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David Poland

By David Poland poland@moviecitynews.com

DOOMSDAY: Neil Marshall Interview

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‘Doomsday’ has Apocalypse Wow
(An expanded version of my story from the NY Daily News, March 11.
by Justine Elias
(Doomsday opens March 14. Universal’s official movie site is here.)
Forget all quaint notions of plaid kilts, malt whiskey, and Highland terriers: In the futuristic action movie Doomsday, Scotland, circa 2035, is a walled-off quarantine zone. A virus has wiped out 99.9 percent of the population. When a new outbreak ravages London, the government forms team of commandos to seize survivors north of the border and find cure. But the remaining Scots are hostile. Breaking out is impossible. Breaking in would be insane. Who’ll be tough enough to lead the mission?
For DOOMSDAY director/writer Neil Marshall, 37, the heroine is Maj. Eden Sinclair, played by Rhona Mitra. (Picture a female Snake Plissken, the badass hero of ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK) Sinclair’s got guns, a posh accent, and a mechanical camera-eye. “Eden’s a child of the apocalypse,” says Marshall. “Her mother sacrifices herself to save her, and she remembers that moment. Rhona was great at showing those feelings.” And like Kurt Russell’s Snake, Eden’s got a mean streak. Says Marshall, “Rhona’s got a very cruel smile.”


Suspense with swagger is nothing new for Marshall, who’s scored big with horror and sci fans.
DOG SOLDIERS, a worldwide hit on DVD, pitted a sextet of British soldiers against a clan of werewolves. THE DESCENT (2006), a cult favorite about a cave-exploring trip gone terrifyingly wrong, grossed $57 million worldwide.
New York Daily News critic Jack Mathews wrote, “This is one of the scariest movies featuring female heroines since the ALIEN series, and what makes it uniquely scary is where these women are — in tunnels two miles under ground — when they realize they are not alone.”
But “Doomsday,” which opens Friday, seems poised to break Marshall out of the horror niche and into the top tier of action-movie directors.
The movie is a throwback to such action films as “Escape From New York,” “The Road Warrior,” “The Warriors” and “Zulu.”
“Those movies are huge inspirations to me,” he says. “In that era, the landscape shifted. The villains were everywhere. Seeing those movies changed my life,” he says. They are hugely inspirational to me. In Doomsday, there’s also a sense that there are villains everywhere. No one can be trusted.”
Not for nothing, it seems, does the future British prime minister, named “Hatcher,” speak in the soothing tones of former head of state Tony Blair- while the shifty military advisor looks and sounds exactly like current PM Gordon Brown.
“Is Britain looking for any excuse to shut its borders to outsiders? Well, yeah. It does look that way,” says Marshall. “All those elements, I think, are there in the movie for the seeing.”
Doomsday stresses old-style movie action – filmed on location, achieved with actors and stunt performers, over computer-generated special effects. “The image that started me writing is sort of Terry Gilliam-esque,” says Marshall. “The idea of band of futuristic soldiers in body armor squaring off against a medieval knight, the horse rearing up – and thinking, what kind of story could that fit in, that wasn’t a time travel story?”
Relax, action fans: Doomsday goes straight from that fantasy flick moment to a cage match between the heroine (clad in a tank top, naturally) and a sword-wielding knight.
Marshall, who recently moved from his hometown of Newcastle, England and got married (to horror writer Axelle Carolyn), says he’s “always been a movie fan. “I remember my mother taking me and my sister to see Time Bandits on a double feature with some kids movie,” he says. “One the preview trailers was The Incredible Melting Man. A guy with a melting face! I was stunned and horrified. Yet at the same time, really interested.” He started making his own movies at age 11, using his mother’s movie camera, and later attending a city university’s film program. School advisors didn’t think much of his final project, a zombie movie, but his technical skills landed him a job as a film editor.
Doomsday’s budget was a mere $26 million – three times more than Marshall spent on his first two films. He put the cash toward “action, weapons, costumes, armor, horses – the warriors of the future meet medieval knights, crazy vehicles, and hundreds and hundreds of extras going wild, and more action.”
The movie’s climax is a ten-minute, multi-vehicle car chase, a smash, crash and-burn battle along a winding highway, inspired by The Road Warrior’s classic desert highway showdown. In Marshall’s version, “inspired by the Mad Max movies, but I hope not a duplicate,” the Scottish marauders and the heroine’s gang fight inside and atop speeding cars. The music? Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “War,” which Marshall secured the rights to before he started filming. “As essential, to me, as going 80 miles an hour and having stunt people jump from car to car,” he says. “Great song.”
Despite the dangerous choreographed stunts, only one went wrong: cast and crew: a motorcycle rider was dragged when he meant to roll safely aside. He was not injured.
The scene that bedeviled Doomsday starred neither knights nor warriors, but a rascally rabbit plus computer effects. In the shot, a rabbit hops too close to the north side of the Scotland-England divider and goes directly to bunny heaven.
“I knew exactly what I wanted,” says Marshall – describing the many frustrating attempts to create a simple gag showing the wall’s automated defense system. “It was a delicate balance of whether it would be offensive – Oh, no! A bunny suffered! Or just laugh out loud stupid. When we finally composited the shot together was, we saw a moment in the footage when the rabbit kind of flinched, as if it knew what was coming. And I said, you can’t show the rabbit flinch, because then it’s not funny. You’re showing the rabbit scared. People won’t like that. If it’s just sitting there and then explodes, that’s funny.”
To Marshall, that moment “sums up the entire tone” of Doomsday. “If you find it funny, you’re on safe ground for the rest of the movie.”
Marshall’s reputation as a fan favorite has taken him, this spring, to horror conventions and high-pressure Hollywood meetings: he’s a candidate to direct a remake of Conan the Barbarian. “Yes, I did attend a meeting to discuss it. I wore a loincloth. Look, I can’t say anything else. There are a lot of talented people up for this job. But they don’t even have a script yet.” If Doomsday is a hit, he’ll be able to make his dream project, a WWII-set action movie that harkens back to WHERE EAGLES DARE, the Clint Eastwood-Richard Burton. The twist: it’ll be set in Scotland. “The unknown battleground,” he jokes. He waits, for now, until Doomsday strikes.

