Though it's no major must-see, Tom Holland's TV movie adaptation of 'The Langoliers' is a modern horror classic, mid-90s CGI and all. It's been some time since I watched it (I'm probably overdue to do so again), but I remember it well and fondly, and it's arguably one among the better audiovisual realizations of Stephen King's works as it invokes earnest airs of mystery and foreboding. It was quite by chance that I stumbled across this reimagined experiment of Aristotelis Maragkos, and from the concept alone I knew I had to check it out. It begins simply enough as the first couple minutes of exposition are a near frame-for-frame recreation that is only slightly off from the source, all the audio is derived from the 1995 television feature, and of course the story broadly rehashes the prior work. As soon as events go sideways in that story, though, Maragkos lets his imagination rip, and 'The timekeepers of eternity' refreshes the three-hour predecessor in a manner that I didn't know I needed. It begins simply enough, yet in no time the viewing experience becomes fascinating, and when all is said and done it's firmly spellbinding. This is wonderfully clever, and it deserves more recognition beyond its runs at film festivals; condensed to a runtime of only one swift hour, no one has an excuse to pass it up.
Since the advent of cinema filmmakers have explored new and creative ways to breathe life into their creations, add an extra shock of vitality, or augment the viewing experience. In the silent era individual frames, or possibly singular elements within a frame, were tinted and colored by hand; mid-century Lettrist filmmakers scratched, drew on, and manipulated frames in their own ways as they proclaimed a new paradigm. More recently, Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman gave us 2017's exquisite experimental biographical picture 'Loving Vincent,' wherein the frames of filmed footage were hand-painted to resemble living works of Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh. What Maragkos did here is another ingenious, innovative step in the medium: printing individual frames from Holland's rendition of 'The Langoliers' on paper, crinkling and tearing them by hand (purposefully echoing the nervous habit of character Toomey), and putting the pieces together in new arrangements. In so doing he restructures the fundamental visuals, creates "practical effects" and new visuals unique to this experiment, adds layers and dimensions, and after some fashion, adds a slightly new angle to the plot. As events escalate in the latter half of the narrative, Maragkos even somewhat recalls Jan Svankmajer or Terry Gilliam as he allows his own hands and his work table to enter the image, and his molding of the printed frames becomes more substantial in a reflection of the growing urgency of the scenario.
Whatever one's opinion of 'The Langoliers' may be, it is a 2D presentation on a 2D screen. Whatever one's opinion is of "3D" gimmicks in cinema, even at their best the novelty is an optical illusion. Inasmuch as the paper he used to print frames of Holland's title can be considered film stock, Maragkos effectively alters the film stock to add a third dimension to the physical component of the presentation, making it more real. The brilliant approach adds a surrealist, dreamlike (nightmarish) quality to the telling of this tale, which is further infused with a strengthened psychological component as this iteration seems to extend a tad more focus and vibrancy to the arc of unhinged Toomey. These aren't the only changes Maragkos made, as the Langoliers themselves have truly never looked better or more threatening; the filmmaker even dares to change the ending that viewers are familiar with. By all means, the man deserves much credit in a general sense for his writing and direction, to say nothing of his editing. Yet its his visual effects and animation that are the real stars here, and above all the inventive brilliance that conjured such a remarkable, unorthodox departure from the norm. The degree to which the method is employed here varies, yet even many of the most mundane instances add noteworthy rejuvenating flair to a TV movie that twenty-five years later is regarded well, but which hasn't necessarily gotten much notice in subsequent years.
Well, here's hoping that 'The timekeepers of eternity' has renewed some interest in 'The Langoliers,' for it is worthy. More than that, here's hoping that a couple years after Maragkos first completed it, his flick may continue to attract attention - for it has absolutely earned it, and for the way that it vivifies Holland's work, this may actually be superior. I very much hope to find more of the filmmaker's pieces, and I look forward to seeing what he might do in the future; if this is any indication, I can only assume the utmost skill and intelligence of his other credits. Whether or not one is a fan of King or the original TV movie, the resourcefulness and wit this represents demands to be seen and appreciated, and I believe after all that Maragkos' shrewd interpretation is the must-see that 'The Langoliers' might not be. 'The timekeepers of eternity' is a tremendous example of the proverbial shot in the arm that the art form needs every now and again, and that we viewers need every now and again, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!
Since the advent of cinema filmmakers have explored new and creative ways to breathe life into their creations, add an extra shock of vitality, or augment the viewing experience. In the silent era individual frames, or possibly singular elements within a frame, were tinted and colored by hand; mid-century Lettrist filmmakers scratched, drew on, and manipulated frames in their own ways as they proclaimed a new paradigm. More recently, Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman gave us 2017's exquisite experimental biographical picture 'Loving Vincent,' wherein the frames of filmed footage were hand-painted to resemble living works of Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh. What Maragkos did here is another ingenious, innovative step in the medium: printing individual frames from Holland's rendition of 'The Langoliers' on paper, crinkling and tearing them by hand (purposefully echoing the nervous habit of character Toomey), and putting the pieces together in new arrangements. In so doing he restructures the fundamental visuals, creates "practical effects" and new visuals unique to this experiment, adds layers and dimensions, and after some fashion, adds a slightly new angle to the plot. As events escalate in the latter half of the narrative, Maragkos even somewhat recalls Jan Svankmajer or Terry Gilliam as he allows his own hands and his work table to enter the image, and his molding of the printed frames becomes more substantial in a reflection of the growing urgency of the scenario.
Whatever one's opinion of 'The Langoliers' may be, it is a 2D presentation on a 2D screen. Whatever one's opinion is of "3D" gimmicks in cinema, even at their best the novelty is an optical illusion. Inasmuch as the paper he used to print frames of Holland's title can be considered film stock, Maragkos effectively alters the film stock to add a third dimension to the physical component of the presentation, making it more real. The brilliant approach adds a surrealist, dreamlike (nightmarish) quality to the telling of this tale, which is further infused with a strengthened psychological component as this iteration seems to extend a tad more focus and vibrancy to the arc of unhinged Toomey. These aren't the only changes Maragkos made, as the Langoliers themselves have truly never looked better or more threatening; the filmmaker even dares to change the ending that viewers are familiar with. By all means, the man deserves much credit in a general sense for his writing and direction, to say nothing of his editing. Yet its his visual effects and animation that are the real stars here, and above all the inventive brilliance that conjured such a remarkable, unorthodox departure from the norm. The degree to which the method is employed here varies, yet even many of the most mundane instances add noteworthy rejuvenating flair to a TV movie that twenty-five years later is regarded well, but which hasn't necessarily gotten much notice in subsequent years.
Well, here's hoping that 'The timekeepers of eternity' has renewed some interest in 'The Langoliers,' for it is worthy. More than that, here's hoping that a couple years after Maragkos first completed it, his flick may continue to attract attention - for it has absolutely earned it, and for the way that it vivifies Holland's work, this may actually be superior. I very much hope to find more of the filmmaker's pieces, and I look forward to seeing what he might do in the future; if this is any indication, I can only assume the utmost skill and intelligence of his other credits. Whether or not one is a fan of King or the original TV movie, the resourcefulness and wit this represents demands to be seen and appreciated, and I believe after all that Maragkos' shrewd interpretation is the must-see that 'The Langoliers' might not be. 'The timekeepers of eternity' is a tremendous example of the proverbial shot in the arm that the art form needs every now and again, and that we viewers need every now and again, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!