Landscape and The Environment in Hollywood Film

Landscape and the
Environment in
Hollywood Film
The Green Machine
Ellen E. Moore
Palgrave Studies in Media and Environmental Communication

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Ellen E. Moore
Landscape
and the Environment
in Hollywood Film
The Green Machine
Ellen E. Moore
University of Washington Tacoma
Tacoma, WA, USA
Palgrave Studies in Media and Environmental Communication

ISBN 978-3-319-56410-4 ISBN 978-3-319-56411-1 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1
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To Paul, my mother Leslie, my father Michael and Heidi
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I would like to thank my husband Paul for his sup-
port during the year that I wrote this book. Writing can be addictive in
many ways, but the existence of a deadline makes the process of crafting
a book even more time and labor intensive. I thank him for the many
meals, words of encouragement, cups of tea, and understanding during
this process. In addition, his status as movie buff and comic book “nerd”
provided fun insights and perspectives on several films included in this
book. Your support made this book possible.
A special word of appreciation goes to my mother Leslie, who always
has read my publications and provided support and thoughtful com-
ments. Thank you for reading my chapters, taking an interest in my life
and work, and always being my biggest fan.
I would like to acknowledge the School of Interdisciplinary Arts and
Sciences at the University of Washington Tacoma for funding in the
form of a Research and Teaching award. The school supports research
endeavors for all faculty members, with the funding for this book being
no exception.
Finally, this book largely was made possible by the furry creatures in
our household. Leia the Saint Bernard took me on many needed walks
and provided play breaks during the writing process (there is nothing like
a dog with a ball in her mouth to guilt you into a productive break from
writing). I also firmly believe that having a cat (or two!) in your lap while
vii
viii Acknowledgements
writing aids the creative process. To 15-year old Salt, who has seen me
through my graduate school dissertation and now this book (and who
sits in my lap as I write this): many thanks.
Contents
1 Introduction: Greening the Machine—Hollywood Takes

an Interest in the Environment 1
2 Cradle to Crave: The Commodification of the Environment

in Family Films 31
3 The Spy Who Saved Me: Sustainability, Identity, and

Intrigue in the Espionage Thriller 67
4 Imagining Disaster in the Eco-Thriller 97
5 Stranger than (Science) Fiction: Environmental Dystopia

in Hollywood Sci-Fi 121
6 The Lone Danger: Resource Scarcity in the Western 157
7 “Super” Green: Sustainable Superheroes Tackle the

Environment 187
ix
x Contents
8 The World Slowly Dies for Profit: The Portrayal of

Environmental Issues in Drama 213
9 Conclusion 245
Bibliography 263
Index 267
CHAPTER 1
Introduction: Greening the Machine—

Hollywood Takes an Interest in the
Environment
In 2008, the Hollywood blockbuster WALL-E made a significant contri-

bution to the family film genre by providing unambiguous acknowledg-
ment (by major conglomerate Disney, no less) of the detrimental impact
of overconsumption on the natural environment:
Got some bad news… “Operation Cleanup” has failed. Wouldn’t you
know, rising toxicity levels have made life unsustainable on Earth … Rather
than try and fix this problem, it’ll just be easier for everyone to remain in
space.”
Shelby Forthright, CEO of Buy N Large in WALL-E
Although its initial portrayal of global ecological degradation was some-

what bleaker than that seen in most commercial films, WALL-E’s envi-
ronmental focus is not an outlier but instead represents just one in a
continuous wave of recent Hollywood movies on this topic. Although
this shift in attention could be optimistically interpreted as film studios’
intent to increase audience critical awareness of environmental issues, this
work argues that these filmic representations of the environment repre-
sent a heavily contested symbolic landscape that may reveal more about
dominant economic and political interests than it does about nature.
My central aim in this book is to elucidate and articulate the core
messages Hollywood sends about environmental degradation through
its numerous films and (less numerous) studios. Four trends underscore
© The Author(s) 2017 1

E.E. Moore, Landscape and the Environment in Hollywood Film,
Palgrave Studies in Media and Environmental Communication,
DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_1
2 E.E. MOORE
the significance of evaluating filmic portrayals of environmental degra-

dation. The first is the growing economic and political influence of the
US media industry, which has become increasingly dominated by a small
number of powerful multinational corporations. The pattern of media
deregulation and the resulting concentration of the media system that
began in earnest in the 1980s and has continued to the present day are
well documented in political economy scholarship, leaving few argu-
ments that the US media system is highly concentrated (Andersen and
Gray 2007; Bagdikian 2004; Hall and Bettig 2012; Foster et al. 2011;
McChesney 2008; Miller 2001). This book begins, then, with the rec-
ognition not only that a consolidated media industry has a significant
impact on mediated depictions of important contemporary environmen-
tal issues, but also that we can discern this influence by examining “envi-
ronmental” films through the lens of genre.
Second, the global awareness of humanity’s significant detrimen-
tal impact on the Earth has only increased. As a species, we carry the
responsibility for dangerous levels of petrochemical pollution, deforesta-
tion, and drought, and have contributed to climate change and rapidly
declining biodiversity. Of these, climate change continues to hold the
most public attention. In 2016, the Paris Climate Summit gathered
together world leaders (including those from the two countries with
the largest carbon footprint—the USA and China) received significant
attention on the world stage. At the same time, hundreds of protest-
ers stormed into BNP Paribas bank in Paris to protest (through a “sing
in”) the bank’s heavy investments in coal. November 2015 saw climate
marches around the world, including in Sydney, Seattle, Hong Kong,
Berlin, London, and São Paulo. Closer to my home in the US Pacific
Northwest, the organization 350.org held public protests at local Seattle
parks while attendees held “climate screams” to vent their frustrations.
In 2017 in the USA, multiple decisions by the incoming Trump admin-
istration—erasing all mentions of climate change from the White House
website, approving the Dakota Access and Keystone XL pipelines, dereg-
ulating industry, and handicapping the US Environmental Protection
Agency by appointing an attorney who has ties to the fossil fuel indus-
try—met with mass protests and online petitions revealing increasing
public alarm over the denial of climate change and other environmental
problems. In other words, the topic of our global environmental health,
with climate change at the forefront, figures prominently both in the
1 INTRODUCTION: GREENING THE MACHINE … 3
mainstream media and in ongoing public discussions among concerned

citizens.
The third impetus for this work relates directly to the uptick in media
attention to environmental issues. Currently, a 100-mile crack has
formed in the Larsen Ice Shelf in Antarctica, potentially creating a gar-
gantuan iceberg and representing the most significant retreat of ice on
record. Covered by numerous international news outlets, the crack has
created a striking visual representation of climate change. Thus, as more
information about the severity of global environmental issues becomes
available through media coverage of scientific discoveries and severe cli-
mate events, international concern over environmental problems contin-
ues to intensify. In the USA, the news media as well as Hollywood have
begun to cover the environment much more frequently as a response
to amplified public concern. A new urgency for news media to report
on ecological degradation came to the fore in the first ever primetime
broadcast on climate change in the USA in 2014. Titled Our Year of
Extremes: Did Climate Change Just Hit Home?, the six-part NBC broad-
cast made a clear case that climate change is not only real, but a signifi-
cant and imminent threat to humans’ way of life.
Finally, while journalism’s increased attention to ecological problems
has precipitated a surge in academic analysis of this coverage, significantly
less critical scholarly attention turns to how environmental issues are
constructed for audiences by entertainment media. Instead, ecocriticism
has been somewhat marginalized in most versions of critical theory (to
borrow the words of Buell 2005, 3). As Rust et al. (2013, 2) contend,
this is a “somewhat remiss tack, since from production and distribution
to consumption and recirculation, the cinematic experience is inescapably
embedded in ecological webs.” It is essential that one understands the
mediated messages coming from the culture industry about numerous
environmental issues—but climate change especially—because “over the
coming decades the phenomenon is expected to exacerbate existing envi-
ronmental problems and to present new challenges” (Rust 2013, 192).
Although this book could focus on any number of films with an implicit
or explicit environmental message, it places special emphasis on relatively
recent films (after 2000) that explicitly address specific environmental
problems or that depict environmental disaster in one form or another.
Even with this narrowing of criteria for study, I found that there still
remained plenty of films to consider.
4 E.E. MOORE
Grounded in a critical perspective, this book conducts a multilay-

ered assessment of key ideologies about nature and environmental issues
found in a number of distinct genres of American film, including super-
hero movies, spy thrillers, eco-thrillers, family films, drama, science fic-
tion and Westerns. Its interrogative lenses and perspectives include
political economy, diagnostic critique, the conception of landscape, and
genre criticism. These concepts, methods, and theoretical approaches
cohere for a “multiperspectival” (Kellner 1995) and contextual interpre-
tive framework to evaluate and understand Hollywood’s messages about
nature and the environment.
Diagnostic Critique as Interpretive Framework