One Response to “DOOMSDAY: Neil Marshall Interview”

  1. matt sanchez says:

    this movie is the best movies ive ever seen .
    i can get enough of it.

Quote Unquotesee all »

This is probably going to sound petty, but Martin Scorsese insisting that critics see his film in theaters even though it’s going straight to Netflix and then not screening it in most American cities was a watershed moment for me in this theatrical versus streaming debate.

I completely respect when a filmmaker insists that their movie is meant to be seen in the theater, but the thing is, you got to actually make it possible to see it in the theater. Some movies may be too small for that, and that’s totally OK.

When your movie is largely financed by a streaming service and is going to appear on that streaming service instantly, I don’t really see the point of pretending that it’s a theatrical film. It just seems like we are needlessly indulging some kind of personal fantasy.

I don’t think that making a feature film length production that is going to go straight to a video platform is some sort of “step down.“ I really don’t. Theatrical exhibition as we know it is dying off anyway, for a variety of reasons.

I should clarify myself because this thread is already being misconstrued — I’m talking about how the movie is screened in advance. If it’s going straight to Netflix, why the ritual of demanding people see it in the theater?

There used to be a category that everyone recognized called “TV movie” or “made for television movie” and even though a lot of filmmakers considered that déclassé, it seems to me that probably 90% of feature films fit that description now.

Atlantis has mostly sunk into the ocean, only a few tower spires remain above the waterline, and I’m increasingly at peace with that, because it seems to be what the industry and much of the audience wants. We live in an age of convenience and information control.

Only a very elite group of filmmakers is still allowed to make movies “for theaters“ and actually have them seen and judged that way on a wide scale. Even platform releasing seems to be somewhat endangered. It can’t be fought. It has to be accepted.

9. Addendum: I’ve been informed that it wasn’t Scorsese who requested that the Bob Dylan documentary only be screened for critics in theaters, but a Netflix representative indicated the opposite to me, so I just don’t know what to believe.

It’s actually OK if your film is not eligible for an Oscar — we have a thing called the Emmys. A lot of this anxiety is just a holdover from the days when television was considered culturally inferior to theatrical feature films. Everybody needs to just get over it.

In another 10 to 20 years they’re probably going to merge the Emmys in the Oscars into one program anyway, maybe they’ll call it the Contentys.

“One of the fun things about seeing the new Quentin Tarantino film three months early in Cannes (did I mention this?) is that I know exactly why it’s going to make some people furious, and thus I have time to steel myself for the takes.

Back in July 2017, when it was revealed that Tarantino’s next project was connected to the Manson Family murders, it was condemned in some quarters as an insulting and exploitative stunt. We usually require at least a fig-leaf of compassion for the victims in true-crime adaptations, and even Tarantino partisans like myself – I don’t think he’s made a bad film yet – found ourselves wondering how he might square his more outré stylistic impulses with the depiction of a real mass murder in which five people and one unborn child lost their lives.

After all, it’s one thing to slice off with gusto a fictional policeman’s ear; it’s quite another to linger over the gory details of a massacre that took place within living memory, and which still carries a dread historical significance.

In her essay The White Album, Joan Didion wrote: “Many people I know in Los Angeles believe that the Sixties ended abruptly on August 9, 1969, ended at the exact moment when word of the murders on Cielo Drive traveled like brushfire through the community, and in a sense this is true.”

Early in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, as Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt’s characters drive up the hill towards Leo’s bachelor pad, the camera cranes up gently to reveal a street sign: Cielo Drive. Tarantino understands how charged that name is; he can hear the Molotov cocktails clinking as he shoulders the crate.

As you may have read in the reviews from Cannes, much of the film is taken up with following DiCaprio and Pitt’s characters – a fading TV actor and his long-serving stunt double – as they amusingly go about their lives in Los Angeles, while Margot Robbie’s Sharon Tate is a relatively minor presence. But the spectre of the murders is just over the horizon, and when the night of the 9th finally arrives, you feel the mood in the cinema shift.

No spoilers whatsoever about what transpires on screen. But in the audience, as it became clear how Tarantino was going to handle this extraordinarily loaded moment, the room soured and split, like a pan of cream left too long on the hob. I craned in, amazed, but felt the person beside me recoil in either dismay or disgust.

Two weeks on, I’m convinced that the scene is the boldest and most graphically violent of Tarantino’s career – I had to shield my eyes at one point, found myself involuntarily groaning “oh no” at another – and a dead cert for the most controversial. People will be outraged by it, and with good reason. But in a strange and brilliant way, it takes Didion’s death-of-the-Sixties observation and pushes it through a hellfire-hot catharsis.

Hollywood summoned up this horror, the film seems to be saying, and now it’s Hollywood’s turn to exorcise it. I can’t wait until the release in August, when we can finally talk about why.

~ Robbie Collin