720 words, 4 minutes read time.
For many years, the poster of The Man Who Fell to Earth adorned my wall. It was a constant reminder of its haunting beauty. The enigmatic pull was ever-present. This was not just a piece of decoration. It symbolized my profound connection with a film. That film captured the alien essence of David Bowie. His portrayal of Thomas Jerome Newton—a stranded extra-terrestrial—resonated deeply with my view of Bowie himself. Bowie seemed to exist at the edge of our world. He was both observing and being observed, never quite fitting in.
The allure of this film is inextricable from Bowie’s “otherness.” In the 1970s, his androgynous appearance, kaleidoscopic artistry, and self-reinvention spoke to anyone who felt like an outsider. Newton’s fragility was apparent. He struggled to assimilate fully into human society. This mirrored Bowie’s own candid reflections on his status as an alien in the cultural and personal sense. Bowie once described himself as a man trying to connect. He felt eternally detached. Newton’s journey of gradual disintegration is the perfect parallel. This wasn’t acting in the traditional sense—it was a fusion of artist and character. The role fit him as naturally as the pale, angular suits he wore on screen.
Watching The Man Who Fell to Earth is a deeply emotional experience, one that lingers with you. Its sadness is pervasive, a meditation on loss, alienation, and the erosion of dreams. Newton’s mission to save his dying planet faces no obstacles from physics or insurmountable odds. Instead, it is hindered by human flaws: greed, power struggles, and the suffocating embrace of societal conformity. This is a tragedy of inaction, where the hero is undone by distractions—alcohol, television, and the soul-deadening mundanity of Earth. The film’s sadness is amplified by its refusal to resolve its threads neatly. Newton remains stranded, his hope eroded, his purpose unfulfilled. It’s a bleak reminder that human systems, as much as human frailties, can extinguish even the most noble endeavors.
The portrayal of government agencies is far from benevolent. Corporate entities are also depicted negatively. This reflects a sharp critique of systemic power structures. Newton’s revolutionary technologies, born of alien ingenuity, are co-opted and commodified, their purpose twisted. The shadowy forces dismantle his plans. These forces could be explicitly CIA-like operatives or implied corporate saboteurs. They illustrate a system that resists change. This system punishes those who deviate from the status quo. This theme, more relevant than ever, exposes how innovation can be stifled and diverted by entrenched interests. Newton’s downfall happens not by an accident of fate. It is caused by calculated acts of suppression. This serves as a disheartening reminder of our world’s resistance to progress when it challenges existing hierarchies.
Nicholas Roeg’s direction transforms the narrative into something more than just science fiction. It is a mosaic of impressions—fragmented, surreal, and poignant. His use of overlapping shots, temporal disjunctions, and startling imagery creates a cinematic language that mirrors Newton’s disorientation. Roeg doesn’t guide the audience with easy answers; instead, he invites us to share Newton’s confusion and vulnerability. The cinematography contrasts vast, arid landscapes with intimate, claustrophobic interiors. It captures the alienness of Newton’s existence. It also highlights the isolating expanse of human life.
The performances are as layered as the film itself. Candy Clark’s Mary Lou is both Newton’s anchor and an unwitting participant in his undoing. Her simple humanity—uncomplicated and warm—stands in stark contrast to Newton’s ethereal detachment. Rip Torn’s cynical scientist and Buck Henry’s pragmatic lawyer add depth to the web of relationships that ensnare Newton. They highlight the ways human connections can simultaneously save and destroy.
The Man Who Fell to Earth remains a uniquely haunting experience. It offers no simple resolutions, no comforting illusions about humanity’s better nature. Instead, it holds up a mirror to our flaws. It shows our inability to embrace the alien and our tendency to exploit rather than nurture. For Bowie fans like myself, it is more than a film. It is an extension of his artistry. It is his exploration of identity. It is his embodiment of the outsider. The film is a beautiful lament, even in its sadness. It lingers in the mind like the spectral echoes of a song long after it’s ended.
Reviewed by Pat Harrington
12A | 2h 15min | Action, Adventure, Fantasy | 24 May 2018 (UK)
