The Black Hole (thing)

A frequently underrated movie, The Black Hole is exceptional for several reasons, not the least of which is Disney's foray into a darkness that has the capacity to absolutely terrify children.

That having been said, The Black Hole is, for the most part, an unsuccessful film. It is lacking on far too many levels to truly be enjoyed as cinema. So you don't watch The Black Hole for the plot, for the character development, for the acting or much else that one would normally watch a feature film for.

You do watch it and you should watch it for a few other reasons...

• Maximilian (the robot, not Maximillian Schell the actor) is quite possibly the most potent and impressive artifical antagonist ever to hit the silver screen. While he is lacking in screen time, he makes that up in presence ten-fold.
• The visual concept design which blends the Victorian and Gothic predates David Lynch's Dune by half a decade and is wholly successful throughout.
• The Cygnus (Reinheart's ship) is extraordinary - the first view of the ship is breathtaking and sets the tone as it should have been, prior to the cute robots attempting to steal the show.
• Its place in film history. The mid-70s was a tough time for movies. 2001 and Star Wars are hard acts to follow. Add Jaws' amazingly shocking success to the mix and you have a very confused industry pulling its hair in numerous directions... The Black Hole is one of those failed directions: an attempt to make Space Opera in an epic style with an entirely new visual approach and a moral spin. It failed. It was worth the effort.
• The ending. Yes, it's cheesy. Yes, it obviously borrowed the idea of ending a movie in such a fashion from 2001 and yes, it ain't Kubrick. But what it is is beautiful and delightful on its own. Nelson takes a mediocre vehicle and drives it towards an over the top avant-garde embelishment and throws all caution to the wind in the process (of course, how could you not?). The simultaneous descent into Hell of Reinheart (propped up by his nefarious masterpiece Maximilian) and ascent into Heaven by the heroes plunging into the unknown as they escape through the stained-glass halls of the Cyngus (illuminated with a mixture of the most unholy and unearthy hues ever imagined) is nothing short of good stuff. Avant-garde (in the film sense) is at its heart symbolism and metaphor. It lives and dies by its capacity to move in a realm detached from our normal, expected senses and to harvest emotions that other forms of film making simply can't.