Reviewed October 1, 1999

It holds its secrets well. Bathed in perpetual night, the sprawling metropolis spirals inward and outward, every which way, its labyrinthine dark alleyways concealing nightmarish enigmas wrapped in curious conundrums. Its superstructures reach infinitely skyward; into the darkened abyss, the dense sea of inky blackness; like skeletal hands weathered by time, reaching out for one final, fleeting grasp of rapidly fading life. Its denizens exist, living carefully constructed lives, oblivious to the paradox that surrounds them. The city is at once their prison and their “soul” salvation.

The titular character of director Alex Proyas’ Dark City is the true star of his dazzling new look at dystopia and its effects on the huddled masses. Though outwardly bleak and depressing, owing much to the urban frightscapes of Blade Runner and Batman, not to mention the director’s own The Crow, the central figure of Dark City holds a few surprises within its foreboding walls. Deep within its recesses, a fascinating mixture of film noir and comic book chic collides, powered by a telltale heart beating loudly within the darkness. This city holds hope.

Proyas places his protagonist, an Everyman named John (Rufus Sewall), maddeningly in the midst of mystery. The viewer is given a front row seat to the plight of John, beginning with a rude awakening late one night, in a dank, seedy hotel room. Plagued by a nasty bout of amnesia, John bursts from an overflowing bathtub, struggling to make sense of his surroundings.

Questions arise. Who is he? How did he arrive in this fleabag hotel? Why is there a dead hooker in the next room, and to what extent is he involved? Prompted by a mysterious phone call, urging him to gather his belongings and leave immediately, John exits the hotel room moments before a sinister cabal of villainous apparitions, known only as “The Strangers”, descend upon it. Expressionless, armed to the hilt, their depressed countenances masquerading malicious intent, this unexpected visit sets forth a blistering quest for identity.

From this point, John is off on his dark journey, struggling to make sense of his predicament. With a hot shot gumshoe (William Hurt) dogging his every move, a mysterious lover (Jennifer Connolly) emerging from the shadows of his past, or is it his present, and an off-kilter scientist (Kiefer Sutherland) sputtering doomsday premonitions in a quasi-Eurotrash affectation, John works to clear his name and resurrect his lost identity.

What truly propels the narrative, and hooks the viewer, is Proyas’ decision to reveal secrets just as John himself discovers them. We are front in center, voyeurs to his quest, every step of the way. As the film begins, the viewer is just as lost as the hero. He is on the run from a malevolent force, these “strange” beings, inhabiting cadaverous bodies, draped in drab trenchcoats and sporting curiously pursed smiles on their corpse like countenances. Who these men are is just as large a mystery as who he is. As their search for him intensifies and the depths of their powers are plumbed, the viewer ponders these very same questions.

As information is parceled out, gradually John, and we, begin to piece together the puzzle. On two occasions, I was personally floored, as revelations to the extent of the identities in question surfaced. One visually impressive set-piece where “The Strangers” reveal their grip upon the cities’ constructs, remains a dazzling showstopper. Equally impressive is the protracted conclusion, where John’s Everyman ideals give way to superhero flights of fancy, unveiling powers inherent within the human soul and setting the stage for an ultimate battle of good versus evil.

Fantasy needs a firm grip on reality to succeed. One missed mark, one flubbed line, a lack of faith in the story being told, can shatter the delicate illusion. Thankfully, the film hits in all respects. On all accounts, the acting is great. By populating the major roles with character actors, rejecting typical Hollywood gloss, this alternate dimension bursts to vibrant life.

What truly works magic are the tech credits, shining examples of creativity and imagination working wonders. The city is a work of art. Credit production designer Patrick Tatopolous (Godzilla, Independence Day) for this masterful brush stroke. Tatopolous envisions the city as a living, breathing entity, proving that age-old traditions of models and matte-paintings can still achieve breathtaking results, even in this age of CGI-everything. Complimenting the visuals, composer Trevor Jones contributes a propulsive score.

Writer David Goyer, Proyas’ collaborator on The Crow, also does a wonderful job with the script, constructing a tight-knit mystery which rewards the intelligence of an attentive audience. Goyer has also written screenplays for Blade, as well as The Crow, and with this finishing touch to a masterful trifecta, firmly establishes himself as the premiere writer of “future noir.” Someone give this guy the next Batman, and marvel at the fiery phoenix risen from the ashes.

In the end, Dark City works so well because it pays such tight attention to the prime directives of all good science fiction. It takes hold of contemporary society’s ails and fits them into a fantastic equation, offering up self-evident solutions, viewer take heed. Beyond the obvious threats of mutated lobsters, Saucermen from Mars, and failed ninth plans from outerspace, Sci-Fi looks to solve embedded problems and unearth deeper truths and meaning to our grounded lives.

With Dark City, Alex Proyas mines the depths of the human condition, reveling in the beauty of inner soul, dredging to the surface a rare find in deed… Hope. Such a simple word, so small in size yet magnificent in connotation, the concept forged as mankind’s salvation and guiding light through all dark times.