By considering the production and political economy of texts as well as
conducting textual analysis, this book employs the interpretive frame-
work known as diagnostic critique to reveal Hollywood’s implicit mes-
sages about ecological issues. For Kellner (1995), diagnostic critique
fosters critical evaluation of key ideological messages coming from media
culture. Kellner advocates careful evaluation of the products of media
culture to assess “latent” meaning through recognition of “myths” and
symbols in order to discern emerging patterns. The results of this anal-
ysis are paired with an understanding of the economic, social, and his-
torical context in which media products are made. While this book does
consider social, economic, and historical processes as integral to a criti-
cal understanding of Hollywood formations, I place special emphasis on
elucidating environmental context in particular. One example illustrat-
ing the importance of considering environmental factors is provided by
Murray and Huemann (2009), who lament that the central consump-
tion model evident in the Fast and Furious film franchise—of fuel and
cars, specifically—has not changed since the original film in the 1950s.
The central problem with this, they argue, is that we now know so much
more about the massive environmental degradation that results from
increased fossil fuel consumption than we did almost 70 years ago, and
yet the worship of “car culture” remains unchanged or even height-
ened. In this book I examine where we find ourselves environmentally
(e.g., climate change, droughts, deforestation, and shrinking biodiver-
sity) as these films are made, and then turn to political economy as a way
of contextualizing these findings further—an integral part of diagnostic
critique.
One belief central to this book is that we cannot understand com-

mercial popular culture in any meaningful way without, as Hall (1981,
231) advocates, “taking into account the monopolization of the cultural
industries.” When it comes to considerations of political economy, it
is difficult to overstate just how concentrated the media landscape has
become. Regarding the broad and ever-increasing trend of industry con-
centration, Foster et al. (2011, n.p.) write that
Nearly every industry is concentrated into fewer and fewer hands. Formerly
competitive sectors like retail are now the province of enormous monopo-
listic chains, massive economic fortunes are being assembled into the hands
of a few mega-billionaires sitting atop vast empires, and the new firms and
industries spawned by the digital revolution have quickly gravitated to
monopoly status. In short, monopoly power is ascendant as never before.
The drive for profit in a concentrated media marketplace dominates

Hollywood as an industry, from origination to content and market-
ing. Regarding origination, several non-media entities such as toymaker
Hasbro are now partnering with studios to produce “tent-pole,” high-
profit blockbusters to appeal to a mass audience—what Kellner refers to as
“lowest common denominator artifacts” (1995, 16). Regarding content,
many have noted that product placement and embedded advertisements
have permeated film to an unprecedented degree (Andersen and Gray
2007; Miller 2001; McChesney 2008; Wasko 2003). Monopolization
of the movie industry affects content in other ways as well, including
the diversity of films offered: in the summer blockbuster lineup of 2015,
only two movie studios accounted for the majority of profits for the US
industry, comprising seven out of the ten top-grossing films. Although
the profits for the summer season were high, “the wealth wasn’t evenly
distributed. Instead, the results revealed a profound case of corporate
income inequality” (Lang 2015).
Regarding the impacts of media concentration, Hall and Bettig
(2012, 60) describe what they term “dual economic structure,” noting
that “Since the 1990s the major producer/distributors have regularly
taken 85% of the total market share, leaving independents with the rest.”
This discrepancy in the industry provides an instantiation of what politi-
cal economy scholars Bagdikian (2004) and Miller (2001) refer to as the
“cartel,” where industry leaders operate within a type of “constricted
competition” enabled by the presence of a few powerful conglomerates.1
6 E.E. MOORE
The ultimate consequences of this concentrated media cartel is best

expressed in terms of loss of diversity, creativity, and criticism: “the car-
tel’s rise has made extremely rare the sort of marvellous exception that
has always popped up to startle and revivify the culture” (Miller 2001,
18). What becomes increasingly clear is that media concentration—and
the oligopolistic structure that has arisen from it—has impoverished the
industry’s functioning and production in terms of inspiration, if not eco-
nomics (Hall and Bettig 2012).
Concentration in the US media industry is conjoined with the rapid
growth of consumer culture in the USA. A multitude of scholars have
shown that consumption has become the central underpinning of the
American cultural system (McDonald and Wearing 2013; Schor and
White 2010; Steinberg 2011; Turow and McAllister 2009). McChesney’s
(2004) concept of hypercommercialism —defined as the permeation of
commercialism into all aspects of culture—is relevant here because, as an
integral part of diagnostic critique, it provides the context necessary to
understand how increased commercialism bears on environmental mes-
sages coming from a powerful industry like Hollywood.2 One of the
central questions posed in this book is how a highly concentrated, profit-
based industry such as Hollywood treats a topic like the environment.
Does the environment become just another commodity to be bought and
sold in the media marketplace? Is there room for alternative messages and
divergent interpretations as well as critical perspectives? We live in the era
of what Kellner refers to as media culture, which in the capitalist USA “is a
largely commercial form of culture, produced for profit, and disseminated
in the form of commodities” (1995, 16). Although what would seem to
follow from this recognition is straightforward (e.g., in such an economic
milieu, the natural environment typically will be defined and marketed
solely as commodity), the ultimate answer to the questions above is, of
course, a mixed and complicated bag. In addition, although this book
is an academic endeavor, the primary focal point—global environmental
degradation—clearly lends itself to practical considerations (and urgent
calls for action), highlighting Foster et al.’s (2011) view that a concen-
trated media industry “is anything but an academic concern.”
A few notes about the potential interconnection of diagnostic critique
and environmental issues are in order. First, it is important to note that
although Kellner conceived of this method as a way to critically evalu-
ate the juncture of class, sexuality, gender, and ethnicity, it is a flexible
method that can provide ideological criticism of not just various forms of
inequality but issues involving environmental problems as well. Kellner
(2003) notes as much, writing that the method “attempts to discern
how media culture articulates dominant discourses and circulates oppos-
ing political positions around class, race, gender, sexuality, politics, and
other crucial concerns of the present” (27). While environmental deg-
radation would be an example of a central “concern of the present,” it is
one that I argue is uniquely positioned to reveal key patterns regarding
power structures and hegemonic discourses very clearly because it is so
reductive. What I mean is that the effective solution to many ecological
problems is to reduce and reuse, but a central exhortation of the cul-
ture industry is to consume continuously. As a result, when Hollywood
tries to present solutions to environmental problems, it contorts itself in
unusual and discernible ways, symptoms that reveal a great deal about
the way the culture industry handles both environmental issues and the
different forms of inequality with which Kellner and other critical schol-
ars are concerned. Diagnostic critique thus permits identification of not
only textual patterns but also the power structures that undergird them,
revealing key ideological patterns and situating them within current eco-
nomic trends in the concentrated US media landscape.
By examining mediated portrayals of the environment through several
lenses—political economy developments, the theoretical conception of
landscape, and critical genre theory—this work engages multiple theoret-
ical and methodological vantage points to form a critical, multiperspecti-
val analysis. For Kellner (1995, 98), “a multiperspectival cultural studies
draws on a wide range of textual and critical strategies to interpret, criti-
cize, and deconstruct the artifact under scrutiny.” This is especially true
for eco-critical work, which has long deployed a diversity of critical
approaches “as a quest for adequate models of inquiry from the plethora
of possible alternatives that offer themselves from whatever disciplinary
quarter” (Buell 2005, 10).3 This book thus adapts Kellner’s diagnostic
critique to provide a systematic evaluation of mediated representations of
environmental issues that includes consideration of the social, economic,
environmental, and historical milieux in which these texts are produced.
This focus can also be employed as a useful starting point to widen the
current theoretical scope of cultural studies by carving out a clear space
for ecological considerations.
8 E.E. MOORE
It’s not Easy Being Green: Making Connections Between

Cultural Studies and the Environment
As Kellner argues, “The artifacts of media culture are … not innocent
entertainment, but are thoroughly ideological artifacts bound up with
political rhetoric, struggles, agendas, and policies” (1995, 93). He calls
for a cultural studies that interrogates forms of domination and “articu-
lates normative perspectives from which to criticize these forms” (94).
Although Kellner is considering the intersection of social and economic
inequality that encompasses considerations of ethnicity, class, gender, and
sexuality, it is clear that his call for an expanded ideological criticism in
cultural studies can include the environment as well. This flexibility is
not an alien concept in cultural studies: as Lawrence Grossberg (2009,
30) points out, “cultural studies is always open—not just with regard to
disciplines, traditions, and genealogies, not just with regard to objects,
methods, theories and politics—because culture, power and the relations
between them are always changing.”
Imbricating textual analysis of environmental representation in film
with a political economy perspective, in this book I make the case for
including environmental issues within the theoretical purview of cultural
studies, because how the environment is portrayed is directly determined
by relations of power and the drive for profit in a concentrated media
marketplace. While a primary solution to environmental problems is to
stop overconsumption of the Earth’s resources, the unwavering mes-
sage from the commercial culture industry to its audience is to buy.
Interestingly, Gilbert (2008, 553) contends that cultural studies has yet
to make room for a strong ecological focus because of its historical con-
ception of consumption as a potentially subversive, empowering, crea-
tive act that creates meaning through important “signifying practices.”
Nevertheless, he urges scholars who work within cultural studies to try,
so as to avoid an uneasy defense of consumption that promotes the very
neoliberal practices and ideologies of consumerism that lead directly to
environmental disaster (564). Timothy Clark, author of Ecocriticism on
the Edge, identifies this tension cogently, warning scholars against being
“closet apologists for global capitalism” (2015, 11).4 Clark is not sin-
gling out cultural studies scholars here, yet he could be, for the embrace
of consumption as empowering cannot now be ignored in the face of a
global ecological crisis.
Outside the bounds of self-preservation, cultural studies needs to

