For a family lost somewhere in deep space, the Robinson family keep finding their way back to our screens!
There have been three main iterations of the concept — the original 1960s TV series, a 1998 feature film, and now a re-booted 2018 series for Netflix (not to mention some comic book and novel off-shoots of the different versions). Each take offers new spins while sticking with the core idea: the Robinson family (a deliberate riff on The Swiss Family Robinson) head off into deep space to colonize a planet in Alpha Centauri but get misdirected en route. The family is comprised of parents John and Maureen, and three kids, Will (the youngest), Peggy, and oldest Judy (bridging the kid/adult divide) — supplemented by non-blood related Don West, the conniving Dr. Smith, and, of course, a robot called — Robot.
When I was younger, I used to sometimes grumble about re-makes. Why-oh-why (I’d lament) must they ruin the old classics? (The fact the “classic” I regarded as sacrosanct might itself have been a re-make entirely failing to poke a logic hole in my righteous indignation). But if you accept the idea of re-makes it can actually be intriguing, seeing how the concept gets re-interpreted for changing times and evolving mores.
(When Peter Jackson did his 2005 version of King Kong I was disappointed he didn’t follow the lead of the 1976 version by up-dating the Depression-era original as a metaphor for contemporary issues. I still find myself speculating what themes could’ve been explored in a genuine 21st Century retelling of the Kong story)
Besides — remakes are gonna happen, so you might as well learn to roll with it. Many of Shakespeare’s plays were themselves based on, inspired by, or just simply rip offs of earlier plays.
Now to be honest — I didn’t have a lot of clear memories of the original Lost in Space. I know I watched it as a kid, but I retain little recollection of plots or even the characters. But I’ve caught the occasional re-run as an adult. And it’s a bit of an odd duck, to be honest. With shallow characterization and often thin, loosely strung together plots, it soon veered from being a serious, family-aimed adventure series to embracing the tongue-in-cheek camp popular in the 1960s. Or rather, it evolved into two-series-in-one: the straight-faced scenes of John, Don, Maureen, etc. stoically confronting the week’s menace — intercut with unambiguously comedic scenes of young Will playing straightman to the bickering Dr. Smith and the Robot. The result is a fandom that is probably equally divided between those who fondly recall it as sci-fi adventure, those who enjoy it as kitsch, and those who see it as a sitcom.
Still there’s no disputing its pop cultural impact, even if what evolved as the show’s signature triumvirate — young Will Robinson (Bill Mumy), the Robot (voiced by Dick Tufeld), and conniving Dr. Smith (Jonathan Harris) — weren’t originally intended to be the show’s focus (I think Smith wasn’t even intended as a permanent character — until Harris proved such a consummate scene stealer). Phrases like “Danger, Will Robinson!” have become pop cultural touchstones — probably even for audiences unaware from where it originated.
Of course its influence was also problematic — at least as far as I was concerned as a science fiction fan. As there seemed a plethora of “family” sci-fi series over the years marooned in the tonal no man’s land of sort of being aimed at adults (with some adult characters in hour long scripts) and sort of aimed at kids (with precocious kid characters, and plots avoiding being too gritty or intense). I long suspected that to Steven Spielberg the acme of TV SF was Lost in Space and he was desperately trying to re-create its inbetween tone in series like SeaQuest, Earth 2, Terra Nova, and even Taken.
The problem I always felt is that kids gravitate to SF early and don’t really need child protagonists to get them watching (although, to be honest, I do have a certain affection for SeaQuest and some others).
Which almost brings us to the Netflix series — but first let’s take a detour to the 1998 motion picture.
When I first saw commercials for the 1998 movie — with its bombastic action and fascist-black colour schemes that seem all the rage in fantasy/SF ever since Tim Burton’s Batman — it looked like an affront to the original series. Even though I had only a vague memory of the original, I still believe if you’re going to capitalize on a property like Lost in Space it behooves you to do so respectfully.
So I was surprised when I eventually saw the film — and actually kind of enjoyed it. The filmmakers did evince affection for the source material, fascist-black colour schemes notwithstanding. Indeed, they maybe had more respect for it than did the original makers since the movie took itself seriously (while still having humour and juggling whether its target audience was older or younger). The premise was given a grittier, modern spin, the characters provided with more characterization and rougher edges (the parents, John and Maureen, could bicker; the kids were a little more unruly) but at heart it was still about a family, working together, in deep space. And the plot was an Old School sci-fi adventure involving derelict space ships, a mysterious planet, and time paradoxes — when too many sci-fi movies are just horror flicks or war movies relocated to space.
I re-watched it recently and at first I thought: “whoo-boy, did I mis-remember this.” Because the first couple of scenes were (to my mind) quite bad, with corny dialogue. But as it progressed, it settled into what I remembered: an uneven but kind of fun, sincere romp. Matt LeBlanc, as pilot Don West, is kind of problematic — but I’m not sure whether that’s because LeBlanc isn’t a great actor, or he was just saddled with the worst dialogue, or having played a bad actor, Joey, in the sitcom Friends, it’s hard to watch him without thinking of his performance as “Joey acting in a movie.” Certainly William Hurt, Mimi Rogers, Gary Oldman and the others had little trouble making their parts work.
