crews while working them harder. And union guys who used to make tidy

six-figure incomes are putting their homes on the market or figuring out

other ways to tighten their belts.



And don't think the crew, from honeywagon driver to the grips and gaffers,

don't know that they're being worked like serfs. "The standard used to he

one third of the budget above the line, two thirds below," says a veteran

producer. "But that's changed now, and when one actor gets such a giant

hunk of dough, it makes the crew dissatisfied and unhappy. It gets a

little Marie Antoinette-ish."



Let them eat cake crumbs. Travolta and company will gobble the whole

bakery, courtesy of his private pastry chef. Hold the mayo.



[sidebar]

WHAT A TRAVOLTIN' DEVELOPMENT PROCESS

The screen adaptation of Hubbard's Battlefield: Earth was penned by

unknown scribe Corey Mandel: the film is to be directed by action director

Roger Christian. Anticipating a budget that could well top $120 million

MEAN thought it would be cool to play development executive for a day.



We took Mandel's screenplay and changed only the title page to read "Dark

Forces by Desmond Finch." Then we dropped it into Hollywood's time honored

development pipeline called ³coverage,² in which the screenplay was

subjected to expert criticism by professional Hollywood script readers.

Script Reader #1 is a male reader at uber agent Mike Ovitz's

management/production concern, Artists Management Group (AMG); Script

Reader #2 is a woman who reads for a busy television/feature film

production company.



Here's how the professionals assessed Battlefield: Earth.



From Script Reader #1:

"A thoroughly silly plotline is made all the more ludicrous by its

hamfisted dialogue and ridiculously shallow characterization. Functioning

only as the broadest of cartoonish stories, the script reads like a 1950¹s

Earth versus the Martians film with a bit of Conan-esque heavy breathing

mixed in. The premise is fairly standard genre stuff: sort of a poor man's

Independence Day. The storyline, however, is slow-moving, predictable and

obvious. The characters are overdrawn types who behave along no consistent

unified tone: some act like mad scientists while others seem

sword-wielding Xena rejects. The dialogue is laughable, at best, dwelling

heavily on the rather obvious irony of the premise.



"The storyline functions, barely, but its slow pace never entertains or

arouses much excitement as it pauses frequently to linger on its own

profundity. The opening scenes set a bizarrely, Conan-like tone as the

silent sword-wielding young hero defies the gods and his elders by leaving

the cave. This tone is quickly made ridiculous as hero Jonnie is revealed

not to be in some medieval underworld, but wandering around the San

Fernando Valley. Once he is abducted by the aliens, the tone shifts again

into its kitschy sci-fi talk as the aliens marvel at these stupid little

humans who are too dumb to speak and the ugliness of Earth's blue

Skies..., The aliens finally manage to figure out that humans are not

completely brain dead, and the humans learn not to live in fear of

superstitious myths of the gods, but instead to fight for freedom, The

quasi-anti-spiritual message is a laughable attempt at high seriousness in

the context of this schlocky story. The thrills and the fights are fairly

standard action sequences,...[and] the conclusion is a thoroughly confused

climax as Jonnie hatches an incomprehensibly complicated plot to defeat

the aliens."

Recommendation: PASS



From Script Reader #2:

"Planet of the Apes meets Total Recall with a touch of Armageddon and

Independence Day thrown in for kicks...a completely predictable story that

just isn¹t written well enough to make up for its lack of originality. The

basic story has been done before with a more interesting setting, stronger

characters and better dialogue. The [supporting] characters are all

straight out of Central Casting... Such miserably uninspired characters

are well-suited to this exceedingly uninteresting story. The dialogue is

dull, historical allusions painful, and the few laughs Finch tries to work

into the script fall horrifyingly flat. If that weren't bad enough, Finch

uses the "everything AND the kitchen sink" approach to plotting a

screen-play. Think of your least favorite cliche, and I guarantee you'll

find it in Dark Forces.



"Sadly, in the age of disturbingly derivative movies, a film with plot

points from nearly every science fiction flick ever made could reign as

king.... But as a screenplay, the patchwork quilt Mr. Finch is trying to

pass off as a movie is about as entertaining as watching a fly breathe."

Recommendation: PASS



For MORE on this see Battlefield Earth FAQ