place more focus on ecological issues because it provides a unique contri-
bution to both the recognition of the role of cultural practices in perpet-
uating environmental problems and potential cultural solutions to those
problems:
cultural studies’ recognition of the centrality of consuming practices to

contemporary culture gives it a strong basis from which to address some of
the most difficult questions facing any attempt to move towards a sustain-
able society, if only because it recognizes just how much would be at stake
in the move towards a society which was not organized primarily around
the ever more rapid and intensive invention and consumption of commod-
ities. (Gilbert 2008, 564)
Finally, identifying ecological issues as an important focal point within

cultural studies helps to broaden the dialogue by strengthening exist-
ing ties between environmental concern and cultural studies, including
ecofeminism (especially as treated by Buell 2005; Brereton 2004) and
environmental justice. In particular, using diagnostic critique to evaluate
portrayals of the environment allows us also to identify the same power
structures that have a hand in producing media texts that foster social
and cultural inequality. As Buell notes in a similar vein, ecocriticism per-
mits a “fruitful, energizing collaboration” between theory and ecology
that interrogates “the concepts on which the old hierarchies are built”
(2005, 10).
I have stated that since cultural studies tilts towards anthropocentrism
and defines consumption as a powerful resistive element that can con-
front power structures, cultural studies historically has not made much
room for environmental concerns. As Buell (2005, 1) observes, ecocriti-
cism “has not yet achieved the standing accorded … to gender or post-
colonial or critical race studies.” But let us argue strongly that it should:
on a broad level “environmental issues … challenge the contours of what
it means to theorize in cultural studies … they also open up new and
compelling ways to analyze contemporary culture” (Berland and Slack
1994, 2). If a truly critical cultural studies must be both reflexive and
flexible in order to “relentlessly examine its own methods, positions,
assumptions, and interventions” (Kellner 1995, 94), and if cultural stud-
ies must continuously redefine itself due to constantly changing condi-
tions (Grossberg 2009), then evaluating the points of potential cohesion
10 E.E. MOORE
and articulation between ecology and cultural studies would encourage

this crucial self-examination and redefinition.
Located at the intersection of multiple points of interest within criti-
cal cultural studies, this book considers the environment as a unique and
fruitful lens through which to examine crucial relationships between
the culture industry and capitalist praxis, including “capitalism’s ready
reduction of the natural world to exploitable resources for the growth
of capital” (Whitt and Slack 1994, 5). My focus on representations of
the environment in Hollywood film aims not only to critique the cul-
ture industry in the effective way already practiced by cultural studies,
but also provides a clear counter-discourse to neoliberal consumerist
ideologies by exposing profit-driven ideologies and practices in a heav-
ily monopolized media market. This type of critique both builds on
and expands earlier critical work in communication, including that of
Adorno and Horkheimer (1998, 136), who accused the culture indus-
try of standardizing its mass-produced media texts to conform to the
“profit maxim” to such a degree that “culture, art and distraction are
… subsumed under one false formula: the totality of the culture indus-
try.” For Adorno and Horkheimer, the end result is severe anthropomor-
phism, which defines nature as an object that needs to be understood for
the sole purpose of being dominated.5 Following this line of thought,
Raymond Williams (2005, 81) contends that representations of the envi-
ronment reconstruct nature as a “consumable form” that reflects and
serves a “dominant need.” Much of this is due, Williams argues, to cul-
ture being intimately linked with societies’ means of production—limit-
ing nature to a superficial expression of “mankind’s vision of itself and its
place in the world” (71). To recognize this “culture imposing on nature”
pattern, cultural studies can deeply engage with political economy while
considering the many contexts in which media formations are created.
So, what does “making space” for environmental concern in cultural
studies look like in this book, especially when using diagnostic critique as
an interpretive framework? First, it focuses on analysis of Hollywood for-
mations as delineated by multiple genres (thrillers, family films, Westerns,
and so forth). Subsequently, I consider the patterns that emerge from
this textual evaluation in different contexts with which cultural stud-
ies already engages (including but not limited to social/cultural, eco-
nomic, and historical) while also emphasizing environmental context.6
Here, Grossberg (2009) calls our attention to the significance of “radi-

cal contextualism” in cultural studies, where context is not an a priori,
pre-conceived notion or casual appendage to cultural studies’ work,
but instead forms the bedrock of a critical cultural studies. The notion
of deep-seated contextualism makes even more sense when it comes to
environmental issues, especially ecocriticism’s goal of avoiding “the dis-
tantiations of reader from text and text from world” (Buell 2005, 6).
As with critical race theory or postcolonialism regarding the realities
of racial inequality and identity politics, environmental health is not an
abstract concept knowable only from a distance.
Timothy Clark (2015, 116) gives a timely example of Grossberg’s
radical contextualism by advocating for a “de-humanizing reading,” one
that critiques “the way a text or cultural practice reinforces by its lim-
ited scale framing delusory concepts of human actions and identity.” He
suggests one way to accomplish this type of reading is to conduct two
readings of a text, providing the example of an “ecophobic” short story
published in 1901 by Henry Lawson about people in the Australian
bush. Clark deftly deconstructs the story in the search for a wider con-
text than human conflict/interaction, unearthing numerous ideologi-
cally relevant silences about not only the natural world surrounding the
human story but also the Aboriginal people of Australia.
This book thus situates the commercial films in question within par-
ticular moments, including: (1) clearer understanding and heightened
concern on a societal level about global environmental devastation; (2)
rapidly rising consumer culture; and (3) hypercommercialism in a con-
centrated media marketplace. When and where possible, I also attempt
to “de-humanize” (in the sense suggested by Clark) these filmic repre-
sentations of the environment in order to expose important points of
tension in the culture industry through the lens of ecological degrada-
tion. A cultural studies framework allows us to focus on the environ-
ment as a way to identify a fulcrum of the concentrated media industry,
revealing the key patterns of the power structure that supports it. If the
articulation of context with theory and relations of power “defines the
possibilities of cultural studies,” as Grossberg (2009, 27) would have it,
then this work makes evident that articulation, especially with respect to
the theoretical concepts of landscape and genre .
12 E.E. MOORE
Cultural Studies and the Environment: Landscape as a

Key Point of Intersection
Our human landscape is our unwitting autobiography, and all our cultural
warts and blemishes … are there for anybody who knows how to look for
them.
Pierce Lewis, Axioms for Reading the Landscape
The theoretical conception of landscape is crucial to my critical cul-

tural studies analysis of Hollywood genre. Earlier work on the ways the
American culture industry has positioned and defined nature have close
parallels to existing scholarly work that recognizes portrayals of nature as
being culturally reflective. Wilson (2001, 12) argues that “our experience
of the natural world … is always mediated [and] shaped by rhetorical
constructs.” When it comes to cinema, the case has been well and clearly
made that natural landscapes in films cannot be considered distinct from
culture itself (Greider and Garkovich 1994; LeFebvre 2006a; Meinig
1979; Wilson 1991). In making space for environmental issues within
cultural studies, the concept of landscape as a set of “symbolic environ-
ments created by human acts of conferring meaning to nature and the
environment” (Greider and Garkovitch 1994, 1) becomes pivotal to
the argument that the economic scaffolding of the concentrated culture
industry is clearly revealed in Hollywood’s portrayals of environmental
issues. When nature is represented in cultural forms and symbols, land-
scape becomes a symbolic site of self-definition: “our understanding(s)
of nature … are really cultural expressions used to define who we were,
who we are, and who we hope to be” (Greider and Garkovich 1994, 2,
emphasis in original).7
In his work Landscape and Film, Martin LeFebvre (2006a, xii)
argues that, like music and other elements, the purpose of landscape is
to “express, in cinematic form … what is otherwise inexpressible.” He
investigates the ideological function of landscape, encouraging us to
make the nature/culture distinction by examining our own practice of
framing the natural environment through our own eyes—through plane
and car windows, or even, more rigidly, through the lens of a camera:
“With that frame nature turns into culture, land into landscape” (xv).
Only then do we have a clear understanding of the ideological, cultur-
ally driven landscape, for while it is true that nature would survive and
flourish without humans, LeFebvre points out that the carefully framed
and cultivated landscape would not. Especially important to the research
that follows in this book is the distinction between landscape and “mere”
setting/backdrop for the story. What distinguishes a landscape from the
setting? LeFebvre (2006b, 23) notes that it is in the elevation or “eman-
cipation of landscape from its supporting role as background or setting
to events and characters.”8 Deciding when a background is mere setting
or achieves the status of landscape can be a tricky business, but when it
comes to nature and the environment there are often deep significations
in even seemingly mundane or brief scenes. In this research, analyzing
landscape is considered essential to understand how environmental prob-
lems and their solutions are framed for the audience.
D.W. Meinig (1979) contends that we can think of landscape in many
ways: as Nature, Habitat, Artifact, System, Problem, Wealth, Ideology,
History, Place, and Aesthetic. While Meinig identifies these as ways of
viewing (that is, they exist as such in the eye of the audience), here I
apply his conception to consider how landscape is presented by the
film—that is, do films like WALL-E or Children of Men reveal a particu-
lar “way of viewing”? Many of the landscapes seen in the various films
in this book will represent one or more of these at any given time, but
likely the most common will be landscape as ideology (revealing the val-
ues, contours, and “underlying philosophies” of a culture) and landscape
as problem (“as a condition needing correction”).
The conception of landscape is critical to the effort to conjoin cultural
studies and ecological concern as it enables an interrogation of power
structures by using portrayals of ecology to throw the spotlight back on
the industry. It also is essential to understand the ideological underpin-
nings of the portrayals of environmental issues. To return to LeFebvre,
we need to consider the careful framing of the natural environment by
films in order to understand the ideological function of landscape in
them. This book understands Hollywood’s filmic representations of the
environment as a heavily-contested, symbolic landscape that may expose
more about dominant concerns in our culture industry than it does of
nature itself. When paired with a consideration of Hollywood genres, the
conception of landscape becomes a powerful critical tool to reveal how
dominant interests attempt to shape, reshape, and sometimes disrupt dis-
courses and beliefs about environmental degradation.
14 E.E. MOORE
The Green Machine: Genre’s Role in Portraying the