One thing that has arguably dated is the movie’s Don West. A blandly generic stalwart in the old series, the movie set up some friction between him and John (Hurt) and re-conceived him as a swaggering Lothario. But in a way that just feels uncomfortable in this era of #metoo and #timesup. Instead of a charming rogue, he comes across as a creep. Which, to be fair, is sort of the point. The focus of his libido, eldest daughter Judy (Heather Graham) even pours a glass of water on him at one point. So his character arc is that he learns to be a more sensitive suitor — but we’re still supposed to see him as a loveable lech, reinforcing the gender cliché that it’s the woman’s obligation to make him into a better man.
But sometimes remakes are interesting precisely because they reflect their eras — for better and worse. There’s still a very traditional family dynamic at work in the 1998 movie, with John as the workaholic dad and Maureen (Rogers) more in the role of housewife. But Maureen is written with more grit than she was in the 1960s and John is more fallible. And eldest daughter Judy has been re-imagined as the ship’s doctor as opposed to simply being defined as another off-spring. (The mother in the original series was technically supposed to have a doctorate — but I’m not sure her role was written as anything other than a supportive wife and mother.)
And now we come to Netflix’s 2018 re-boot.
Given the original series’ own comedy leanings, and the trend in recent years of re-making old properties as self-parodies (albeit with limited commercial success) such as the movie versions of Baywatch and ChiPs, one could easily imagine the filmmakers going for tongue-in-cheek. Instead they take it seriously — both as an SF adventure, and as a drama about family relationships. (One wonders if the makers of the new series — and indeed the 1998 film — had seen the original as kids and so remembered taking it more at face value than the kitschy material was actually intended).
It has a solid cast, the filmmakers making sure everyone has their story threads rather than letting it slide into being mostly about young Will and Dr. Smith. I can’t say there were any break-out characters, but equally I didn’t mind spending time with any of them in their various threads. Toby Stephens and Molly Parker alternate top billing from episode to episode as parents, John and Maureen (I’ve never been a big Molly Parker fan, but she grew on me here) and the younger Robinsons (played in ascending order by Maxwell Jenkins, Mina Sundwall, and Taylor Russell) are good and not annoying (the way I can sometimes grumpily find younger characters annoying).Young Will is still a principal character, but not at the expense of the others, and though bright and clever he’s no longer the hyper-intelligent wish-fulfilment archetype that can grate (see: the fan backlash to Star Trek: TNG’s Wesley Crusher).
Sure, I can point to logic and plot holes, but it generally held my interest. Admittedly, I was probably in an easy-going frame of mind. And I think being based on an inherently corny source kind of lends it a shield. I mean, if you’re unwilling to forgive a bit of hokiness, you probably shouldn’t be watching something based on Lost in Space in the first place, is all I’m saying.
I think they’ve found the right tone for one of these “family” sci-fi dramas in a way that Spielberg never quite did. It doesn’t feel like a kiddie show — even as the plots and dilemmas tend to avoid too much murder and mayhem. There are certainly deaths and dangers, just not a preponderance of such plot elements. Albeit that does mean an episode about snake-eels infiltrating the ship starts out suspenseful, but by the end treats the eels more like light relief as John Robinson (Stephens) wrestles them — and the eels aren’t the most convincing of f/x to boot. (The rather blasé way the characters treat the environment is, perhaps, a bit awkward — I mean, barely have they landed then they’re blithely killing the local fauna without stopping to consider any potential impact upon the bio-sphere!)
Admittedly, I’m probably forgiving of cheesier aspects of the new series (like the fact that the alien planet isn’t very alien) knowing its source material — a certain cheese is hardwired into its DNA after all.
And when it seems like most producers of TV SF have trouble envisioning space travel that doesn’t involve the military, mercenaries, or gun-wielding outlaws, there’s something refreshing about an SF series where the presence of a gun is a significant plot point — because guns aren’t standard issue among the characters! A series where characters have to discuss and argue for their opinions rather than simply having an authoritarian commander bark an order.
And in doing so it finds its own stories to tell. The episode where Judy is trapped in ice while the others struggle to get her free ratcheted up the tension, despite not having a bad guy or antagonist.
I mean, I like (to varying degrees) Killjoys, Star Trek: Discovery and The Expanse — but there is a kind of unifying approach to them.
Like the 1998 movie, the new series doesn’t forget its roots, while also having fun re-conceiving things for a modern audience — sometimes building upon the movie as much as the original series. So here eldest daughter Judy is the ship’s medic — following on the character’s profession from the movie. Square-jawed Don West of the 1960s became a swaggering Lothario for the 1998 movie, and here they retain the idea of him being a lovable rogue (played by Ignacio Serricchio). But they avoid the problematic sexual predator idea, instead making him an opportunist — smuggling booze to the colony at Alpha Centauri. While in the 1960s John and Maureen were the proper heads of a nuclear family, the movie presented cracks in that portrait, with John’s work keeping him a bit distant from his kids (especially Will) and with occasional friction between the couple. The new series runs with that ball even further: John is even more estranged from his kids and he and Maureen on the verge of divorcing. In fact, both the movie and the Netflix series make John’s awkwardness with Will a central thread.
