The release of Star Wars in 1977 begat a slew of science-fiction movies over the next few years. Scripts were actively put into production as movie studios hoped that the next Star Wars would be found, and lead to shitloads of cash.

1979 saw Disney’s attempt at Star Wars with The Black Hole.

TBH depicts a group of space explorers, searching for ‘habitable life.’ (This is one of many scientific inaccuracies that’s downright baffling; for example, during the climax our heroes have no issue with being in space without, you know, spacesuits.) Their ship encounters a black hole, referred to as the largest one ever encountered by the ship’s answer to R2-D2, VINCENT, a floating trashcan of a robot who answers in wisdomatic platitudes. They also find a ship, perched beside the black hole, which ‘hasn’t moved a centimeter since we first spotted it.’ Identified as the long lost USS Cygnus, the crew of the Palomino (our heroes’ ship) investigates.

The Cygnus is captained by one Dr. Hans Reinhardt, played with manic glee and true deviousness by the late Maximilian Schell. Reinhardt built the ship and became its captain to study black holes. He tells of how the crew abandoned ship after a meteor storm disabled the Cygnus (the ship, by the by, is a veritable cathedral in space, one of the most beautiful, if rather impractical, ships ever put to film). He remained, and for twenty years, he has worked toward one thing: to fly into a black hole, to discover what it is. Is it a doorway? A wormhole to another dimension? A gateway to Heaven? Or Hell?

What follows is a rote mystery as to what really happened to the crew, why there’s nothing but robots (including the scary Maximilian, Reinhardt’s sidekick/henchman), rote space adventure (with some grand scenes, including a meteor rolling down a gargantuan shaft), and bland characterizations. We also have the rather creepy moment where the mystery of the crew is answered: the robots aboard the Cygnus used to be the human crew, lobotomized and transformed Cybermen-style by Reinhardt when the crew did not abandon ship but mutinied. Oh, and a character is eviscerated by Maximilian.

Yes. A character is ripped apart (without gore, natch) by a robot. In a Disney film.

This is not, however, the weirdest thing that happens in this film.

See, while Star Wars was responsible for the glut of films such as this, 2001: A Space Odyssey, released in 1968, was the first sci-fi film taken seriously by the general audience and critics, and was groundbreaking in its special effects, which still hold up quite well today.

And of course 2001: A Space Odyssey is also famous for how the last half of the movie is absolutely batshit insane.

The movie, from David’s attempt to re-enter the Discovery ship up until the film’s final image of the Star Child looking down upon the Earth, lent itself to all kinds of interpretations. Arthur C. Clarke, a master in the literary sci-fi field and co-writer of the film, stated that if 2001 made sense to the audience, then he and (co-writer and director) Stanley Kubrick had failed in what they wanted to accomplish with 2001.

The Black Hole was a particular favorite of mine as a child, to the point where the mere mention of it nowadays to my mom, my brothers, or my dad would elicit a punch or two to my head. Even in my early twenties, when I fancied myself a screenwriter, I wrote a rough outline and forty first-draft pages of a Black Hole remake. There’s a lot to love about this movie: John Barry’s score, most of the special effects, an excellent performance from Schell, the attempts at trying to do a big ole space opera. TBH also touches upon some metaphysical ideas about man’s place in the universe and the nature of God. Granted, these aren’t that fleshed out, but they’re enough to make a boy wonder.

See, while science continues learning more and more about the world and the universe, it is because of this movie that I understand the following: that no matter what we extrapolate about the phenomena that surrounds us in the cosmos, it still is all just theory. Right? I mean, scientists have what they feel is a wonderfully close idea as to what black holes are and what they do, but we’ll never truly know until we can investigate one up close, via probe or what have you. So this idea of Reinhardt’s need for empirical evidence pertaining to the essence of black holes has instilled in me a kinda of fascination with stellar phenomenon.

Which brings me to The Black Hole’s ending.

Ahem. So, the remaining Palomino crew escape from the Cygnus in a probe ship designed by Reinhardt to travel through the black hole. The Cygnus is pulverized by a meteor storm, and, quite damaged, falls into the black hole. While the probe ship spins and swirls through a vortex, we view, and I shit you not, Reinhardt, floating along, his hair and beard mangled and tangled, as if he’s been floating about for some time. He finds Maximilian floating around, too, and they hug, and its implied that Reinhardt then enters into Maximilian, and then there’s a shot of Maximilian-Reinhardt standing upon a crag of rocks, and down below him, fire and brimstone rage, with small figures standing all about, and then the camera pans up, and a white ethereal figure with long blonde hair floats into screen and travels down a long glass corridor or tunnel and into a ball of white light, and we cut to the probe ship exiting a white hole, and the ship approaches a planet.

Credits.

Again, yes, this is a Disney film.

So, while I’m skipping over a ton about TBH (including some rather ropey effects concerning floating robots and the fishing wire that is blatantly obvious and viewable, and the fact that one of the crew has a psychic link to the robot Vincent), it remains a curious favorite of mine. The film, while having a somewhat cult following, surely is a prime candidate for a remake, of which Disney does have plans for, though how eager they’d be do do a sci-fi film what with having the rights to Star Wars, who knows.

Since I have no ending for this, I shall quote one Christopher Nolan, who frequently name-checks TBH as a favorite:

Even to a nine-year-old Star Wars fanatic this seemed pretty uneven, but some of the special effects still impress, and it boasts one of the most unexpectedly weird climaxes in cinema history. I actually had to rent it as an adult just to check that I hadn’t made up the whole ending.

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Daniel Brophy is an unprofessional writer who dreams of being one. He has published one short story many years ago in some forgotten magazine, and has written a multitude of unfinished novels. He also has a rather unhealthy obsession with the Alien film franchise.