Environment
In this book, the consideration of genre undergirds—in both a theo-
retical and applied sense—my analysis of Hollywood representations of
ecological issues. Specifically, studying my chosen films through genre
elucidates both the how and the why of environmental portrayals, espe-
cially as they relate to the political economy of the culture industry.
Before I deploy genre as a tool of analysis, here I outline how it will be
defined and applied in this book. Although conceptions of genre are
remarkably fluid between disciplines (and among scholars in those dis-
ciplines), there exist some broad commonalities. Barry Keith Grant pro-
vides a broad and useful interpretation as “those commercial feature films
that, through repetition and variation, tell familiar stories with famil-
iar characters in familiar situations” (2012, xvii), while Monahan and
Barsam supply an even simpler definition: “the categorization of narra-
tive films by the stories they tell and the ways they tell them” (2010, 78).
These very broad interpretations provide a good starting point for the
initial, practical way in which genre will be used in this work: namely, that
studying the generic form provides a “crudely useful way of delineating
the American cinema” (Tudor 2012, 3). Ingram (2013) picks up on this
idea by noting that different film styles or genres may well present differ-
ent ecological perspectives and understandings. In addition, categorization
and analysis through genre presents a useful cross section of Hollywood
film that lends itself well to comparison. That is, comparing the way differ-
ent types of films (say a spy thriller versus an animated family film) portray
environmental issues can be said to at least approach a representative cross
section of Hollywood media texts as well as enabling a reading of texts
“relationally,” as Kellner (1995) recommends. Finally, in addition to cross-
comparison goals, examining films by genre permits a consideration of
films “as discrete texts but also as highly intertextual cultural objects: only
by looking at several in one synchronic moment can common thematic
emphases be discerned” (Dillman 2014, 25). Put another way, I examine
Hollywood’s portrayal of environmental issues through the lens of genre
as a method to reveal category distinctions relating to the portrayal of
environmental problems, including how the problem is defined, who (if
anyone) is held responsible, what solutions exist, and who should fix the
problem. For example, science fiction provides a decidedly dystopian and
critical perspective, and thus when I began this research I anticipated that
this genre would depict the scope and impact of environmental problems
in a way quite distinct from a genre like family films, which contain more
optimism and the potential for “happy endings.”
In addition to practical benefits of enabling inter-genre comparisons,
analyzing the relationship between films and the environment through a
more theoretically elaborated conception of genre enables interpretation
that better reveals the relations between the economic and ideological
bases of the culture industry. Altman (2002, 14) observes that genre is a
multilayered concept with a panoply of meanings, including that it is:
• a blueprint (formula) that influences media production;

• a structure that multiple films utilize as foundation;
• a label that is commonly used by producers and distributors of
genre films; and
• a contract between audience and film producer regarding content
and structure.
From here, Grant’s broad definition of genre as “a system of conventions

structured according to cultural values” (xviii) provides the foundation
for a critical examination of Hollywood’s representation of ecologi-
cal issues in part because of the recognition that genre films operate as
conventional practices of meaning that both draw from and ‘“appeal to
a common set of meanings in our culture” (Tudor 2012, 7). A defini-
tion of genre as a set of predictable conventions thus has the potential
to reveal key signifying practices employed by the industry. It is these
signifying practices that ultimately expose what Thomas Schatz (1977)
refers to as a “mythic function” in culture, where industries attempt to
shape the contours of public understanding and discourse surrounding
environmental problems.9 Examining the relationship between myth and
genre specifically, Judith Wright (2012) contends that
We may trace the amazing survival and proliferation of the genre films
to their function. They assist in the maintenance of the existing political
structure. The solutions these films give to the conflicts inherent in capi-
talism require obeisance to the ruling class … Viewers are encouraged to
cease examining themselves and their surroundings, and to take refuge in
fantasy as their only real alternative. (68)
16 E.E. MOORE
The central reason why genre produces such conventional meaning

that ultimately protects and furthers the interests of the culture indus-
try conglomerates is directly related to political economy, specifically
to the inextricable and interdependent relationship that Schatz (1981,
4–5) identifies between the “artists” and “industrialists” who co-pro-
duce successful commercial art for the mass audience. In other words,
the profit-driven industry of Hollywood wants to produce “tent-pole”
texts to draw in as many moviegoers (and product sponsors, and con-
sumers) as possible, and thus chooses topics that have broad contem-
porary appeal, or that “resonate to social experience” (Kellner 1995,
16). The environment has been a popular subject for Hollywood,
as revealed by the spate of “environmental” films that have been pro-
duced in the last two decades, including (but not limited to) Kingsman:
The Secret Service, Quantum of Solace, The Avengers, Batman: The Dark
Knight Rises, Erin Brockovich, A Civil Suit, The East, The Bay, Oblivion,
Children of Men, The Day After Tomorrow, The Constant Gardener, The
Happening, Promised Land, Fern Gully, Ice Age 2, Happy Feet, WALL-E,
and The Lorax. As I have noted elsewhere (Moore and Coleman 2015),
once they choose environmental degradation as a topic, however, movie
studios must make delicate decisions regarding how to portray it, for
its representation invites consideration of the role of human activity—
including consumption—in the formation and perpetuation of envi-
ronmental problems. For an industry engaged primarily with the act of
selling, the environment thus becomes an alluring yet precarious topic.
It is this very desire to appeal to the mass audience that constricts or
flattens controversial topics or issues, be they political, social, or ecologi-
cal. In Kellner’s (1995, 102) words, “Hollywood is a commercial enter-
prise and it does not wish to offend mainstream audiences with radical
perceptions and thus attempts to contain its representations … within
established boundaries.” Using genre as a critical theoretical lens, my
analyses build on the recognition that Hollywood, through the conven-
tions and constricted channels of genre, presents to its audience sim-
plistic solutions to complex ecological issues, frequently attempting to
soothe environmental fears and encourage consumption through com-
modification. Bringing the consideration of genre and media consolida-
tion together, this book takes the perspective that, far from raising the
alarm about growing environmental concerns, the majority of Hollywood
films about the environment instead attempt to allay viewers’ legiti-
mate fears about environmental damage, in the process transforming the
environment into just another product in the monopolized media land-

scape. Genre films tend to “allude to our anxieties about race without
really stirring them up …” (Wood 1975, 17) and provide “absurd solu-
tions” to problems that are intended to “produce satisfaction rather than
action” (Wright 2012, 60). If we extend these comments to apply to por-
trayals of the environment, the constricting effect of genre joins seamlessly
with the profit drive of major conglomerates to prohibit the inclusion of
complex, long-term, thoughtful mitigation to pressing environmental
issues.
But is the situation this straightforward and simple? When it comes
to the portrayal of environmental issues, E. Ann Kaplan (2015, 23–24)
advocates for the recognition of a new film genre altogether—one that
depicts “probable futurist dystopian worlds as they are imagined on film
before they happen in reality.” Terming it pretrauma cinema, Kaplan
explains that films depicting environmental dystopia provide a cinematic
means of recognizing and acknowledging audience fears and angst over
not only the environmental degradation of the past, but the devasta-
tion anticipated in the future: “Viewers … are once more in the posi-
tion of witnessing an event that has not yet happened—experiencing,
as virtual future humans, a kind of pretrauma or anticipatory anxiety”
(54). As compelling as this idea is, the recognition of audience fears,
guilt, and concern over our bleak environmental future seems more of a
mode (similar to action–adventure) than a specific genre. Most if not all
of the films analyzed in this book allude to some form of environmental
dystopia, but they do so within more clearly defined genres like science
fiction, family film, drama, and thriller. Kaplan’s idea regarding the func-
tion of pretrauma cinema, however, provides fertile ground for analysis
of the films in this book, primarily because she recognizes that these films
are meant to stir up pre-existing anxiety. But for what purpose? To ulti-
mately comfort audiences, or draw more attention to pressing environ-
mental issues? I will revisit this question at various points in the progress
of this book.
Several interrelated considerations arise when it comes to genre anal-
ysis. First, we must attend to genre hybridity, where, say, a children’s
animated film also contains clear elements of the sci-fi genre, WALL-E
being a great example of this boundary blurring.10 Recognizing this
potential for generic admixture is important to avoid (when possible)
“the wider philosophical problem of universals,” where genre is “made
to mean” too much by not recognizing the fluidity of stories as well as
18 E.E. MOORE
the way in which they are told (Buscombe 2012, 14). Related to this
is the pitfall of genre imperialism—privileging convention by seeing
categories as immutable and/or too strictly defined (Tudor 2012, 3).
Michael Goldman (2000) condemns this trend as the fruitless “policing
of boundaries.” So we should tread carefully when trying to delineate
the boundaries of a genre.
As Stanley Solomon (1976, 2) reminds us, “what appears to be genre
to one writer becomes a subgenre to another to another, and what to
one is merely a technique or style becomes to another an identifiable
manner of grouping films.” John Sanders (2009, 7) rightly argues that
genre is a “slippery beast”: while it can often trace its origins to a liter-
ary category, a movie genre has been strongly influenced by changing
public tastes, corporate ownership with different interests, and histori-
cal context. However, he also notes that “genre unites and divides, and
that is what is so stimulating about its use as a tool in film criticism”
(8). Bearing all this in mind, I trace the contours and outlines of genre
carefully, while recognizing fluidity and change. In addition, I typically
classify movies in a particular genre based on how the studios themselves
identified and marketed the films.
Polysemous Texts, Audiences, and Culture Industries

