Icarus Descending

tmwfte02.jpg

UK, 2009.

Newton leaned forward, putting his elbows carefully on the table. “Nathan. Nathan. I was afraid of you then. I am afraid now. I have been afraid of all manner of things every moment I have spent on this planet, on this monstrous, beautiful, terrifying planet with all its strange creatures and its abundant water, and all of its human people. I am afraid now. I will be afraid to die here.”

Before my recent rewatch of The Man Who Fell to Earth I decided to read the novel in order to spice up yet another viewing by comparing the film with its source. And as is often the case when reading books of a certain vintage, curiosity had me wondering how the book has been cover-designed over the years.

The Man Who Fell to Earth was published in 1963. Prior to this Walter Tevis had only published one other book, The Hustler, his first novel about pool-player “Fast Eddie” Felson. Such a debut wouldn’t have marked Tevis as a putative writer of science fiction although he had written a handful of stories for SF magazines before attempting anything at novel length. The Man Who Fell to Earth is artistically satisfying science fiction, and a good novel in a literary sense, something you can’t always expect from those writers of Tevis’s generation who seemed to read nothing but technical reports and fiction by other SF writers.

The story opens in 1985, presenting a future which isn’t too different to the 1985 that many of us lived through. Speculation is minor and mostly relegated to the background, with occasional mentions of monorails, food shortages and warring African nations who threaten each other with nuclear weapons. Into this world there arrives the alien who calls himself Thomas Jerome Newton (we never learn his original name), a clandestine emissary from the dying planet his people know as Anthea. Newton has been sent to Earth with plans to build a financial empire using his advanced technical knowledge. This will, he hopes, enable him to build a craft in order to ferry the remaining Antheans to a world where they can survive. Once they’re secure, the Antheans also plan to rescue the inhabitants of Earth from imminent nuclear destruction.

tmwfte22.jpg

The US one-sheet of Vic Fair’s poster. After decades of illustrators and designers working with both the book and the film, Fair’s poster is still the most successful condensation of the story into a single, memorable image.

If you’ve seen the film then the broad strokes are all very familiar. Nicolas Roeg’s direction and Paul Mayersberg’s script treat the material elliptically but the film stays closer to the novel than you might expect, with Mayersberg even reusing some of Tevis’s dialogue. Both novel and film are very much concerned with portraying the Earth itself as an alien planet. For the first half of the novel, “1985: Icarus Descending”, we see our world through Newton’s eyes while he makes his way among the clever but dangerous primates. The second half, “1988: Rumpelstiltskin”, concentrates equally on Newton’s attempts to retain his sanity in a world that must never discover his real intentions or his true nature; and on the curiosity of Nathan Bryce, the chemist helping to construct Newton’s spacecraft, whose suspicions about his employer are eventually confirmed. Bryce believes that Anthea must be the planet Mars, but when asked about this directly Newton simply replies “Does it matter?”

Roeg and Mayersberg’s film received mixed reviews in 1976 but its cult status has grown thanks to its connection with David Bowie’s person and career. Bowie’s Newton has become a dominant motif for book covers even though Tevis’s Newton is a negative inversion of the screen alien, being six-and-a-half feet tall, with tanned skin and pure white hair. For art directors and illustrators the challenge since 1976 has been to present the novel in a manner which does more than merely repeat the imagery of the film. Not everyone succeeds in doing so.

tmwfte12.jpg

USA, 1963. Cover art by Leo and Diane Dillon.

The first printing was as a paperback original with untypical cover art by Leo & Diane Dillon. Without reading the novel it’s hard to tell what this is about at first glance, but the figure on the left is supposed to represent Newton’s unusual lightweight skeleton whose height and shape are contrasted with its human counterpart. The eye presumably refers to the contact lenses that Newton wears to disguise his cat-like pupils.

tmwfte07.jpg

Italy, 1964. Cover art by Karel Thole.

The few covers that pre-date the film are what you might call the innocent ones, free of David Bowie’s face or Bowie-like figures. Here the prolific Karel Thole also favours Newton’s diguises over any other imagery.

tmwfte03.jpg

USA, 1970. Cover art by Howard Winters.

