They Don't Make Mad Scientists Like They Used To
Because it's nearly Halloween (or IS Halloween, if you live in one of those towns where they don't allow you to do your naked dancing and baby sacrificing on Sundays), here's part of the Subliminal Cinema chapter which explains how mad science has evolved over the years, going from the self-employed crackpot of The Ape Man (which we shared with you a couple of weeks ago), to the Halliburton-funded secret projects of The Hollow Man (which we will review today).
At the completion of the chapter you will receive a community college certificate in Mad Science, which will qualify you for one those jobs of the 21st century which Mr. Bush mentioned in the third presidential debate.
The following material was written by Scott C., and made possible by a grant from the Radio Hut Foundation for Mad Science.
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It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Scientist
Like Hollywood filmmaking, scientific research has grown astronomically expensive over the past generation few generations; and mad science, once a quaint cottage industry, is now the sole province of evil multinational conglomerates or shadowy government agencies. This means that without grants or corporate sponsorship, the criminal misuse of basic and applied research is now beyond the reach of the average small businessman.
As a result, today’s mad scientist is no longer an outcast visionary, no longer a demented genius laboring in secret to avenge himself upon the world. Now he’s just an employee with a 401k. But there was a time, not so long ago, when the typical mad doctor worked out of a one-man laboratory; occasionally assisted by an unpaid university student from Wittenburg or a hunchback on flex time. In that far simpler era, it wasn’t necessary for the fledgling mad scientist to labor in a high-tech facility a hundred feet below Area 51. All he needed was a finished basement, a 220-volt outlet, and the aspiring madman was ready to jump in and start reanimating corpses.
Sadly, those entrepreneurial days are over. In 1940's The Devil Bat, Bela Lugosi had only to clear the snow shovels and the old Highlights magazines out of the garage, and he was free to start mutating rodents. But by the year 2000, in Hollow Man, demented physicist Kevin Bacon required a Pentagon appropriation and a high security subterranean laboratory complex before he could even think about tampering with things Man was never meant to know.
In this chapter we will follow the evolution of Mad Science, from the Golden Age of rugged individualism, when any broken-down old Magyar with a death ray and a dream could conquer the world, to the high tech, military-industrial boondoggles of the 21st century.
Hollow Man (2000)
Directed by Paul Verhoeven
Written by Gary Scott Thompson (story)
and Andrew W. Marlowe (story and screenplay)
The Hollow Man, while boasting some astonishing special effects, is not a very faithful adaptation of the poem by T.S. Eliot. Nevertheless, even when the story bogs down, the presense of star Kevin Bacon allows the audience to while away the time with that popular parlor game, Six Degrees of Crap.
As our story opens, a brown Norway rat is twisted in half like a balloon animal, then it’s head is bitten off and eaten by an invisible...rat head-eating thing. Cut to Kevin Bacon, who is attempting to use recombinant DNA technology on Scrubbing Bubbles. When his efforts fail, he pauses to peep at his neighbor as she strips down to her underwear. His scientific genius rekindled by voyeurism, Kevin returns to his computer, and with a few keystrokes, creates a perfect three dimensional model of an Everlasting Gob-Stopper.
Next day at the lab, Josh Brolin gets lightly mauled by an invisible gorilla. Kevin and Josh join forces, and hunt down the diaphanous primate with infrared goggles in a sequence that’s sort of a cross between "Predator" and "Donkey Kong."
Having tranquilized the ape, they inject it with Orange Crush, which causes the invisible beast to slowly reappear, organ by organ–first the circulatory system, then the viscera, and eventually–after we’re all mildly nauseated–the flesh and pelt. Kevin’s team is ecstatic. He’s done it, he’s finally realized one of man’s oldest dreams--showing a gorilla its own guts.
To celebrate, Kevin tries to seduce Elizabeth Shue, his research partner and former girlfriend, but having just seen an ape’s endocrine system, she’s not feeling aroused.
Against the advice of his colleagues, Kevin decides to test the invisibility process on himself, since this will allow him to avoid appearing in the rest of the movie. He shoots himself up with a vial of Windex (don’t try this at home), then screams and flops around nude on an operating table, frightening his team with the possibility they might glimpse his scrotum.
The formula works, and Kevin disappears–skin first, then nerves, organs, and finally bones. It’s an historic moment; Kevin has achieved a quantum shift out of the visible spectrum, and immediately realizes the scientific potential of this breakthrough technology by molesting a veterinarian.
Alas, the Orange Crush fails to reverse the process and return him to visibility. Elizabeth creates a mask for Kevin by pouring flesh-colored pudding over his head, which makes him look like Mr. Clean after an industrial accident.
Kevin goes insane, in the time-honored manner of invisible men, giving the old You-can’t-imagine-the-FREEDOM-and-POWER speech, and then decides to kill off the rest of the cast before the critics do. After trapping them down in his secret underground laboratory complex, he deals out a succession of head wounds to the supporting players, then stabs Josh with a crowbar, and locks Elizabeth in a walk-in freezer. But, as Nietzche said, Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you into McGyver, and she promptly concocts an elaborate escape utilizing a defibrulator, a length of heavy gauge plastic tubing, the handle from a file cabinet, and a Hostess Ding Dong. Not to be outdone, Kevin crafts a powerful bomb out of duct tape, some orange juice, and a snowglobe.
Inspired by her success, Elizabeth whips up a flamethrower out of ordinary items you’d find around the house, and roasts Kevin at close range. But, as Nietzche said, Whatever makes you invisible, apparently makes you flame-retardant too, because after screaming in agony and burning to a crisp, he shakes it off and resumes killing her.
Josh, inexplicably back from his near-death experience, caves in Kevin’s skull with the crowbar. But, as Nietzche said, whatever makes your screenplay stupid and implausible makes your climax laugh-out-loud goofy, and Kevin bounces back from his subdural hematoma and takes a swing at Josh with the crowbar. Missing, he hits a high voltage...something on the wall. Fuse box, I guess, and is electrocuted. As a bonus, death renders him partially visible, so we get to ponder his lymph nodes again.
Fleeing Kevin’s homemade bomb, Elizabeth and Josh climb up the ladder inside the elevator shaft. They’re nearly to the top, when we learn anew the truth of Nietzche’s dictum that Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you incredibly anti-climactic, because Kevin appears out of nowhere, and suddenly Elizabeth is locked in a life and death struggle with the Transparent Man from high school biology class.
Eventually, Kevin dies as he lived–hamming it up with his skin off. Back on the surface, there’s a bunch of fire trucks, and an ambulance pulls away as the credits roll, giving you the odd feeling that you’ve just watched a really perverted episode of "Emergency!"
I don’t know what kind of weed they’re smoking in those Amsterdam hash cafes, but in my opinion, it’s time that director Paul Verhoeven learns when to say when.
9:12:57 AM 
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