In his “Notes on Deconstructing the Popular,” Stuart Hall (1981, 232)
argued that the study of the popular culture spectator is often con-
founded by “two, quite unacceptable, poles: pure autonomy or total
encapsulation.” When conducting textual examination not paired with
direct studies of audience reception, analysis runs the risk of engaging
too closely with what Kellner (2009) refers to as “manipulation theory.”
More specifically, one wants to avoid conceptualizing the audience as
Hall’s “blank screens” who are easily dominated by mass culture and by
the corporations that have a hand in creating that culture. Thus, although
genre theory holds that generic forms might flatten criticism in the
attempt to “sooth(e) us all into a stupor” (Wood 1975, 16), at the same
time it does not define the audience as any version of Hall’s “cultural
dopes” that simply and passively receive messages. Instead, this relation-
ship should represent a complex interconnection of society and films that
Wood (1975, 192) describes, one that avoids conceptualizing influence in
only one direction. To avoid these extremes, this book engages carefully
with what Kellner (2009) refers to as the “dual optic,” which identifies
both “utopian” and “ideological” perspectives in media culture (in 1995,

93). In so doing, this work carefully incorporates the notion of popu-
lar culture as a site of transformation, and recognizes commercial popular
culture as an “arena of both consent and resistance, a contested zone of
meaning” (Litzinger 2001, 254).
Put another way, although Hall himself noted how difficult it can
be to avoid the mutually exclusive categories of “pure autonomy” and
“total encapsulation,” this book does not subscribe to the oversim-
plified belief that “because a cultural text is produced as a commodity
by capitalism you know ahead of time what its politics are” (Grossberg
2009, 36). As Rust et al. (2013, 1) keenly observe, cinema itself “is a
form of negotiation, a mediation that is ecologically placed as it con-
sumes the tangled world around it.” Acknowledging this often complex
and ambivalent mediation makes any systematic evaluation of Hollywood
texts more theoretically interesting than simply suggesting how industrial
capitalist structures attempt to force a top-down obeisance to unwaver-
ing ideologies with a passive audience. It also enables conceiving of “the
popular” in terms of power construction, de-construction, and mainte-
nance, especially when it comes to identifying polysemy and potential
moments of resistance. This perspective is considered yet again in the
conclusion of this book in light of the analysis of each chapter on genre
that follows here.
Resisting Resistance: The Special Case

for Environmentalism
Allow me to note that, due to its focus on the practical, global reali-
ties of environmental degradation, this work may at times “resist resist-
ance.” What I mean is that in making a place for environmental concern
in cultural studies, this research goes against the grain of some cultural
studies scholarship by not seeing consumption (as it relates specifically to
environmental issues) as a powerful resistive practice. As one example,
Hollywood films sometimes encourage environmentalism through “buy-
ing green.” This might seem like a strategy that helps the environment,
but it also clearly reinforces the culture of consumption—a set of practices
that undergird so many significant environmental problems. Indeed, while
Hollywood often presents ecological degradation in apocalyptic, urgent
terms that would seem to demand a significant change in consumption
20 E.E. MOORE
practices, and consumer culture in general, still it continues to provide

consumption as the most common answer to ecological problems—
what Ingram (2004) refers to as mainstream environmentalism, where
any solutions originate from within a capitalist/consumerist framework.
This book aims to provide an alternate critical message of Hollywood’s
portrayals of ecological problems that invites readers to see Hollywood’s
commodified environmentalism as a constant point of tension between
what we know to be true (overconsumption is harming the planet) and
the never-ending imperative from the culture industry (don’t stop con-
suming). In this sense, this book itself adopts Ingram’s (2004) radical
environmentalist stance, which holds that the truly viable solutions need
to come from outside the capitalist system. In addition, by connecting
“the living earth” with textual criticism, I affirm and strengthen the con-
nection between “academic work and public citizenship and advocacy”
that Lawrence Buell (2005, 7) advocates. I wish to draw back that curtain
to reveal the subtle (in presentation) and not so subtle (in environmental
impact) differences among the various ways of thinking the environment.
While this book makes the case for resistance through polysemy, it is
clear that films like WALL-E and Avatar did not precipitate a significant
cross-cultural sea change in the way the world is addressing major envi-
ronmental issues. In the USA in particular, which comprises a little less
than 5% of the Earth’s population but produces between at least a quar-
ter of the Earth’s solid waste (Malone 2006), we still engage in hyper-
consumption, and we find that global environmental problems continue
to accelerate rapidly. It is here that I believe my textual analysis, my
focus on genre theory, and my consideration of political economy and
environmental context provides a potent potential reason: according to
genre theory, films produced by concentrated media monopolies are not
intended to activate, but instead to flatten and soothe. While I do not
assume that there is only one (dominant) way to receive Hollywood’s
version of environmentalism, I do agree with Kevin DeLuca (1999,
89) that the industrial capitalist media “acknowledge contradictions
and challenges to the dominant ideology but only within the param-
eters described by the dominant ideology so that the dominant ideol-
ogy survives roughly intact.” That is, the culture industry focuses on
climate change in films for the paradoxical purpose of alluding to our
anxieties in order not to stir them up.11 Seen from this perspective, con-
sumers of Hollywood formations still must work through the ideologies
of Hollywood’s texts to make sense of complex environmental issues.
Stuart Hall (1981, 233) spoke to this when he argued for a qualified
view of concentrated cultural power:
the ideologies of the culture industry don’t function on us as if we are

blank screens. But they do occupy and rework the interior contradictions
of feeling and perception in the dominated classes; they do find or clear a
space of recognition in those who respond to them. Cultural domination
has real effects—even if these are neither all-powerful nor all-inclusive.
I have made clear that this book navigates Hollywood texts as a site
of tension and constant fluidity. As the audience, we meet these texts
in many diverse forms, at different times, in changing contexts, and as
Barthes’ versions of “multiple texts” ourselves.
I conceived of this book more as a study of texts and less of their audi-
ences. While my research did not involve interviews, surveys, or other
tools designed to gauge audience reaction to any of these films, I by no
means claim that reception work is not important—it is. In addition,
as noted in the above discussion of polysemy, textual typology, and the
notion of plural audiences, this does not assume that audience members
will only read a text one way, thereby avoiding what Brereton (2004)
refers to as “innate and pernicious criticism of Hollywood cinema and,
by extension, its audiences” (35). The book makes room for the pos-
sibilities not only of multiple (producer-created) meanings of a text, but
also of the many ways that filmgoers themselves may make meaning of
what they see. Hence I write that a given film “invites” or “encourages”
certain identities and practices, but I do not make assumptions about
effects. In the end, although we cannot know the influence of the media
on any type of audience, we certainly can attempt to uncover how media
industries attempt to shape the contours of conversations about ecologi-
cal issues, including any limitations to these dialogues that they attempt
to put into place.
Outline of Chapters
The chapters that follow are organized by genre. Please note that I do
not attempt to resolve scholarly and industry tensions regarding genre
fluidity or hybridity; rather, I embrace them while employing the studios’
(sometimes complicated, often hybrid) genre identification of each film.
I selected these films, all released after 2000, for their direct treatment
22 E.E. MOORE
of specific environmental problems and issues. While some scholars (see

especially Brereton 2004; Rust et al. 2013) note that any ecocriticism
of cinema does not have to limit itself to films with overt environmen-
tal messages, this book places focus on films that address environmental
issues explicitly as a way to assess clearly how the culture industry frames
both the problem and solution to these issues. Sometimes I encountered
a paucity of recent environmentally themed Hollywood films within
a particular genre: this limited number made the “choice” as to which
films to include very clear. Other genres (e.g., family) abound with rel-
evant recent films, and the three I selected from within this genre were
chosen because they represent different environmental issues, climate
change, deforestation, and pollution respectively. While the very recent
Finding Dory (2016) would obviously offer itself for analysis, it does not
focus primarily on environmental issues, and so was not included here.
Each chapter begins with a discussion of the genre in question,
including identification of common elements, a brief history, and ques-
tions that arise from the form. Then I describe the films themselves,
not with simple “objective” summary, but instead as the beginning of
analysis. That is, all the synopses, while still providing a general narra-
tive that provides background for the reader, offer a specific focus on
certain elements that are key to the more in-depth analysis that follows.
As an example, Quantum of Solace has an unwavering focus on water:
every major scene includes water (and many minor ones do as well). As a
result, my narrative summary for the film also focuses on how the water
is visually portrayed. The Western Open Range seems preoccupied with
depicting verdant, lush pastures, and so these are described in addition to
the overall plot. Thus, all of my summaries of the films in this book focus
on precisely how the natural environment is portrayed and the specific
conversations that take place in the films about environmental problems
and solutions, which lays the groundwork for analysis of the ideological
implications that follows. Finally, each chapter concludes with common-
alities and dissimilarities between the films within the individual genre.
Chapter 2 focuses on environmental problems as represented in ani-
mated family films, including The Lorax (2012), WALL-E (2008), Ice
Age: The Meltdown (2006), and Frozen (2013). The first three films focus
on different real-life ecological problems, including deforestation, loss of
biodiversity, waste streams and pollution, and climate change, yet pro-
vide strikingly similar solutions to these distinct issues. I consider the
films primarily through the lens of omissions, especially related to the
causes of these issues as well as their potential solutions. Disney’s Frozen