While the relationship between young Will and the Robot (it wouldn’t be Lost in Space without the robot!) has likewise evolved. In the original they were frequently paired up by the plots. In the 1998 movie Will is partly responsible for the Robot’s construction. In the new version, the Robot is alien in origin, but bonds with Will in a way he/she/it doesn’t the others — making integral to the narrative what was more just something the audience inferred in the old series.
And The Robot’s presence adds an interesting layer of tension as not only is it of an unknown alien origin — it was the thing that attacked the colony ship, resulting in them getting marooned. Whether it’s still a potentially dangerous device, how much control Will truly has over it, and how much sentience/humanity it has is a question which both the characters — and the audience — aren’t sure of the answer. (Also probably worth giving a nod to Brian Steele, the actor who gives the robot its body language).
The most radical change in the new series is Dr. Smith, a role twice before played by a man, but here essayed by actress Parker Posey. And while previously Smith was conniving and initially sinister (being responsible in both versions for sabotage that gets the family lost in space) — he was also played for a lot a humour. But in this more serious version, Smith is less cartoonishly evil even as, conversely, she’s more disturbing. This Smith has cast herself as the tragic victim of her own self-created drama and is essentially a narcissistic sociopath — but with (occasional) flashes of compassion making it hard to entirely pigeon hole her. It’s a nice performance from Posey, who basically plays Smith as a perpetually cornered animal hiding beneath a veneer of civility.
But this is what I mean about how it’s interesting to see how properties get re-imagined while also staying true to the source. Because viewed one way, Posey’s Smith is nothing like Harris’ Smith (or Gary Oldman’s) even as, in other ways, she absolutely is.
Perhaps the biggest way the new series, well, cheats, is that the Robinsons aren’t the only family marooned on this alien world (at least for the first season story arc). Presumably the filmmakers decided the biggest narrative hurdle was how to keep the series interesting with only seven characters interacting episode after episode (eight counting the robot). So they just said, screw it, and surrounded them with a supporting cast.
Part of the fun if you — grudgingly — embrace the concept of remakes is seeing how and why things change, reflecting new cultural mores, or evolving tropes.
The Netflix version breaks up the all-white dynamics of the 1960s/1990s versions, not just with the supporting cast, but even in the family itself by making eldest daughter, Judy, black — not only adding diversity to the core cast, but also acknowledging modern, blended families.
Gender dynamics have experienced notable shake-ups over the ensuing decades, with the female characters stronger, more independent in each incarnation. In the 1998 movie Maureen is a strong character — but still mostly in a power-behind-the-throne way, guiding the menfolk who still make most of the decisions. And the climax of the film focuses almost entirely on the male characters! But with the new series it’s Maureen who designed the space ship (previously John’s role) — while John is an ex-soldier, more adept at the physical and practical side of things. (Of course that’s its own cliché: when writers try to balance gender roles, it’s usually to make the gal the academic, the guy the man-of-action).
But instead of simply shifting the patriarchal cliché of the man who’s always right to its matriarchal mirror of the woman being always right, sometimes Maureen saves the day, sometimes John does. Which, frankly, makes for better, less formulaic storytelling. And this extends to the junior Robinsons, too — who sometimes do smart things, and sometimes not so smart things. In an ensemble it’s better if all the characters have their strengths and weaknesses — reinforcing the idea that they are stronger together.
Which is kind of the idea of family — whether or not that family happens to be lost in space.
Though I can’t resist remarking upon a pet topic of mine. Namely: cultural/national identity. There’s a deliberate attempt in the new series to present cultural diversity by having the other marooned colonists speak with a variety of accents. Nonetheless the Robinsons themselves remain steadfastly American. Perhaps this wouldn’t strike me as worth commenting upon except that Toby Stephens is actually British. And for that matter, Molly Parker and Taylor Russell are Canadian. And the new series is filmed in Canada and made with tax breaks from a variety of jurisdictions (looking at the end credits). So it’s interesting that the filmmakers are willing to diversify the racial dynamics of the family, and to give the thing a feminist up-grade — but the bridge too far for them, apparently, would be undercutting the image of American heroism by making the family multi-national. Whatever the behind-the-scenes reality.
Just something to think about, eh?
Anyway — I’m not saying the new series is “must see TV.” I found it more enjoyable than, frankly, I expected — enough to watch the whole first season. But it may also have just caught me in an easy going mind-frame, looking for something to kill a few evenings. If you’re a hardcore fan of the 1960s series, the Netflix version probably won’t satisfy you: the emotional angst, the altered character, will seem like a betrayal if you had hopes they would simply re-create the old show but with a 21st Century budget. But if you have a vague affection for the old series, and/or the 1998 movie, don’t mind a bit of cheese with the gravitas, you might enjoy seeing the way the new version acknowledges the source material while tweaking it in new directions.