Hugo Framed Roger Rabbit (Hugo Cinema 1989)

This blog post is the thirty-second in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.  

The Hugo Awards ceremony held the evening of Saturday, Sept. 2, 1989 at the John B. Hynes Veterans Memorial Convention Center in Boston was one of the most lavish to date. Given that it was the 50th anniversary of the first World Science Fiction Convention, organizers had pulled out all the stops to make the event memorable.

Fred Pohl at the 1989 Hugo Awards.
(Image via File 770)

Master of Ceremonies Fred Pohl spoke from a lectern emblazoned with gold leaf laurel wreaths around the number “50.” Iconic author Isaac Asimov, who had long been a Worldcon mainstay, made what would be his final appearance at a Hugo Awards ceremony.

Given the splendor of the occasion, it is nice to note that when Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was honoured with the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation, the film’s producer Frank Marshall was on hand to receive the trophy. Contemporaneous accounts note that the big-name Hollywood mogul accepted the award with enthusiasm and participated in the evening’s fannish activities “with good humour.” It indicated a growing respect for the Hugo Award in Hollywood.

The win for Who Framed Roger Rabbit? had been widely expected and was one of the most decisive victories in any category in the history of the Hugo Awards. In the final tally, the movie had 560 first-place votes … while the runner up Big earned just 94. At a Worldcon panel on cinema the day before the ceremonies, Edward Bryant, Terry Erdmann, Craig Miller, Lee Orlando, and Evelyn Leeper had all predicted that the seamless blend of live action and animation would earn the movie a Hugo Award. Unusually, the movie was screened after the awards ceremony — and most of the audience stayed.

Working both as a satire of Hollywood self-seriousness and as a slightly bonkers noir detective story, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? remains entertaining and enjoyable 40 years after its release. If our cinema club had one complaint about the movie it’s that it was more of an oddball fantasy than science fiction. But those complaints are overshadowed by technical achievements. Given that this was near the end of the era of film compositing done entirely by hand, it might be difficult to convey to modern audiences just how incredible Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is as a piece of cinema craft. To better understand the level of planning and attention to detail required to seamlessly merge live action acting with animated elements, it’s helpful to look at other contemporaneous movies like Cool World that attempted the same trick. Such a comparison highlights the subtleties like the shadows cast on — and by — the animated elements, as well as the effect that the animated elements seem to have on objects in their presence. Even if — as Variety Magazine noted — the movie “loses freshness and oomph as it goes along,” Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was a very reasonable choice to take home the trophy.

Animator Richard Williams won an Academy
Award for his work on Roger Rabbit.
(Image via USA Today)

The rest of the shortlist was a bit of a mixed bag. There was Penny Marshall’s Big, which helped launch Tom Hanks to stardom; Ron Howard and George Lucas’s fantasy epic Willow; Rockne S. O'Bannon's buddy cop movie Alien Nation; and Tim Burton’s ghost story Beetlejuice. Most of the members of our club felt that several of these films did not warrant inclusion on the shortlist.

Penny Marshall’s Big retains some of its charm, but has aged poorly. Tom Hanks’ performance as a kid stuck in an adult body is engaging and amusing, and it’s clear why this movie helped launch him to stardom. But the movie’s romance is very cringy, and glosses over consent, power imbalance, and workplace ethics in a way that would not be accepted by modern audiences. What felt whimsical in 1988 now feels creepy and uncomfortable.

Our viewing group was divided over Willow; although some of us enjoyed the fable-like atmosphere and solid performances from Val Kilmer and Warwick Davis, others felt the movie represents possibly the nadir of George Lucas’ worst storytelling instincts. Either way, the movie’s leaden dialogue, clumsy pacing, and derivative worldbuilding adds up to less than what one should expect from a Hugo finalist.

When it was first shown, fan Evelyn Leeper was dismissive of Beetlejuice in her review, writing that “typical of Tim Burton movies, it has no plot.” Although the movie is stylish, and Geena Davis anchors it by offering a grounded and compelling performance, something is missing overall. The movie promises wackiness that it does not deliver, and suggests lines of conflict that are never fully explored. Is the villain of the movie Beetlejuice, or is it the family who moved in? Beetlejuice is again less than what one would expect from a Hugo finalist.

Disney was planning to remake Alien Nation in 2024,
but scrapped the project as being pro-immigrant
is now too controversial a position. 
(Image via Variety)

Alien Nation was a sleeper hit when it hit cinemas in 1988, and was well-enough regarded that it launched both a spin-off television series, and the career of Farscape-creator Rockne S. O’Bannon. The movie is essentially Rush Hour with aliens; a buddy cop story in which a racist old white police detective is partnered with a recently promoted extra-terrestrial gumshoe. Both leads James Caan and Mandy Patinkin take their roles with a level of seriousness that elevates the whole thing. The movie had some pacing flaws, and some cliched moments, but is strengthened by a refreshingly inclusive subtext. O’Bannon’s script implies that America’s strength is its acceptance of people regardless of difference. At least one member of our cinema club felt that this film should have been the winner simply because it was a well-made, old-school science fiction film.

