Exploring LIFEFORCE: Tobe Hooper’s Sci-Fi Horror Gem

Watching Lifeforce, Tobe Hooper’s 1985 sci-fi horror, I always find myself wondering to what extent the final result we see was actually intended. Did the filmmaker, who made his debut with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, truly envision such an extravagant fantasy, or did he simply lose control of his own work? This is a film that, on one hand, is lavish, tonally serious, and aimed at an adult audience, yet from the very beginning carries a sense of artificiality. In its surprising refusal to acknowledge itself as a joke, it comes close to being camp. Perhaps this is where Hooper’s film finds its strength—there are so many contradictions that it’s hard not to be fascinated by them.

Even the opening credits give us a taste of what we are about to watch. Henry Mancini’s symphonic score strikes with an epic quality more characteristic of an adventure film rather than a horror movie, which had been marketed as “from the director of Poltergeist and the writer of Alien.” But then we read that the screenplay is based on Colin Wilson’s novel The Space Vampires—a catchy title, though far too kitschy for a film with a budget of, no less than, 25 million dollars. No wonder Cannon Films—a studio that had, until then, specialized primarily in movies starring Chuck Norris and Charles Bronson—decided to change it to Lifeforce, hoping for a hit and a step up from the second tier of film production.

In the opening scenes, we see the space shuttle Churchill, carrying a British-American crew, discovering an object hidden in the tail of Halley’s Comet—an enormous structure resembling a spire (and later, an umbrella), stretching 250 kilometers long. The decision is made to take a closer look. When the astronauts enter through an organically shaped opening, they find mummified remains resembling giant bats. In the next chamber, however, they come across what appear to be human bodies—two men and a woman—suspended in crystal coffins. Foolishly, they decide to bring them back with them.

Even without the “space vampires” from the original novel’s title, Dan O’Bannon and Don Jakoby’s screenplay contains enough vampiric imagery to turn this sci-fi premise into something closer to horror. However, anyone expecting a vision on the level of the first Alien is bound to be disappointed—the sets and special effects look grand, but at the same time, they strike as artificial; far from the realism of Ridley Scott’s masterpiece, where space felt like a tangible environment. The cosmos of Lifeforce has more in common with the fantasy of Flash Gordon, though the atmosphere remains appropriately mysterious and ominous. Once the action shifts to Earth and the space setting disappears, Hooper handles the material much better, focusing on the threat posed by the bodies recovered from the alien ship. Especially one of them.

Let’s not kid ourselves—Lifeforce is best remembered as the film in which a young, debuting Mathilda May spends almost her entire screen time completely nude. What other big-budget sci-fi horror film can boast such a villain? Probably none. Of course, this is not the only reason Hooper’s work keeps the audience engaged—its power lies in excess, and a naked space vampire oddly fits within that paradigm. From the moment she appears in all her glory and delivers her first kiss—not sucking blood, but rather the titular life force—from a guard watching over her, the film turns into an exhilarating chase after the fugitive, who uses not only her body but also supernatural abilities, including the power to inhabit other people’s bodies. This leads to one of the best scenes in the film, when the protagonists tracking her down arrive at a psychiatric hospital run by… Patrick Stewart!

The pursuers are Carlsen, the only surviving member of the Churchill crew, and Colonel Caine of the SAS. Carlsen is an American telepathically linked to the vampire (a concept Jakoby would later reuse in his screenplay for John Carpenter’s Vampires), a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown, impulsive and willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Caine, on the other hand, is British to the core—calm, almost phlegmatic, immune to emotions. As he himself says, he has the nature of a voyeur. Even the archetypal protagonists are somehow exaggerated, thanks in part to Steve Railsback and Peter Firth’s performances—both actors take their roles with deadly seriousness, though Firth subtly adds a touch of discreet, quintessentially British irony.

Hooper’s intention was to make a high-budget film in the vein of Hammer Studios, though what we ultimately got is something more than just a modernized version of Quatermass and the Pit, to which comparisons were drawn at the time of release. In both films, the greatest absurdities are attempted to be legitimized through scientific explanations—in Lifeforce, this role falls to Dr. Hans Fallada (Frank Finlay), a specialist in both space travel and vampire legends—blurring the lines between science fiction and horror. The apocalyptic finale also unfolds in an almost identical manner, with London descending into chaos, its residents turned into zombies, and the protagonists desperately trying to prevent the end of the world. The difference between these two films (aside from the naked woman at the center of events) and the reason why the older one is considered a classic while the newer one is, at best, a guilty pleasure, is not so easily answered. Perhaps the massive budget only served to expose the screenplay’s absurdities, making them harder to digest when one expects a conventional blockbuster. Hooper’s film has an epic scale, yet its narrative ideas—and often its execution—feel cheap. Suitable for Hammer, but not necessarily for a Hollywood production.

Ultimately, the question surrounding Lifeforce must concern Hooper himself, who, at the time—after the massive success of Poltergeist—could have done anything. Even then, his contribution to that film was heavily debated, but that did not stop him from securing a three-picture deal with Cannon Films, with Lifeforce being the first and largest of them (the other two being a remake of Invaders from Mars and a sequel to The Texas Chain Saw Massacre—both failures). The film flopped, and reviews were largely negative, reinforcing the notion that Poltergeist was not Hooper’s film, but rather Steven Spielberg’s.

I have no intention of settling that debate, but Lifeforce primarily proves Hooper’s lack of restraint and moderation—qualities for which a horror director should hardly be criticized. It is a film that is wild and bold, but also flawed. Yet, what makes it jarring is also what makes it unique. I truly don’t know how much of this was intentional and how much was accidental, but does it even matter? What counts is the sheer pleasure of experiencing one of the most rebellious spectacles at the intersection of horror and science fiction ever made. Unfortunately, it cost Hooper his career—he was never again given a chance to return to Hollywood’s grand stage.