Continue reading “Icarus Descending”

The Sound of Claudia Schiffer

socs1.jpg

A minor entry in the Nicolas Roeg filmography that few people will have seen. In March 2001 the BBC broadcast four 15-minute films that the corporation had commissioned for an occasional arts strand, Sound on Film. Each episode featured a new piece of music by a living composer, with visual accompaniment by four very different directors. Pilgrimage was directed by Werner Herzog with music by John Taverner; The New Math was directed by Hal Hartley with music by Louis Andriessen; In Absentia was directed by the Quay Brothers with music by Karlheinz Stockhausen.

socs2.jpg

The second film in the series, The Sound of Claudia Schiffer had music by Adrian Utley, the guitarist/synth player in Portishead, with visuals by Nicolas Roeg. I can imagine many people bristling at Utley being described as a composer in a list that includes Stockhausen and Taverner—he may well dispute the term himself—but being the owner of many Portishead records I was happy enough with the pairing. I wasn’t so happy with the film, however, which seemed like an incoherent reprise of the more cosmic moments from Roeg’s earlier films combined with found footage and computer effects that were clunky at the time and look distinctly antiquated 25 years later. The BBC’s listing described The Sound of Claudia Schiffer as a film that “contemplates the nature of celebrity and memory, and how vision can be affected by sound”. In the short introduction Roeg admits to being unsure what any of it meant at all.

socs3.jpg

Watching the piece again I still don’t think it’s very good but it does reinforce my view of Roeg as the most cosmically aware of British directors, especially among the resolutely parochial crowd (Ken Russell excepted) who were his contemporaries. “Cosmic” in this sense is a quality that can easily devolve into vague mysticism or New Age kitsch but at his best Roeg was always looking beyond the immediate confines of space and time, whatever his films might be concerned with at the story level. You see this in his persistent cross-cutting, where visual and thematic rhymes turn everyday life into a web of intricate connections which his characters fail to notice. And his films are often cosmic in a stellar sense; watching Eureka again I was struck this time by the way the film opens with a shot of a pool of gold-infused water whose surface resembles a cloudscape over the sea as observed by an orbiting satellite. The shot which follows—only the second image in the film—is a view of the Earth from space, something which the film’s characters (in 1925 and 1945) could never see for themselves. The Sound of Claudia Schiffer goes overboard with this expansive tendency, turning the model’s narrated biography into something more suited to a description of a visitor from another planet.

Of the other films in this series, the Hartley/Andriessen doesn’t seem to be on YouTube but the Herzog/Taverner may be seen here. In Absentia has been available for many years now on the Quay Brothers’ DVD and blu-ray collections.

Previously on { feuilleton }
Roeg abroad
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus
The Nicolas Roeg Guardian Lecture, 1983
Beyond the Fragile Geometry of Space
Canal view

Roeg abroad

roeg01.jpg

Japan, 1998.

I’m currently in the middle of a Nicolas Roeg rewatch season after acquiring a blu-ray of the recently reissued Castaway, Roeg’s 1986 adaptation of Lucy Irvine’s memoir (which shouldn’t be confused with 2000’s Cast Away). In the early 1980s when I was becoming more acquainted with his films I went through a phase of buying film posters, and managed to pick up copies of the UK quad sheets for Don’t Look Now and Bad Timing. I would have preferred the one for The Man Who Fell to Earth but Bowie-obsessives have made that particular item very collectible, and it never crossed my path. Foreign posters for Roeg films also tend to be uncommon since his films have never been really popular, and some, like Eureka, were plagued with distribution difficulties which made them difficult to see at all. Eureka is missing from this small collection of foreign posters due to a lack of suitable candidates.


Performance

roeg02.jpg

Italy, 1971.

One thing you notice when you look for details of foreign releases is how often a film title is changed to suit local tastes. The Italians changing Performance to Sadismo is one of the more ridiculous examples, picking out a minor detail—Joey’s whipping of Chas at the beginning of the film—while ignoring the rest of the film’s kaleidoscope of images and references.


Walkabout

roeg03.jpg

Japan, 1971.

Similar changes occur in poster art, when the movement to another country prompts the local designers to over-emphasise a film’s sensational elements. In the UK and US the posters for Walkabout stressed the story as being one about survival in a wilderness, and the differences between the Indigenous boy and the English girl and her brother. Elsewhere the posters were more concerned with Jenny Agutter’s skinny-dipping scene while telling you little else about the rest of the film.


Don’t Look Now

roeg04.jpg

Poland, 1973. Art by Maria Mucha Ihnatowicz.

