天外来客1976

这可能是罗伊格最好的电影，它带有一种独特的、在他的另外作品中缺乏的美国气质：一种近乎朴素的自我意识，一种不被文本绑架的自由度——甚至可以说，一种民主。惠特曼最先描述了这些气质；如同惠特曼的作品，这部电影几乎会唤起我们的乡愁，尽管我们并未离开什么地方（这使我想起有一篇关于大卫 · 林奇的文章写道，看他的电影就像体验失去我们从未拥有过的事物）。地球就是这样的世界，一个有着浮士德式力量的符号帝国，外星人通过电视和广播遥望着它并被打动——完全是这样，因为它的表象就是它最深刻的内涵。这些内涵事实上如此深刻，以至于当我们思考它时我们会像Newton那样几乎精神错乱，但随即却奇异地坚定了活下去的欲望。日本元素尤其象征着Newton在地球上不能理解却奇异地被其吸引（cf. 他造的房子）的这一切，也就是人类文明本质中的超现实性。作为电影来看，罗伊格有时近乎病态（我是说MV化）的英国式花哨镜头风格被惠特曼气质调和成崭新的事物，现在来看仍然几乎从不流于庸俗，或因为强有力的语境而不会显得流于庸俗（cf. 戈达尔电影中不可之间戈达尔化的那些元素，比如说风景）；在其他作品中呈现为怪癖的导演习惯，例如喜爱闲笔刻画“反面人物”天真无辜的家庭生活，还有时而很严重、也许可以被称为博尔赫斯—爱伦·坡病（片中有一个侍者确实非常像坡）的夸张手法，在这里似乎并不突兀，甚至带来了某种罗伯特 · 奥特曼式的温暖。相比之下，Bad Timing几乎具备完全同样的元素，却是一部完全失败、不可救药的电影。当然，仍然存在一些过分愚蠢的片段需要剪除；虽然我确实极为欣赏（如果不是沉迷于）David Bowie的裸体，但床上开枪那一大段胡闹还是不要这么长为好。罗伊格的电影充满了听觉引文，其依赖音乐的程度或许开塔伦蒂诺之先河（待考证）。在此方面，他（总体而言）品味粗糙，但达到的效果时而奇妙地准确；不过，他从来不在意场景间音乐的连接——肯定也是因为他的作品不可预测的剪辑方式阻止了与配乐家更紧密流畅的合作——这让我相当痛苦。这大概不重要。这是一部美好的电影；它还有一个童话般的结尾，而且，Bowie戴着那顶帽子看上去是如此美妙。

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毕竟大卫鲍伊的美貌就会感觉值回票价，很少见这么苍白消瘦的luo体，真的感觉白的发光，女主的身体也好看，总之我lsp了就喜欢这款的

顺便其实这部电影人设挺有意思的，啊，虽然是我自己理解的有意思，外网有些同人文里塑造的这个角色很有意思，我推荐对这部电影有兴趣的人可以去看看（就是那个因为xx而被墙了的国外最大免费同人网站）

顺便就我久远的看纪录片和大卫鲍伊自传小说的模糊记忆来看

宝爷当时精神状态有点不太好，导演是看了纪录片cracked actor才选他主演的，纪录片里苍白消瘦略微神经质的真我吸引住了导演，然后导演和他说，你不用演，就做自己就好了，然后宝爷就去了，一边演戏一边调整自己的状态，虽然说电影拍完了之后也没调整好……ummmm

后来接受采访的时候看起来还是微微焦虑的压抑，但别误会，宝爷脑子很好，说话条理非常清晰并不会胡言乱语，就是看起来有点压抑，而且过于瘦了

A male alien disguises himself as a British citizen Thomas Jerome Newton (Bowie, in his first movie role), who crash-lands on earth in hope of transporting water back to his draught-plagued home planet, but in iconoclast Nicolas Roeg’s thrall, THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH is much less a heartstring-tugging inter-species tale à la STARMAN (1984) than a rhapsodic welter of total corporeal abandon and existential chaos.

Shot and edited in a desultory but blistering, wired fashion that leaves large portions of elision in its sprawling plot, Mr. Newton is a quick adapter of earthling mannerism and capitalistic canniness, cashes in lucrative patents he immediately accrues masses of fortune and becomes the reclusive wirepuller behind a technology conglomerate, with a figurehead personified by lawyer Mr. Farnsworth (Henry), an implicit gay character whose loyalty is too inflexible for his own good.

While Newton shacks up with an unsophisticated hotel maid Mary-Lou (Clark) in New Mexico, who introduces commonplace human diet to him, booze, church-going and sex, worts and all; a tributary pivots around a skirt-chasing college professor Dr. Nathan Bryce (Torn, in a rapturously predatory mode) merges into the main stream when he is hired as a key technician in fulfilling Newton’s home-returning project, only Bryce soon begins to suspect Newton’s alienness. After revealing his real form to Mary-Lou (which leaves her incontinent and horror-stricken) and leveling with Bryce, a naive Newton is snatched and immured by government agents nearly before his home-returning journey and put under close scientific examination (who tips off the tidings? Bryce or Mary-Lou? We have no clue, maybe Newton is spotted as early as he first emerges, as we glance a suit-attired figure near the commencement).

Marooned on earth and having no means to return to his wife and children, who are languishing on a remote, desert-looking planet, deadly or alive, the television-addicted Newton stays youthful as time wears on, a reunion with an aged Mary-Lou years later blatantly celebrates the film’s most rousing set piece, the “sex and pistol” manifesto in human flesh, copulation and blank gunshots, a heady delirium capturing the epoch’s ethos. A final encounter with Bryce, on the other hand, reveals that earth-stranded Newton might have already assimilated and acculturated to the life as we know it, a sad sack burdened with eternal youth.

An emaciated, auburn-haired Bowie aptly embodies his cult alter ego under pallor, lethargy and an amusing air of self-awareness, his alien comes across as urbane, benevolent, vulnerable, even in front of a dainty Candy Clark, but also strangely disinterested, inscrutable and sexy; Rip Torn and Candy Clark, represent human race’s different sexes, tangibly establish a triangle tie-in with Bowie, though each’s character arc is dismembered and perfunctorily strewn into the scramble which doesn’t go anywhere eventually. When its deadening clamor anticlimactically settles (the foley artists invent a cacophony of noise through the narrative), Roeg’s bash into Sci-Fi sphere is much more self-revealing than horizon-broadening, for what it is worth, it is a hot mess salted with glint of ingenuity.

referential entries: Roeg’s PERFORMANCE (1970, 6.9/10), BAD TIMING (1980, 7.5/10), DON’T LOOK NOW (1973, 8.3/10).