25. Forbidden Planet (1956)

by Brandie Ashe

 “In the final decade of the 21st century, men and women in rocket ships landed on the moon. By 2200 AD, they had reached the other planets of our solar system. Almost at once there followed the discovery of hyperdrive, through which the speed of light was first attained and later greatly surpassed. And so, at last, mankind began the conquest and colonization of deep space.” –Prologue

Humanity loves its technology almost as much as it fears its destructive capabilities. For every development that makes our lives easier and more enjoyable, there are those advancements that bring with them the possibility of calamity, whether on a minor or somewhat more global scale. Technology is both friend and foe. It is a helpmate and a hindrance. It is born of our ingenuity and our arrogance, of our desire to help ourselves and one another, and of our greed and avarice. And, if we’re honest with ourselves, on some level, we must admit that much of our technology arises from our desire to play God, to prolong our existence, to defy the natural order of things and fly in the face of mortality.

 

An ancient alien race, the Krell, discovered this to their detriment some 200,000 years ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I don’t think it would be stretching it to say that, right from the eerie opening strains of the before-its-time electronica soundtrack, 1956’sForbidden Planet changed the face of science-fiction cinema in the 1950s. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person to ever say that. To reiterate an overused term, it truly is a groundbreaking movie, and in many ways, it set the stage for the evolution of science-fiction film over the subsequent decades. In a decade that saw any number of over-the-top treatments of the genre, Planet was something quite special: it was a straightforward, A-level sci-fi flick that took its science-fiction elements seriously, and in the process delivered a film that is both endlessly entertaining and thoughtfully multilayered.

 

Forbidden Planet functions as a sort of reversal of the traditional flying-saucer trope: this time, it’s the humans who show up in the contraption, arriving on a strange planet not their own. The crew of United Planets Cruiser C-57D, led by Commander J.J. Adams (Leslie Nielsen), is on a special mission to a far-off star, Altair, which is surrounded by several planets. One of these, Altair-IV, was visited by a scientific vessel, the Bellerophon, twenty years prior, which has not been heard from since. The crew of C-57D has been sent on a mission to the Earth-like planet to search for survivors from the previous mission, but when they reach one via radio–a philologist, Dr. Edward Morbius (Walter Pidgeon)–he warns the crew that if they land, he cannot guarantee their safety.

 

Adams insists upon following through with his mission anyhow, and once they arrive on the surface of the planet, the crew is greeted by Robby, an advanced robot designed by Morbius to serve the needs of himself and his attractive young daughter, Alta (Anne Francis). Morbius is the only survivor from the Bellerophon (Alta having been born on the planet), informing Adams and his men that the other members of the scientific ship’s crew had been killed years prior by a “dark, terrible, incomprehensible” planetary force to which he and his wife had been immune. But Adams is immediately suspicious, finding it incredibly curious that a man specializing in ancient languages has the intellectual wherewithal to design something as complex as Robby, and begins to question Morbius’s story at every turn. When the planetary force that killed the Bellerophon crew makes its deadly return, Adams and his crew must uncover the secrets Morbius has sworn to protect–the secrets of an advanced civilization that once called the planet home, whose leftover technology has bred the beast that threatens them all.

 

MGM, the studio that produced Forbidden Planet, threw a couple million dollars into the production of the film, and it shows in the final product. Boasting an intriguing storyline that is very loosely based on the plot threads of William Shakespeare’s 1610 play The Tempest,Forbidden Planet definitely stands out in comparison to many of its sci-fi brethren of the mid-1950s, particularly in regards to production value. With the mighty power of the MGM production design team behind them, director Fred M. Wilcox’s set designers were able to construct an incredible spaceship set on the MGM sound stages, surrounded by a massive backdrop depicting the unique Altairian skyline. Combine that with the incomprehensible scope of the laboratory scenes and the seemingly endless expanses of the underground world of the Krell, and it’s safe to say that Forbidden Planet boasts one hell of an impressive bit of world-building.

 

What’s perhaps most impressive about the entire enterprise, however, is that even with all of the details that the filmmakers were able to squeeze into Planet, they exercise restraint in regards to the biggest mystery of the movie: the Krell. We never see the Krell (Morbius, in fact, states that there is no record remaining as to their physicality), but we get odd hints as to their appearance–the wide triangular doorways that lead to their labs, the wide headset to the mind-expanding “educator” device–all of which lets your imagination run wild in the very best ways. We’re not told that the Krell were human, per se, but that they did “visit” Earth and “sample” biological specimens. But they were, at the very least, human-like, susceptible to the same follies and flaws as mankind: greed, hubris, overconfidence.