(2013) enters at the end of this chapter because of its unique environ-
mental message, namely, what we need to worry about is not being too
warm, but too cold. Analysis here centers on Frozen’s significant reversal
of the way humans have been considering climate issues in the past few
years, emphasizing the absence of environmental concern about a film
focused primarily on humans’ navigation of their climate.
Chapters 3 and 4 focus on films that figure in the broad spectrum of
the thriller. At one end is the well-established spy thriller, which attempts
to electrify the audience with invidious villains and brave heroes, conspir-
acies, “escapist” plots, and sexual intrigue (Hoppenstand 2014; Palmer
1979). Chapter 3 examines representations of environmental issues in
two spy films: Quantum of Solace (2008), which tells the story of a man
who poses as an environmentalist in order to steal water away from poor
Bolivian townspeople, and Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014), which
depicts an evil billionaire environmentalist who plots to kill the work-
ing- and middle-class human population in order to halt climate change.
In addition to contextualizing these films through an understanding of
real-life environmental problems, this chapter explores the intriguing
link made in both films between environmental concern and homicidal
elitism.
Another version of the thriller is the relatively new breed of eco-
thriller (also called “eco-horror”), which still contains elements of con-
spiracy and “edge-of-your-seat” action; however, the villain has changed,
and the environment itself becomes a key narrative antagonist. Chapter
4 explores the detailed visual portraits of environmental apocalypse in
two films: The Happening (2008) depicts nature’s revenge on humans
for widespread pollution and overpopulation, and The Bay (2012)
showcases what happens to a sleepy American town on the Chesapeake
Bay when chemical and agricultural pollution reaches a tipping point.
Although some (see Rust 2013, 192) have argued that such “environ-
mental” disaster films represent a positive transformation in how climate
change is represented (one that helps to raise awareness among viewers),
this chapter reveals that the constant economic pressure exerted by (and
on) the culture industry challenges any solutions to economic problems
that come from a deep ecology perspective. Analysis in this chapter thus
assesses key starting and end points for the portrayals of massive eco-
logical degradation, especially in terms of how these problems are con-
structed and what solutions to these problems are offered.
24 E.E. MOORE
Chapter 5 assesses three science fiction films that provide a dystopian

view of environmental collapse. In Interstellar (2014), climate change
has created a cascade of catastrophic consequences, including wide-
spread human starvation and loss of biodiversity due to desertification,
and perpetual drought. Children of Men (2006) shows that an unknown
environmental disaster has resulted in a precipitous drop in human fertil-
ity that threatens the human race. Allegiant (2015) is included in this
chapter because of its portrayal of “The Fringe,” a barren wasteland cre-
ated from some kind of radioactive event. Despite the bleak outlook of
all of these films, each provides clear glimmers of hope: Children of Men
shows a baby being born for the first time in a generation; the astronaut
in Interstellar finds a beautiful new planet for humans to inhabit; and
Allegiant chronicles a key power shift to an enlightened new generation
of leaders. Analysis in this chapter delves into the complexities of the jux-
taposition of dystopia with relatively optimistic endings.
Chapter 6 focuses on the Westerns 3:10 to Yuma (2007) and Open
Range (2003); to these, I add brief discussion of The Lone Ranger
(2013). These Westerns have narrative conflicts about physical resources,
a not-uncommon theme in Hollywood Westerns. In 3:10 to Yuma one
man withholds water from another man’s land to force him to sell to the
railroad; Open Range focuses on access to land for cattle grazing. As a
genre, Westerns have always focused on the American land and who has
the legal and moral right to own it, move across it, use it, and define its
boundaries; recent Westerns especially lend themselves to the examination
of environmental issues through the consistent “uses and abuses of land-
scape” themes that Brereton (2004, 39) identifies. It is important to note
that the struggle in these films is over illegal use of the resources, with the
clear moral imperative in the films favoring those who would use resources
according to social and legal sanctions. In so doing, the films deftly avoid
a central critique of capitalism identified by Ariel Dorfman, who notes that
“affluent” societies inevitably become “effluent” ones (2010, 63).
Chapter 7 considers superhero movies Batman: The Dark Knight
Rises (2012), Iron Man 2 (2010), and The Avengers (2012) to identify
clear allusions to what Rutherford (2000) refers to as technopia—a capital-
ist perspective where domination of nature by scientific and technologi-
cal advancements is equated with a linear conception of progress. I attend
to key focal points in the films regarding “clean energy”: in Dark Knight,
Bruce Wayne has created a “fusion reactor” capable of powering Gotham
from a renewable source; in Iron Man 2, Tony Stark has created an “Arc
Reactor” based on electromagnetic energy that could pave the way for a
clean energy source for the world; The Avengers centers on the fight to
control a clean-energy source called the “Tesseract.” Here, the “good-ver-
sus-evil” trope is examined in conjunction with the themes of technopia to
understand the films’ underlying messages about environmental problems.
Chapter 8 includes analysis of three fairly recent movie dramas: The
Promised Land (2012), The Road (2009), and The East (2013). With a
more serious tone and references to contemporary environmental issues
like oil spills, deforestation, and water pollution due to hydraulic fractur-
ing, Promised Land and The East stand out for the realism of their treat-
ments of these issues. Identifying no clear cause for the environmental
apocalypse it depicts, The Road differs from Promised Land and The East
in that nature itself may be to blame for environmental woes—an unu-
sual message that is explored in detail.
Chapter 9, in conclusion, identifies the key commonalities of the way
in which certain genres of Hollywood film portray nature and ecological
issues, including individualization of environmental issues as well as the
silences surrounding their causes and solutions. The chapter returns to a
consideration of political economy as a way to understand the relationship
between genre, media ownership, and the representation of environmen-
tal problems in Hollywood films. There also is a return to the environ-
mental context, for the severity of contemporary ecological issues means
that the time for public attention, understanding, and action around these
issues is now. As these issues make their way to the forefront of our news
and entertainment media, it is essential to comprehend them clearly.
Notes
1. The term “constricted competition” comes from Chomsky and Herman
(2002) in their discussion of media consolidation and the propaganda
model.
2. Economic context is essential to avoid work that idealizes portrayals of
the environment. Brereton’s (2004) work studying the positive role that
depictions of utopia can play in environmental attitudes risks being uto-
pian itself without proper context.
3. Buell goes on to note that, like other critical approaches like feminism,
“ecocriticism gathers itself around a commitment to environmentality
from whatever critical vantage point” (11). This makes it, according to
Buell, an issue-driven rather than paradigm-driven endeavor (11), and
one must be cognizant of its “metaphorical stretch” (12).
26 E.E. MOORE
4. In his book, Clark (2015) compellingly argues for “a new mode of critical
practice” that takes into account the structural, global ecological crisis at
its heightened state, one that involves multiple environmental crises that
are difficult to see (ocean acidification, climate change, species extinction)
and thus to comprehend. The basis for his new mode of critical practice is
worth identifying, for in his discussion he argues that we need to consider
our environmental problems in terms of the Anthropocene (a geologic
category): we must learn to think on “much broader scales of time and
space, something which alters significantly the way that many once famil-
iar issues appear. Perhaps too big to see or even to think straight … the
Anthropocene challenges us to think counter-intuitive relations of scale,
effect, perception, knowledge, representation, and calculability” (13).
5. Specifically, they write that “without regard to distinctions, the world
becomes subject to man” (8).
6. For an excellent example of environmental context, see Rust’s (2013)
discussion of climate change issues surrounding the film The Day After
Tomorrow.
7. Nassauer (1997) adds to the conversation through the recognition that
landscape becomes defined as a “product of cultural norms”—and,
indeed, a product that, when investigated, “may suggest strategies to
finesse apparent conflict” (7).
8. Examples of two filmmakers for whom landscape plays a central role are
the French director Agnes Varda (see her personal documentary The
Gleaners and I [2000], where the filmmaker even frames landscape in her
hands as she travels in a car on a highway), and Wim Wenders, who insists
on the specificity and determining centrality of place in all his films.
9. Writing about the articulation of myth to power, Barthes—writes that
myth “has an imperative, buttonholing character” that is aimed at the
audience (see Storey 2015, 126).
10. As Tasker (2015) recognizes, movie studios tend to “avoid singularity,
marketing films via appeals to multiple genres” as a way to increase sales
(p. 19), making genre distinctions a challenge. Langford (2005) sees
contemporary Hollywood as plagued with “rampant generic hybridity”
(233). He provides the example of Starship Troopers (1998), which com-
bined elements of war film, teen film, the Western, and the sci-fi monster
movie, in addition to satirizing various genres at the same time (234).
11. In the very real sense outlined by Storey (2015) in his interpretation of
the Althusserian problematic as it relates to the environment.
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CHAPTER 2
Cradle to Crave: The Commodification