Despite the mixed bag of nominees, there was a crowded and untapped field of SFF movies and television shows for Hugo voters to choose their nominations from. We are thus wondering why other films were left off the shortlist.

Steve De Jarnatt’s apocalyptic masterpiece Miracle Mile had gone under the radar for most. Iconic TV series Red Dwarf had an excellent pilot episode in the UK. Mystery Science Theatre 3000 hit the airwaves. And despite some issues with its second season, Star Trek: The Next Generation had a couple of great episodes such as Elementary, Dear Data.

There are two movies however, whose omission from the Hugo shortlist are especially notable: They Live, and Akira. John Carpenter’s They Live — an anticapitalist tale of aliens undermining American democracy — probably deserved consideration for the Hugo. It’s a movie with enduring value due to its metaphors about seeing structures of power through different lenses. Although it’s a lower-budget film, it’s directed with attention to detail and offers some superb camera work. In addition, Roddy Piper and Keith David have great on-screen chemistry.

Akira remains an iconic classic of science fiction
and should have been a Hugo contender either when
it hit Japanese cinemas in 1989 or on its American
release the next year. 
(Image via Criterion)

Animated cyberpunk action film Akira was a cultural juggernaut in Japan, and redefined what was possible in animated science fiction. Based on a successful graphic novel, it plays with systems of military power in a Tokyo transformed by nuclear blasts. It is as iconic a science fiction movie as has ever been made, and clearly deserved consideration for the Hugo Award. For many of our group, it was the movie that should have won. 

The 50th anniversary of the World Science Fiction Convention saw an extraordinary Hugo Award ceremony. Even if we had quibbles about the shortlist, it’s difficult not to celebrate what an extraordinary year it was for science fiction and for sci-fi cinema.

Edgelord Cinema Maximalism (Hugo Cinema 1976)

This blog post is the nineteenth in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.  

Warning: Contains references to sexual violence depicted in the movies being reviewed. Also spoilers.

In the 1960s and 1970s, the new wave of science fiction transformed the genre. Writing styles became more varied. Surrealism and postmodernism were embraced. Authors began to explore previously taboo subjects like sexuality, drug use and abuse, and psychology.

Many of these genre-shaping stories were rightly celebrated for their insight, their boldness, and their inventiveness. But in some quarters, the pushing of boundaries became an end unto itself, and transgression became mistaken as insight.

Although the 1976 Hugo-winning incel manifesto A Boy And His Dog may not have been the nadir of this trend, it’s probably the most iconic example.

Members of our cinema club described
A Boy And His Dog as “a spasm
of puerile adolescent garbage” and
“The most reprehensible
thing I have watched.”
(Image via IMDB)

Set in a post-apocalyptic America decades after a nuclear war, A Boy And His Dog follows Vic (Don Johnson) a libidinous 18-year-old and his telepathic dog Blood as they search for food and women. The main plot of the movie covers Vic getting lured by a woman named Quilla June (Susanne Benton) into the clutches of a community living underneath the ruins of Topeka. After a failed revolution in the underground city, Vic and Quilla June fall in love and escape back to the surface.

The offensiveness of this movie and its misogyny cannot be overstated. The protagonist is a sexual predator who hunts women for sport. The animal sidekick cheers him on in his rapes. This all culminates in a “twist” ending in which Vic murders Quilla June and feeds her to the dog; driving home the fact that this movie treats women as little more than meat. At no point does this movie critique this repulsive stance; rather, it embraces it.

The novella upon which the movie is based provides a blueprint for all these problematic elements, but is slightly more critical in its treatment of Vic and of Blood. Director L.Q. Jones — who was trained on old-school westerns — provides mostly neutral or adoring depictions of Vic and Blood. The appalling end sequence is delivered with a smirk, and with a heroic framing as they ride off into the sunset.

Numerous contemporaneous critics flagged the reprehensible nature of the movie. Joanna Russ wrote a long-form critique, suggesting that “Sending a woman to see A Boy and His Dog is like sending a Jew to a movie that glorifies Dachau; you need not be feminist to loathe this film.” Writing in Yandro, Gary Anderson suggested that he was unlikely to vote for it in the Hugos.

A Boy And His Dog should not have been nominated for a Hugo Award and yet it won one. Anything else on the shortlist would have been a better choice. It is a black mark on the Hugos, and on Worldcon.

Although it received the fewest votes that year because of its limited distribution, The Capture might have been an interesting winner. A deeply fannish work, only shown at SFF conventions, it was a slideshow presentation (later self-published as a graphic novel) written by Robert Asprin and illustrated by Phil Foglio. It tells the story of a group of science fiction fans who are abducted by aliens. Filled with nerdy references, in-jokes about frequent Worldcon attendees, and deep-cut references about SFF, this isn’t a work that would appeal to everyone.

