Geoff Murphy’s Freejack is a loose adaptation of Robert Sheckley’s 1959 celebrated science fiction novel, Immortality, Inc.
That literary work told a tale of the year 2110 in which a man named Blaine was reincarnated (by Rex Corp.) into a future world of suicide booths, body transplants and an after-life industry in which “only the rich” went to heaven.
By contrast, the 1992 film centers on a famous race car driver, Alex Furlong (Emilio Estevez) who, during a fatal accident, is zapped into the future year of 2009. There, Alex countenances a corporate dystopia in America; one where Big Business has its corrupt hands in everything, even the ownership of the human soul.
In this future America, our nation has lost “a trade war” with the Far East (either China or Japan, it’s not clear…). Accordingly, the middle class has disappeared entirely, leaving only the haves and the have-nots in perpetual conflict. Most of the population seems to live on the over-populated streets, in shanty-towns. This is a world in which you “either hide what you have…or you lose it,” according to one character.
Hunting Alex down for McCandless is a mercenary and “bone jacker” named Vacendak (Mick Jagger), a man looking to collect on a big payday. And, as Alex realizes, he is a “freejack,” a person whose very body is up for grabs if you possess a big enough check book.
Mick Jagger doesn’t fare much better. He looks sillier in a tank helmet than Michael Dukakis did in 1988, and Jagger’s abundant personal charisma doesn’t translate well to the taciturn role of Vacendak. Like Estevez, Jagger seems out of his element.
Even Hopkins is a dud in the villainous role of McCandless, the corporate soul marauder. I remember reading an interview with Hopkins in Starlog when this film was first released, and his key to understanding and playing the character of McCandless involved the fact that his character smoked cigars. That anecdote reveals just how shallow the performances and concepts in this movie really are. Under the surface, there’s almost nothing of real interest.
There’s little more desperate in terms of bad movies than a would-be blockbuster that can’t entertain an audience, and that’s, finally, what Freejack is. Or, as Owen Gleiberman wrote in Entertainment Weekly: “The trouble with low-rent science-fiction movies is that beneath all the futuristic gimcrackery — the video phones and laser guns and hyperspace leaps, the obligatory time-travel setups — you realize, at some point, that you’re watching a routine urban chase thriller: Lethal Weapon 2000.”
Yep. Clearly, the opportunity was here to present Freejack as what author Paul Meehan terms a “tech noir,” the kind of gritty, involving film that fuses high technology with low, basic human impulses. But Freejack can’t get there. The film doesn’t dig deep enough about the reasons why such a miserable future has come to pass, or even why the characters respond the way they do to such a world. The film’s idea of humor is to feature a crotch-kicking, shotgun-armed nun in a habit (Amanda Plummer), but no thought or explanation is given to her demeanor or belief system. She’s just a joke, not a person we can undersand.
And the future world of Freejack looks ramshackle and cheap (a lot like Johnny Mnemonic, actually), with just a few “futuristic” cars dotting the streets. Worse, the action scenes are incredibly dire. The film lurches from one boring chase sequence to another and then — finally — ends with a trippy virtual reality light show that today seems conspicuously dated, a relic from the age of such films as The Lawnmower Man (1992). To put it another way, the entire film stakes itself on action, and then, in the last scene, attempts to thrill with metaphysical gymnastics. It fails in both instances.