of the Environment in Family Films
Introduction
In 2012, Universal Pictures released The Lorax, a film based on Dr.
Seuss’s children’s book of the same name published 30 years earlier.
The book addressed the environmental harm caused by overconsump-
tion, and Universal claimed the movie contained the same message; how-
ever, it also included embedded advertisements and numerous product
tie-ins (Hetter 2012). Product placement and the flood of marketing
that accompanied the film drew criticism that the studio was corrupt-
ing Seuss’s original environmental message by replacing it with one of
consumption. Drawing from the controversy surrounding The Lorax,
this chapter analyzes the portrayal of environmental problems (and
their solutions) as presented by popular Hollywood movies for chil-
dren, including Ice Age: The Meltdown (Fox Searchlight Pictures 2006),
WALL-E (Walt Disney/Buena Vista Pictures 2008), and The Lorax
(Universal Pictures 2012). Although it does not focus on environmental
problems, Disney’s global mega-blockbuster Frozen (2013) is also con-
sidered near the end of this chapter for its unique perspective on global
climate trends.
This chapter is derived, in part, from an article by Ellen Moore published in

Environmental Communication: A Journal of Nature and Culture on March 16,
2015, available online: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/17524032.2015.1014391
[accessed May 11, 2017].

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_2
32 E.E. MOORE
These films were chosen from an embarrassment of riches when it

comes to family movies with an environmental theme. In addition to
those included in this chapter are Finding Dory (Disney, 2016, which
focuses on ocean pollution, conservation, and biodiversity), Finding
Nemo (Disney, 2004, which touches upon reef health and industrial pol-
lution), Happy Feet (Warner Bros, 2006, highlighting ocean pollution
and overfishing), Over the Hedge (DreamWorks, 2006, depicting sub-
urban sprawl and loss of wilderness habitat), Fern Gully (20th Century
Fox, 1992, depicting the loss of rainforests due to commercial develop-
ment), and Chicken Run (DreamWorks 2000, which makes continuous
references to concentrated animal feedlots). The films that do comprise
the focus of this chapter, though, were carefully selected due to the
direct, clear, and sustained focus on one or more environmental issues.
With such a wide selection of Hollywood films that touch upon eco-
logical problems, it is clear that producers and filmmakers are paying
attention to societies’ growing concerns on a global scale. But how accu-
rately do the films portray these issues to young audiences, and does the
fact that these are films made (mostly) for children alter the message?
Before beginning analysis, this chapter first underscores the importance
of considering the intended audience for these films and why it mat-
ters. With American industries increasingly targeting children as a lucra-
tive demographic, it is important to draw back the curtain to see how
environmental messages are tailored for a younger market. The chapter
progresses with a discussion of the political economic context for the
production of children’s animation by Hollywood and why this matters
for analysis of environmental themes in film. Finally, I outline a particular
theoretical lens—Althusser and Balibar’s (2009) symptomatic reading —
that can be useful to consider not only what the films choose to include
about ecological problems, but what is omitted. It is these omissions, I
argue, that become ideologically relevant when it comes to films about
environmental issues.
“Children’s” Film, “Family” Film, or Animation?

A Question of Genre
As Grant (2007, 259) observes, the generic form often referred to
as “children’s films” may be “divided into two categories: those
made expressly for the child audience, and those made about children
2 CRADLE TO CRAVE: THE COMMODIFICATION … 33
regardless of audience.” The films chosen for analysis in this chapter

clearly fall within the former definition—films made with children in
mind. However, other scholars have argued for the use of the term “fam-
ily film,” as it is the case that many of the films intended for children
are not consumed only by children but by a wide range of audiences,
both young and old.1 Brown (2012) claims that the designation “fam-
ily film” “sits awkwardly in relation to the question of genre” because
it includes content similar to a multitude of other genres, including sci-
ence fiction (as is the case, in this chapter, with WALL-E), fantasy, and
comedy.2 The universalism of family film ventures further than genre
hybridity because this category often attempts to transcend “all possi-
ble cultural and biological barriers, such as age, race, social class, gen-
der, nationality, and religious and sexual orientation” (Brown 2012, 1).
However broad and inclusive the category, “family film” is perhaps the
most accurate and useful, while still recognizing the potential for hybrid-
ity and “universalism.”
In his impressive treatment of family film, Brown (2012) provides a
very thorough and useful historical background, noting that the generic
form really grew out of an early twentieth-century desire to create con-
tent that would appease early movie censors and permit films to be
released to wide audiences.3 Now, mediated family fare comprises a great
deal of the Hollywood market share and is an industrial, cultural, and
economic force to be reckoned with. One example is Disney’s Finding
Dory, which (as I write, in June 2016) last weekend broke box office
records for an animated film by drawing in $136 million and taking the
top box office perch (Christian Science Monitor 2016).
While some uncertainty exists regarding the generic boundaries of the
films included in this chapter, another complicating factor can be consid-
ered: that of the technological medium in which many family films are
made. One can consider animation as being closely linked to children’s
fare, and several scholars do: Grant (2007, 260) notes that in their early
history animated features primarily targeted the child audience, especially
when Disney was the central producer and driver of the children’s anima-
tion market in the USA.4 Cartoons for children had a slow start in terms
of popularity, but all that changed with when Disney’s Snow White and
the Seven Dwarfs was released in 1937, mostly because the film “demon-
strated that films with a particular appeal to children were a viable source
of revenue for the studios” (Grant 2007, 260). When Hollywood stu-
dios lost interest in children as a movie-going demographic in the 1980s,
34 E.E. MOORE
Disney rejuvenated the culture industry’s interest with the release of The
Little Mermaid in 1989 (Grant 2007). Although the profit potential of
animated feature films had been recognized by Hollywood studios for
decades, the medium finally took off in the mid-1990s due to technolog-
ical advancements in computer-generated imagery (CGI), which allowed
for rapid proliferation and production (Brown 2012, 204–205).
However, it is also true that in the last few decades animation has
increasingly been seen by the media industry itself as fare for adults as
well as children in what has been referred to as “kidult” media: Felperin
(1999) provides several examples of this, including cartoon television
shows like King of the Hill, The Simpsons, and Stressed Eric. Mark Zoradi,
Disney’s motion-picture group president from 2006–2009 attributes
Pixar’s enduring commercial and cultural success to the fact that the
company’s films are “not children’s movies. They’re movies for every-
body. Children absolutely adore them, but parents enjoy them on a dif-
ferent level” (Germain 2008, 2). It is important to note that although
the films selected for this chapter are considered family fare, children
remain a key demographic, for in the appeal to them is the potential to
draw in the rest of the family. As Brown (2012, 3) recognizes about fam-
ily film, “Mainstream cinema has always sought types of entertainment
capable of attracting mass audiences, and it is axiomatic that films capable
of playing successfully to all ages and social groups stand the best chance
of commercial success.”
Although animation is treated as a medium here, it is important to
recognize how the technological form has influenced the genre.5 Wells
(2003, 214) believes animation to be significant first due to its “omni-
presence” (on websites, films, television, commercials, sitcoms, and the
like) as well as its ability to foster and encourage “aesthetic and techno-
logical experimentation.” He also observes that the form of animation
created by Disney clearly lent itself to the corporation’s “utopian ideol-
ogy” that is so well known today. Finally, Wells (2003, 235) recognizes
that “much of the enduring success of animated film within popular cul-
ture is in the way in which ‘character’ transcends the film and becomes
part of a social discourse. From Mickey Mouse to Woody and Buzz,
this has ensured that animation has historical presence.” Although ani-
mation’s origins can be traced globally, it is clear that Disney and other
American animation industries remain a key producer and driver of the
industry, prompting Cavalier (2011, 13) to note that “the history of
animation is largely the history of American animation,” thus making US

animation “the sun around which all other animation has orbited.”
The animated family film as broadly defined is important when it
comes to consideration of how films within this generic form treat eco-
logical issues. As is true with all genres, the profit motive is important to
consider, but perhaps in family fare even more so. Brown (2012, 192)
points out that contemporary “family entertainment” media “can be
regarded as a spectrum of widely intelligible, interrelated products based
around core brand images” that are largely the product of Hollywood’s
attempt at standardization for broadly palatable media fare to ensure
commercial success. Studios’ desire to produce movies that are easily
digestible by a wide audience means that the promise of “basic com-
fort and reassurance … has been one of the primary instruments” of the
genre (Brown 2012, 197). Adding to this is the broad effect of genre
itself: the recognition of how genre both flattens, distorts, and soothes,
especially when it comes to the economic logic of Hollywood, is espe-
cially important when considering the rise of the new consumer culture
(and media culture) aimed at children on a global scale.
Hollywood, the New Consumer Culture, and the Child