 

In a Cold War-era film, it’s hard not to see the eradication of the Krell species as a warning, of sorts, for the two countries in an ongoing nuclear arms race: that it was the Krell’s technology that ultimately eradicated them, as a direct result of their hubris, their desire to play God, to make arbitrary decisions for the whole based on perception of what is right and just to a few. It’s the same mistake Morbius prepares to make; when Adams declares that the technology of the Krell must be turned over to the United Planets (itself a mistake in the making; can any government be trusted with that much power, as Morbius points out?), Morbius instead wants to maintain control, to dole out portions of the technology to Earth as he deems “safe” and fit–much like a god. [It’s fitting that Morbius arrived on Altair-IV on a ship christened the Bellerophon–like the Bellerophon of Greek myth, who slew the fire-breathing Chimera and was then so taken in by his own hubris that he thought himself a god and was punished by Zeus, so, too, does Morbius liken himself to a god, and succumb to the fire-breathing beast within.]

 

That fire-breathing beast–well, it’s not a fire-breather so much as an invisible behemoth that comes to fiery animated life (thanks to animator Joshua Meador, who was borrowed from Walt Disney Studios for the film) when lit up by electrified force fields and blasters–is a downright Freudian nightmare (and everyone knows that Freudian monsters are the worst monsters, because they’re in all of us). It is, as the ill-fated Dr. Ostrow (Warren Stevens) tells us, the manifestation of the id. It’s the primitive, the instinctual, the unrestrained. It’s aggression and sex and gratification–all the impulses that drive us, that we push down for the sake of living in a civilized society. Or, as Adams puts it more succinctly, “We’re all part monsters in our subconscious, so we have laws and religion!” And as much as we like to believe that we have evolved beyond our basest instincts, the lesson of the Krell–and of poor, foolish Dr. Morbius–is that there is still something of the animal in all of us.
That instinctual seeking of gratification is present, both overtly and subtly, from the moment Adams’s ship sets down on Altair-IV. From Cookie’s (ridiculous) comic quest to get Robby to recreate sixty gallons of bourbon for his personal “cooking” stores, to Jerry’s lessons in “healthy stimulation” (i.e. making out) with Alta, to varying degrees, the men let loose the animal inside after more than a year of being locked in a spaceship together. And it’s how Adams justifies his irrational lashing out at Alta for her naive dalliance with Jerry, in which he insinuates it “would have served you right” if Jerry had gone too far with his “stimulation”—that is, not long before he decides he must have the girl for himself. Even the good captain can’t keep his id monster in his pants for very long, it seems (you know, not to put too fine a point on it).

 

The only character capable of remaining “pure” and unaffected by baser emotions is the only character completely incapable of feeling emotion, period. As Morbius explains to the three officers early in the film, it would be a mistake to ascribe human emotion to Robby the Robot; though he is a perfect helpmate, and follows orders to the letter—even to his own detriment—there is no thought or feeling behind them. Robby as a character is quite revolutionary, for up until this point, most cinematic depictions of robots and other automatons tended to be quite awkward, boxy, and unrealistic, whereas Robby is highly mobile, with joints and visible knobs and whirlygigs and thingamabobs (technical terms) that appear to be functional and useful. Robby is also unique for being one of the first cinematic robots to adhere to at least the first two of Isaac Asimov’s “Three Laws of Robotics,” as outlined by the author in 1942. As Morbius demonstrates, Robby is incapable of harming human beings (refusing to shoot Adams with his own blaster) and always follows orders unless they conflict with the first law; however, as for the third law (“a robot must protect its own existence unless it conflicts with the first two laws”), it seems Robby is at least capable of breaking this law, as Morbius instructs him to insert his arm in the trash disintegrator, which he attempts to do without question before his master cancels the order.

 

Forbidden Planet influenced any number of future science-fiction properties, including one particular little series you might have heard of called Star Trek. It’s probably not surprising, in retrospect–the flying saucer’s “deceleration” pods, which look an awful lot likeTrek’s transporters; the idea of a “united planets”-type of federation that works to colonize and explore galaxies, going on “missions” to uncharted areas of outer space; the close relationship between Adams and the ship’s doctor, Ostrow, which mirrors that of Kirk and McCoy in Trek. And it’s not just Roddenberry’s world that shows obvious influences, for George Lucas’s Star Wars was definitely colored by Forbidden Planet, most evidently in its depiction of realistic automatons. Additionally, Ben Burtt, the Academy Award-winning sound designer for Star Wars, has admitted the influence of Planet’s sound effect-heavy score on his work crafting the effects for Lucas’s films.

 

It’s a testament to the effectiveness of Forbidden Planet that, sixty years after its debut, it remains an influential and simply fantastical entry in the sci-fi genre. Personally, I never get tired of revisiting that strange little star more than 100 million miles away, Altair-IV. Just make sure to leash your inner monster before you go.

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