Forbidden Planet

An eternal milestone of cinematic sci-fi, “Forbidden Planet” boldly stands out on the landscape of its era thanks to a nearly perfect balance between entertainment and incisive critical deliberations. In fact, the work is imbued with erudite references in an attempt to take on ethical and philosophical matters of considerable interest without necessarily devolving into an abstruse intellectualism accessible to only a few.

Heavily permeated with a psychoanalytic conception of mankind, the story puts the theme of knowledge front and center. In the intrapsychic world, the dominating force is the notion of the unconscious which, in its highly negative Freudian connotation, emerges as the amoral and potentially destructive primordial need operating within each of us. A blind, instinctual force that acts entirely according to the pleasure principle, the id, beyond representing the very symbol of the decentralization of the conscious, serves as an ideal narrative expedient to punish scientific faith in human rationality (it’s really exalting the sole cognitive viewpoint and pretentiously snubbing the import of the subconscious dynamics that lead Dr. Morbius, despite himself, to eliminate those around him). In any case, Wilcox’s film is so intrinsically Freudian that psychoanalytic assumptions assume an interspecific and universal nature (just consider the sad epic of the Krell), and end up involving even Robby the Robot’s artificial intelligence (“You see, he’s helpless. Locked in a sub-electronic dilemma between my direct orders and his basic inhibitions against harming rational beings“).

On the sociorelational plane, considerations revolve around the concept of the sharing of knowledge. On that subject, Morbius finds himself entrenched in some rather elitist positions, to say the least: (“I have come to the unalterable conclusion that man is unfit as yet to receive such knowledge, such almost limitless power. […] Such portions of the Krell science, as I may from time to time deem suitable and safe, I shall dispense to Earth. Other portions I shall withhold“). Morbius is quickly and harshly challenged by the democratic Adam (“A scientific find of this magnitude has got to be under United Planet supervision. No one man should monopolize it“).

Cast: although the presence of an unrecognizable Leslie Nielsen in the role of the valiant captain might undoubtedly elicit some curiosity, it’s the great Walter Pidgeon who steals the show. In fact, several decades later, his tormented Morbius remains deeply etched in memory. This is a character with Shakespearean resonance (many see analogies with Prospero from “The Tempest”) who, enticed by temptations of omnipotence capable of twisting his noble primeval intentions, finally succumbs in the face of a revelation so devasting that it elevates him to a truly tragic stature.

Made by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer with a budget that was nothing to sneeze at ($1.5 million), the film excels on the figurative front as well. Among its strong points we find the picturesque sets of Hugh Hunt and Edwin B. Willis and some noteworthy special effects (contributed by pros such as the multiple Academy Award winner A. Arnold Gillespie and Joshua Meador, on loan to MGM from Walt Disney Productions).

Definitely an authentic masterpiece, what else can we say?