I was hoping there might be more Polish posters for Roeg’s films but this was the only one which turned up. Japanese posters can at times be as elusive as the celebrated Polish designs, with an approach to design that’s very different to the Western standard. The Japanese poster for a reissue of Don’t Look Now is one of the best I’ve seen for that particular film, condensing into a single image the two threads of the story—the dead girl and the murder mystery—while emphasising the film’s persistent use of the colour red.

roeg05.jpg

Japan, 1983.

Continue reading “Roeg abroad”

Weekend links 821

tevis.jpg

The first UK paperback edition, 1976. Cover art by David Bowie’s illustrator friend George Underwood.

• At the BFI: “Humanity, lost and found”. The original Sight and Sound review by Tom Milne of The Man Who Fell to Earth which was released 50 years ago this month. The film is another Nicolas Roeg project whose lofty reputation today has made everyone forget the bewildered or even hostile reaction it generated at the time, including from the US distributor, Paramount, who hated it. Milne, by contrast, had read the novel it was based on, and paid close attention to what the film’s writer, Paul Mayersberg, described as its “minefield of images”.

• Among the new titles at Standard Ebooks, the home of free, high-quality, public-domain texts: The Varieties of Religious Experience by William James.

• Issue 13 of Verbal magazine features an interview with Michael Moorcock, Iain Sinclair in the “Talking Books” section, and more.

• New music: 4 Hours (DVATION 2026 Version) by Clock DVA; -Music For Oriental Hotel Okinawa Resort & Spa- by Harikuyamaku.

• The Shaw Brothers Cinema YouTube channel has whole feature films from the studio’s huge archive free to view.

• At Colossal: “Historic architecture emerges from stone in Matthew Simmonds‘ ethereal sculptures”.

• “Music with Balls”: Terry Riley performing live with an arrangement of shiny silver spheres on KQED TV in 1969.

• Mixes of the week: DreamScenes – March 2026 at Ambientblog, and Motorik by Jon Savage.

• “What is electronic music?” Daphne Oram explains.

• RIP Country Joe MacDonald.

Stardust (1941) by Artie Shaw And His Orchestra | Stardust (1959) by Martin Denny | Stardust (1985) by Yasuaki Shimizu & Saxofonettes

Weekend links 767

east-totem-west.jpg

East Totem West head shop poster, from DJ Food‘s latest delve into the psychedelic poster auctions.

• The week in science-fiction illustration: Joachim Boaz on Rodger B. MacGowan’s “approachable New Wave art”; and Andrew Liptak talks to Adam Rowe about Rowe’s Worlds Beyond Time: Sci-Fi Art of the 1970s.

• At The Wire: Philip Brophy sets out his intentions for the return of his long running column on film music.

• At Public Domain Review: Gustatory Wisdom: Bruegel the Elder’s Twelve Proverbs (1558).

Though the project’s genesis predated Roeg’s involvement, Cammell said that his codirector “needled” him: “He provoked me, made me focus more and more clearly on what I was trying to say.” It was Roeg’s visual sensibility, Cammell graciously admitted, that “mobilized” and “improved” his own concepts. It’s appropriate that the movie concerns two men who become fully realized only in meeting and merging with each other. Turner, said Cammell, “believes himself to be at the end of his creative life. He’s a man in despair. And then destiny brings him his mirror image, Chas, the man in whom he sees what he was and what he could be again.”

Roeg and Cammell were hardly in despair in 1968; both were novices in the foothills of their own artistry. It is not fanciful, though, to see in their collaboration something like the same lightning connection that forms between Turner and Chas. Cammell said that he set out “to make a transcendental movie.” In achieving that goal, he stretched and challenged not just himself but cinema too. Even as Performance closed the lid definitively on the sixties, it opened the door to a radical new way of making films.

Ryan Gilbey on Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg’s Performance

• At A Year In The Country: Broadcast and Pathways Through Otherworldly Villages.

• “Pilot is an elegant and expressive display serif,” says Kim Tidwell.

Winners of the 2025 World Nature Photography Awards.

• New music: Forgotten Worlds by Rodrigo Passannanti.

• Janus Rose presents her Digital Packrat Manifesto.

• RIP Jamie Muir and Gene Hackman.

Pilots Of Purple Twilight (1981) by Tangerine Dream | Pilots (2000) by Goldfrapp | I’m With The Pilots (2001) by Ladytron