Pyschotronic Cinemavision: Mars Attacks!

During the 1960s, collectible trading cards were all the rage. From Tarzan to baseball, it seemed no entertainment was going to be left untouched, especially those that shared space within the realm of pulp fiction. While an original creation, Topps’ 1962 created a line of trading cards based on the pulpiest of sci-fi ideas called Mars Attacks, which depicted a warring group of Martians from the planet Mars brutally decimating planet Earth in a way that was so extreme it became humorous. It featured artwork from artists Wally Wood and Norman Saunders.

While demonized for its violence, it maintained a cult following through the decades as selective merchandise releases and card re-printings kept the brand alive up until its big shot at a film adaptation during the 1980s from director Alex Cox. This, of course, fell through, a second adaptation kickstarted once again for production in 1993 from screenwriter Jonathan Gems and director Tim Burton. The film finally saw release in 1996, flopping at the box office but going on to garner a cult following not all that dissimilar to the trading card line’s own trajectory.

In all honesty, the flop isn’t too much of a surprise as it’s not only incredibly niche in the property it’s using as leverage but also just isn’t that great of a film. Its narrative is all over the place and unfocused; its plot somewhat boring as it’s honestly best described as a long, unending Saturday Night Live skit with a blockbuster’s production value. Truth be told, if you aren’t someone who’s easily swept up by gags, the film will be boring beyond belief, but in a way, this structure is genius when it comes to an attempt at recreating the magic of the original trading cards.

Mars Attacks (as a set of collectible cards) is all about the serialized glee of seeing small snippets of mass destruction at the hands of some goofy little guys, and the film completely understands and utilizes this to its benefit. While it may not seem like it, the film is a complete Burton package even if it lacks the goth-stylization the director is known for. Filled with a bunch of weird little guys with a world saved by outcasts by said outcasts sharing art with those around them, it is everything viewers have come to know Tim Burton for, just restrained.

The production level, performances, and Danny Elfman’s soundtrack are also up to par with Burton & Gems’ gonzo approach to this film, all of them completely understanding that the magic of this film lies within the calamity ensuing onscreen as a work of visual comedy, and less so a genuine attempt at character-focused storytelling. Elfman’s score especially drives the film home and might just be the best thing about it besides the design of the Martians themselves. Yes, the cast is too big for its own good, and because of that lacks a central main character to truly care about. However, when trying to showcase how the Martians’ invasion affects all walks of life, the expansive cast helps hammer that home whilst also being able to keep the constant stream of visual gags diverse. There’s even a good amount of them ripped straight from the old cards, as seen below.

Pictured above is one of the classic experiments cards, and below is its translation into film:

While the film does overstay its welcome, the gags are inherently very entertaining. One of my favorite bits includes a very obviously in disguise Martian taking advantage of a politician’s innate sliminess and sneaking their way into the White House.

The characters are comedically stupid, but not aggravatingly stupid. They’re charicatures of some of the most notable American stereotypes in fiction but don’t ever do anything that’s so dumb it’s difficult to believe in them as people. They’re simply all heightened, and it’s made painstakingly clear that these people who themselves stem from feudal capitalist and militant routes are deserving of destruction whilst the more humanitarian and just characters wind up surviving the onslaught.

The performances really sell the gags, as everyone is playing their character straight with such a realistic lack of awareness that the film strays a line between satire and seriousness that was near perfect for the tone they were trying to achieve. That being said the performances don’t particularly standout all that much. Everyone, especially Annette Penning, Michael J. Fox and Jack Nicholson as they slide into their characters with ease, selling the characters well but never really adding anything otherwise.

Although it lacks written depth, the film’s focus and understanding of the visual gags’ importance as a storytelling mechanic allowed it to still layer in some pretty damning yet comedic themes with regards to the United States’ performative peace-keeping and the perceived shallowness of American culture at the time. This without a doubt stems from Burton’s self-notated ‘outcast’ and ‘counter-culture’ ideals, but the way in which it’s framed in this film is more angry and punk than his normal, sometimes unbearable emo-relatability.