Len Wiseman’s Total Recall had the deck stacked against it from the beginning. Paul Verhoeven’s original film was not only a popular success, but has also grown into a cult favorite due largely to its tongue-in-cheek tone, over-the-top violence, and general '80s/'90s kitsch appeal that has become so romanticized. The updated version is full of elements that are much less hip with modern cinephiles: expensive computer-generated effects, a more serious tone, a sleeker aesthetic, and a PG-13 rating. Don’t get me wrong – generally speaking, I am very much in the camp that prefers the former. That said, I think this bias has caused Wiseman’s film to be unfairly dismissed and lambasted. While I still certainly prefer Verhoeven’s original take on Philip K. Dick’s “We Can Remember It for You Wholesale,” the truth is that Wiseman’s take has a lot going for it, and what it lacks in comparison to the original, it makes up for in other ways that the original neglected.
The original Total Recall was the second film (following the excellent RoboCop) in Paul Verhoeven’s mostly stellar Hollywood residency that ran from 1987 to 2000. Intellectually, it is the least ambitious of the bunch, lacking the vicious satire of RoboCop, the psychological rumination of Basic Instinct, or the allegorical commentary of Starship Troopers (though it can be argued that there is some of that present in the material regarding the Martian resistance, but that’s just a subplot), but it is not hard to see what appealed to Verhoeven about the material. In addition to being an opportunity to work with Arnold Schwarzenegger, arguably the most charismatic action star on the scene at the time (and possibly of all time), the underlying conceit of the entire film is the ambiguous duality of the plot. The entire narrative is built on the question of whether or not anything that’s happening in the film is real or simply the hallucinations of Quaid’s (Schwarzenegger, the protagonist) brain after a botched memory implant. Verhoeven clearly had a blast keeping both options fully viable throughout the film; even as the end credits roll, it’s very open to interpretation. The motifs of duality and false surfaces are pervasive (and clever) – from Quaid looking out a window that is actually a digital display to multiple instances of people mimicking or projecting holographic doubles. The viewer is on unstable cerebral ground throughout the running time.
Admirably, Wiseman’s film keeps much of this sense of ambiguity intact. Furthermore, through the savvy casting of Colin Farrell (indisputably a much more capable dramatic actor than Schwarzenegger) as Quaid this time around, the character’s confliction and mental anguish resulting from this uncertainty and loss of identity is much more developed. While this version lacks Verhoeven’s adept visual reinforcements of duality, its divorce from a tongue-in-cheek tone allows it to breathe more fully dramatically, and one gets a real sense of torment and confusion from Quaid that Schwarzenegger’s performance lacked. The pivotal sequence in which Quaid is confronted by someone who tries to persuade him that everything he is experiencing is a massive psychotic episode is, if anything, executed more effectively and ambiguously in Wiseman’s version. The interesting decision to change Quaid’s deciding factor from a drop of sweat on the man’s brow to a tear on his lover’s cheek shifts the effect of the scene to one that is more inward and favoring the possibility this truly is all a delusion, as it hits Quaid emotionally rather than logically.
Another area in which Wiseman’s film is much more fleshed out than Verhoeven’s is the relationships between Quaid, Lori (his wife…or is she?), and Melina (his lover…or is she?). In the original, Lori (Sharon Stone) is a fairly minor character who serves, largely, as the film’s biggest punchline (“Consider that a divorce.”). In the updating, she (Kate Beckinsale) becomes a psychological symbol of all of the domestic and professional trappings Quaid is feeling that lead him to visit Rekall in the first place, whereas Melina (Jessica Biel) symbolizes all the adventure and grandiosity he is seeking. Lori’s continued presence throughout the entire film (which is not the case in the original) consistently reinforces the nagging oppression he feels, and acts as a catalyst that pushes him further and further into the delusion (if you buy into that interpretation). Now, if you consider the delusional angle, this is also quite tragic, as Lori, in reality, is still the affectionate, caring spouse seen at the beginning of the film, and Quaid’s brutal mental treatment of her (most viciously and affectingly emphasized by the blunt, final thud of her body against concrete) is deeply sad. However, it’s easy to see why the delusion is so attractive – there is very genuine passion and emotion between Quaid and Melina that’s evident from the opening moments of the film, in which we see a romantic adventure of them escaping from pursuing assailants, stealing a kiss, sharing a moment. It’s all laden with a beautifully old-fashioned, sweep-you-off-your-feet brand of melodrama, and I mean that in the best way.
