Several years ago, I chanced upon an audio version of Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card, and I really enjoyed it. The book
was published in 1985, but until now it had never been translated into film.
Somewhere—I don’t recall whether it was a part of the audio or in print—Orson Scott
Card discussed the problems in getting the book onto the big screen. One of the
problems was age of the characters. I don’t recall exactly how old they were in
the book, but they were young. For this and other reasons, no film version came
to pass—until now. It was worth the wait.
The problem seeing a film adaptation any book that you’ve really enjoyed is
that you’re likely to suffer a disappointment. There are exceptions, To Kill a Mockingbird comes to mind as a
great book and a great movie. And some books probably become better as films. I’m
guessing here because I never read the book, but I imagine that The Godfather is better as a film. But
the finer the book, the more likely the disappointment in seeing its film
adaptation. I can now add Ender’s Game as
an exception to this rule. The screenplay sticks closely with the book (as far
as I can remember, as it has been several years). Ender’s relationship with
Valentine and Peter is not as fully developed—wasn’t Peter on the way to
becoming some type of fascist leader?—but on the main points, I think they
adhered to the major scenes and themes. The lead (Asa Butterfield) looks like a
pre-pubescent boy (if he has any peach fuzz on that face I couldn’t see it).
Some of the others were older, and some younger, but we see that Ender and the others are kids. The premise that kids could be trained more effectively
than adults in the complex and intuitive skills required makes sense. The filmmakers
have maintained this crucial aspect of Card’s original vision. A child shall
lead them—but at what price?
The crucial part of the adaptation is that Ender remains the central and
enigmatic character. Ender is at once sensitive and ferocious. (One has to ask,
once the testosterone gets turned on, what’s this guy going to be like?) We don’t
know where the ferociousness comes from, perhaps the book addressed it—a combination
of genetics and having Peter as an older brother? But Valentine helps nurture
Ender’s sensitive side. If Ender hadn’t worked as a character, the film wouldn’t
have worked, and for this we have to thank the director and young Mr.
Butterfield. Others in the cast worked well also, the young actors and the
veterans. I must say, however, that I wonder if Harrison Ford doesn’t tire of
having to snarl in every movie (although I’m sure that’s what they hire him to
do) and Ben Kingsley doesn’t tire of playing a burly, tough heavy (each new
role an anti-Gandhi). But both fulfill their roles appropriately.
I read an article from The New Yorker about politics and SF in which author Tim Kreider makes an argument that really resonated with me: politics is about the future*. This strikes me
as profound and accurate. Indeed, we might extend that and say that life is
about the future. In any event, since politics is about our collective future, the
SF genre is well suited to explore politics because
of its ability to experiment with future societies. I know of political science
courses based on SF literature. (Alas, I was never was able to take the one
that was taught at Iowa by one of my profs.) Ender’s Game, both the book and the film, addresses tough political and moral issues (and these two subjects are often combined). An attack by the Formics traumatizes humanity. The task assigned to Ender and
his fellow youngsters by the leadership of a seemingly united humanity becomes
a project of genocide. I was surprised to hear the term genocide used in the
film. The decision to annihilate the Formics before they annihilate humanity has
been made at the highest levels. But is this necessary? The question occurs to
Ender and to us. The ending leaves us wondering what becomes of Ender and his
quest. Is his accomplishment a source of pride or guilt? Wisdom or foolishness?
The film doesn’t try to answer the question (perhaps Card does in his later
installments in the series), but to have the questions raised encouraged me
that a mainstream American SF film can address tough questions. These issues are
relevant to decisions made in our world every day. Most recent SF films have
disappointed me, with an overemphasis on special effects and loud booms. Don’t
get me wrong, FX is great, and I’d love to play in that zero-gravity training
room with those stun guns—that would be terrific! But such neat stuff can’t
substitute for some gravity of theme, and I’m happy that this film doesn't ignore
that ingredient.
P.S. This entire essay is worth reading.*Science fiction is an inherently political genre, in that any future or alternate history it imagines is a wish about How Things Should Be (even if it’s reflected darkly in a warning about how they might turn out). And How Things Should Be is the central question and struggle of politics. It is also, I’d argue, an inherently liberal genre (its many conservative practitioners notwithstanding), in that it sees the status quo as contingent, a historical accident, whereas conservatism holds it to be inevitable, natural, and therefore just. The meta-premise of all science fiction is that nothing can be taken for granted. That it’s still anybody’s ballgame.
