Film Review — Westworld (1973)
Yul Brynner terrorises the West in Crichton’s impressive Jurassic Park precursor.
In the near future, wealthy elites indulge at an immersive, hi-tech adventure resort, but problems behind the scenes spiral out of control, threatening the safety of the guests.
Michael Crichton sure loves punishing patrons, doesn’t he? Twenty years before the tech-T-Rex terrors of Jurassic Park, Crichton cut his filmmaking teeth with Westworld. The two stories are strikingly similar: wealthy people enjoy the exclusive wonders of technological innovation before said innovations go horribly wrong.
Pivotal to the success of Westworld is Yul Brynner who, much like the rest of the film, finds the right balance between concept and presentation. As the Gunslinger Brynner nails the assignment, delivering a performance that perfectly captures the simple automaton initially, before morphing into something far more sinister with little more than a brisk stride and an iron clasp of his holster. I’d be very surprised if James Cameron and Arnold Schwarzenegger weren’t at least subconsciously influenced by this superb minimalist performance.
The premise might seem pretty basic and can be enjoyed as such. But there’s also loads of lovely subtext for those looking for something under the skin, demonstrated literally as guests enjoy an orgy of debauchery, whilst men in white labcoats scramble frantically to maintain the park’s costly and ultimately doomed illusions.
★★★☆☆
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