This is in sharp contrast to the original film, wherein Lori, thanks to Stone’s reptilian performance, always seems vaguely (well, often not-so vaguely) shifty and untrustworthy, and Melina (Rachel Ticotin) is never really developed at all beyond being the woman Quaid describes as he’s about to undergo the memory implant. There’s never much of a relationship to speak of between any of them, let alone anything even approaching the chemistry between Quaid and Melina in Wiseman’s film.
Generally speaking, Wiseman’s film, which runs a comfortable 135 minutes versus the original’s rather lean 113, is simply more developed. The original has an economical focus on plot, using peripheral action, humor, and visual playfulness to add the flavor, whereas Wiseman really explores the characters, their environments, and their relationships. The audience is allowed much more time with Quaid before the Rekall incident, getting a better sense of his blue collar job (Verhoeven’s film literally has one brief scene of Quaid at work, and it’s only used to set up Rekall) and general existential angst. He’s a much more developed human being, and we really get a sense that he’s defined and driven by his hunger for more out of life.
But bringing everything back to the dual narrative, one touch Verhoeven’s film has that greatly outdoes Wiseman’s is its final moments. Wiseman’s simply has that classic action movie falling action; ambulances are everywhere, and the hero finds his love interest amidst the aftermath of the action finale. But in Verhoeven’s, after everything ends happily, a brief exchange of dialogue between Quaid and Melina reinforces the notion that this could very well be all just an illusion, and then the subtle moment of genius: the screen fades to white as they kiss just before the credits roll. This simple little visual movement can be interpreted as Quaid’s brain finally slipping away due to the figurative lobotomy of the botched memory implant. Basically, this happy ending to the illusion is Quaid dying in reality. In fact, Verhoeven has gone on record stating this is how he interprets the film.
The approach to aesthetics and action in the two films is very different, and I would say neither is really better or worse than the other – it’s all just a matter of preference. Par the course for Verhoeven, the 1990 film goes for the jugular (quite literally) in its action sequences. He displays his signature brand of visceral, heightened savagery, with dismemberment, impalement, splashy bullet wounds, and spurting blood galore. Wiseman also displays his own signature approach to action, though he does so much more effectively than in any of his previous films. The action is fluid and kinetic, and while it lacks the gut-punch of Verhoeven’s graphicness, it makes up for it with impressive set pieces and terrific visual effects that quite often flirt with photo-realism. As usual for modern remakes, everything feels much bigger and more elaborately staged, but Wiseman is careful not to let the film get lost in the expanse.
Speaking of aesthetics, a special credit needs to be given to Patrick Tatopolous’s spectacular production design in the 2012 film. Rarely have I seen a cinematic future look and feel so thoroughly believable, thought-out, and realistic. Quaid’s poor surroundings with Asian undercurrents evoke distinct echoes of Blade Runner, and all of the technological speculations feel very possible.
Of course, that’s not to discredit William Sandell’s memorable production design in the original. His lo-fi, set-bound visual environments have a lot of personality, especially the way he infuses everything with that beautiful Martian red. (On that note, it’s worth mentioning that many people unfairly criticize the 2012 film because Mars isn’t involved, when the Mars angle was actually invented for the 1990 film and is not present in Dick’s story.)
In the end, while I consider Verhoeven’s original to be a great film, Wiseman’s updating is a very good film in its own right. It retains much of the meat of the original while expanding on it in new and effective ways, modernizing its look and tone (without succumbing to dull sterility), and establishing its own spark and identity in the process. It may not have Arnold Schwarzenegger’s eyes bulging out of their sockets, but what it does accomplish still seems pretty damn good to me.