Illustration from The Capture by Phil Foglio. 
There is enduring value to fan history for this
work to be more accessible to readers.
(Image by Phil Foglio via Merrill Collection)

But it’s also quite charming. The art is terrific, and the writing is snappier than any of us had expected. The denouement — in which the fans are so annoying that the aliens decide to give up and send them back to Earth — is just … genre appropriate.

It’s not easy to find a copy of The Capture today. We were only able to access it because one of the members of our cinema club flew 2,700 kilometers to Toronto and visited the Merrill Collection. As far as we can ascertain there are only three libraries in North America that have a copy. There is also one copy available for purchase in New Jersey. Given that it is a work with enduring cultural and historical value to fandom, but which has little to no commercial value, we would urge Phil Foglio and the estate of Robert Asprin to allow the Fanac Fan History Project the permission to host an online copy of the booklet, and perhaps a recording of the original slide presentation.

One of the more interesting speculative trends in the history of Best Dramatic Presentations is how often Hugo voters seem to be able to notice an up-and-coming filmmaker before the rest of the world does. In 1976, they recognized the work of John Carpenter, long before he went on to direct any of his classic movies. Dark Star — which began as Carpenter’s student project while at the University of Southern California — is an odd, rambling movie.

After the end of the moon landings, it became 
possible to imagine outer space as ... boring.
(Image via IMDB)

Despite a microscopically low budget, a tiny cast, and some exceptionally silly special effects, there’s a lot to like in Dark Star. The story of a blue-collar crew of a star ship tasked with destroying rogue celestial objects, it's a comedic portrayal of the boredom of long-term space missions. The movie drifts aimlessly between one misadventure and the next; someone’s alien space pet becomes a threat. Later, they get caught up in a space storm. Some of these scenes work exceptionally well — particularly attempts to negotiate with a malfunctioning artificially intelligent bomb — though others fall flat. The movie almost has too many ideas (most of which would later be developed by the screenwriters into more commercially successful movies like Alien).

The highest-grossing science fiction movie of the year had been the ultraviolent commentary on sports culture Rollerball. Directed by Canadian cinema legend Norman Jewison (In the Heat of the Night, Fiddler on the Roof), the movie depicts a corporate-dominated dystopian future in which a bloody sport called Rollerball is used to distract the masses from larger societal inequities. At the beginning of the movie, the unquestioned greatest Rollerball player of all time Jonathan E. (James Caan), is pressured by his corporate overlords to retire after the upcoming championship, and begins to question the system that has enriched him.

All of this is a great premise for an action movie; and there’s a lot that works well in Rollerball. The set-piece sports scenes are first-rate, some of the performances are excellent, and the worldbuilding is interesting. But the suggestions of an anticapitalist message are never fully developed; viewers never learn why Jonathan is being asked to quit the sport, his relationship with his former wife Ella is never explained, and the final Rollerball match ends up feeling somewhat pointless.

The effect of concussions caused by Rollerball 
need to be studied, as too many Rollerball stars
seem to end up as Fox News talking heads.
(Image via Variety)

Of all the movies on the Hugo Shortlist in 1976, one stands out for its cultural impact and enduring appeal: Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Dialogue including gems like, “Strange women lying in ponds and distributing swords is no basis for a system of government” may be the greatest analysis of Arthurian legend ever written.

Comedies age more quickly than most other forms of cinema, but of the 1970s humorous works that received Hugo Award nominations, it’s Holy Grail that seems to have stood the test of time best. Some elements may have been sapped of their wit through endless repetition by fans, but much of it still hits its mark.

What’s sometimes overlooked is that this is also possibly the best-filmed and most lush production that the Monty Python crew ever put together. The animated segments offer us Terry Gilliam at his best, while with the live-action portions Terry Jones created provide artful shots that are edited together with panache. The result is a movie that visually reminded us of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker, or John Boorman’s Zardoz.

It is interesting to note that Monty Python and the Holy Grail took second in the balloting, only being eliminated in the fourth-round. The major complaint that contemporaneous fans had about Holy Grail was that it was “barely SFF.”

At the ceremony, as was the norm, nobody from the team behind the Hugo-winning movie attended the ceremony. Shockingly, not even Harlan Ellison was there to accept the award. It was left to Ellison collaborator Edward Bryant to accept it on behalf of the production team. He noted, “There has been an ongoing controversy over the awards for dramatic achievement ... because so many times in the past, it seems the award has gone to frankly people who don’t appreciate the award.”

Viewing and writing almost five decades later, we’d suggest that perhaps it is better to give an award to someone who doesn’t appreciate it, than to celebrate something as reprehensible as A Boy And His Dog.