Audience
Hansen (2010, 8) contends that “The artifacts of media culture are
… not innocent entertainment but are thoroughly ideological artifacts
bound up with political rhetoric, struggles, agendas, and policies.”
Mediated representations of the environment are especially important
to study when it comes to youth because, although children learn about
the world around them from myriad sources—including family, commu-
nity leaders, school, and peers—they are developing increasingly intimate
relationships with technology and mediated content due to media prolif-
eration. According to McDonagh and Brereton (2010, 134), “film has
a profound influence in framing how we conceptualize and address our-
selves and lifestyles, and by inference our global problems.” Animated
films in particular provide “intricate teachings” that are reinforced by
other sources in childhood (Lugo-Lugo and Bloodsworth-Lugo 2009,
167), and can encourage specific understandings about individuals’ place
in society (Giroux and Pollock 2010, 84).
36 E.E. MOORE
But what are these teachings, exactly? Media texts intended for con-
sumption by a younger audience can contain powerful ideologies that
are directly relevant to a consideration of how children consider their
role in environmental problems faced on a global scale. Drawing from
one of his best-known works, Dorfman and Mattelart (1975, 37) rec-
ognizes the potent consumerist ideologies in the cartoon Donald Duck,
where Disney’s “sole ethical code” is “consumption for consumption’s
sake. Buy to keep the system going, throw the things away … and buy
the same thing again, only slightly different, the next day.” Writing on
Disney’s non-treatment of the Peruvian Incas in The Emperor’s New
Groove, Helaine Silverman (2002, 299) finds that although the film
clearly draws from the Incas, they are never mentioned by name, nor is
any cultural context given. This omission is critical, she observes, because
“as a quintessential form of American public culture, animated movies
[are] … where collective social understandings are created …” Silverman
continues by arguing that “the visual signifiers in these animated movies
… are interpreted uncritically by most viewers in accordance with a cul-
turally sanctioned hegemony” (299–300). Regardless of whether or not
one agrees that most viewers read visual texts without an interrogative
gaze, one can still recognize, as Giroux and Pollock (2010, 28) do, that
“entertainment is always an educational force.”6 The educative potential
of visual media is recognized by other media scholars as well: Mayumi
et al. (2005) go so far as to argue that popular films have a particular
need to address environmental issues because of their ability to reach a
broad audience with a compelling message. The clear teaching potential
of film invites discussion as to what sorts of lessons about the environ-
ment are given to children by a commercial entity like Hollywood.
The significance of understanding how the culture industry hails chil-
dren is underscored by the formation of an increasingly intimate rela-
tionship between children, consumer culture, and commercial media in
the USA. As Kellner keenly recognizes, dominant ideologies “must be
understood within the context of the political economy and system of
production of culture” (1995, 37). The trend of media deregulation and
resulting waves of conglomeration that started in earnest in the 1980s
and have continued to the present day are well documented in political
economy scholarship, leaving few arguments that the US media system
is both hypercommercial and highly concentrated. Although considera-
tions of Hollywood’s economic logic, drive, and ownership are a con-
stant theme in all the chapters of this book, special attention here is paid
to political economy and recent changes in children’s consumer culture

as a way to understand Hollywood’s treatment of environmental issues
in this particular genre. In his discussion of his term “hypercommercial-
ism,” McChesney contends that American culture is subject to inces-
sant commercial “carpet bombing” (2004, 146) that leaves no space
untouched. The trend of hypercommercialism in the USA is in perfect
step with the exponential growth of consumer culture in the USA, with
numerous scholars noting that consumption has become the founda-
tion of the US cultural system (McAllister 2007; McDonald and Wearing
2013; Schor 2004; Steinberg 2011; Turow and McAllister 2009).
Most germane to this growing trend of hypercommercialism is rec-
ognition of a relatively new focus on children by American corpora-
tions: in the corporate system, children are not excluded from consumer
culture, but instead are placed in its spotlight. Schor (2004) notes that
marketing to the child audience became a multi-billion dollar industry
when companies realized the increased spending power of children. The
primary consequence of this is that children are being incorporated into
the marketplace as part of a broader trend in American capitalism where
“life stages” translate into different types of potential markets (Langer
2004, 254). Steinberg (2011) terms this new marketing focus on chil-
dren as “Kinderculture,” a sort of hypercommercialism aimed directly
at children. Thus the three key implications of a new children’s con-
sumer culture is that children, now considered a highly lucrative mar-
ket, are targeted as a key demographic (McAllister 2007; Schor 2004),
invited into consumerist identities at increasingly young ages (Hill 2011;
Jennings 2006), and offered very few noncommercial opportunities in
American media culture (Schor 2004).
The hypercommercial milieu in which Hollywood operates has a well-
documented impact on all aspects of the industry, from origination to
content and marketing. One of the first trends worth noting is in regards
to merchandizing: while the increase of product placement in mov-
ies has been well documented (Andersen and Gray 2007; Miller 2001;
McChesney 2008; Wasko 2003), commercially driven non-media entities
like toymaker Hasbro have gone a step further by partnering with stu-
dios to produce blockbusters like GI Joe: Retaliation (2013), Battleship
(2011), and Transformers (2009), with many more films in the works.7
The reason toymakers have gotten into the movie-making business (and
vice versa) is clear: it is the potential to create highly lucrative ancillary
markets through product sales, resulting in an “unprecedented synergy”
38 E.E. MOORE
between movie producers and merchandisers (Townsend 2011, 56).

Most every Hollywood studio now wants its productions to be “toyetic,”
where the plot and characters lend themselves easily to the creation and
sale of merchandise to children. Because of this, Schuker (2009) notes,
Hollywood is being transformed: “Toys now are receiving the same
A-list treatment that any bankable movie star has come to expect. That
includes top billing and contracts with special perks. They even have
their own talent agents.”
Related to merchandizing are corporate tie-ins, as many Disney films
have been “criticized for their open marketing of toys and other prod-
ucts to children and their promotion through product tie-ins with vari-
ous fast-food chains” (Grant 2007, 261). Star Wars: The Force Awakens
partnered with the sandwich chain Subway, which had various characters
from the film on kids’ meal bags. Corporate tie-ins are not limited to
fast food: Disney and Pixar’s Finding Dory had multiple corporate deals
with big-name brands like Coppertone and Kraft’s Macaroni and Cheese,
as well as Subway, which featured the film’s characters on “3D Scene
Makers” that came with a purchase of a mini-sub for children.
Finally, other scholars like Brown (2012, 192) note another aspect
to the economic logic of “family films” when it comes to varied media
platforms: “they have been developed as multi-media franchises because
their core brand images are widely accessible, possess an existing con-
sumer base, and lend themselves easily to cross-media exploitation.”8
Most films made for children have related content available on myriad
platforms, including websites, television shows, children’s magazines,
and video games, among others. This multiple platform strategy enables
increased corporate synergy, as one media arm or venue may promote
another to reach the maximum amount of consumers possible.
As a result of the above trends, many contemporary “blockbuster”
films are criticized for simply being vehicles to sell products to young
audiences, prompting Andersen and Gray (2007, 176) to suggest that
“films are no longer singular narratives, rather, they are iterations of
entertainment supertexts, multimedia forms that can be expanded and
resold almost ad infinitum.” A great example of this comes from Harry
Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: set for release in 2001, it was anticipated
to be one of the most popular film releases of the year (if not the dec-
ade), but the fact that it would not be met with a merchandising and
tie-in frenzy (reportedly because the author, J.K. Rowling, didn’t want
it) was what merited media attention: one Bloomberg article went to
lengths to note how unusual the lack of merchandising was (Grover

2001). Thus, Harry Potter proves an exception to the new industry rule,
which is well represented by The Lion King, which only grossed Disney
$313 million at the box office, but the film’s total profits exceeded $1
billion in ancillary merchandise sales (Broeske 1995).
Considering the defining economic characteristics of the US culture
industry and the new trends in consumer culture, the question that
receives the most focus in this chapter is: In a hypercommercial soci-
ety that treats children as one of the newest, most lucrative market s, and
with a genre focused on reaching as large and wide an audience as possible,
how does a highly concentrated culture industry represent a subject like the
environment to the young audience? The answer to this question could be
obtained through many different avenues, but is perhaps best achieved
through the critical lens of the “symptomatic reading.”
Theoretical and Interpretive Frameworks

Analysis of these animated children’s films is aided through the employ-
ment of a symptomatic reading as defined by Althusser and Balibar
(2009). In their critical work on Marx’s Das Kapital, Althusser and
Balibar (2009) broadly define symptomatic reading as a “dual reading”
(32) that consists of an initial interpretation of a text focusing on mani-
fest details (in this case, the narrative and characters), followed by a “sec-
ond,” deeper reading designed to reveal ideological messages through
identification of key “lacunae,” or silences in the text (86). The central
purpose of a symptomatic reading is to draw out‚ or reveal‚ the prob-
lematic, which Althusser and Balibar describe as “an answer given to its
absent question” (32). Storey (2012) provides a clear demonstration of
the utility of identifying “silences” about the environment through the
problematic, noting that the common depiction of automobiles as iso-
lated in natural settings is a way to counteract potential questions about
cars’ contribution to both pollution and road congestion
showing cars in both nature (unpolluted) and space (uncongested) con-

fronts the claims … In this way, the criticisms are answered without the
questions themselves having been formally posed. The emphasis placed
on nature and space is, therefore, a response to the twin questions (which
remains unasked in the advertisement itself—in the text’s “problematic” …
(75–76)
40 E.E. MOORE
Here, Storey reveals the a priori “answer” provided by advertisers to per-

ceived concerns about environmental impact. It is this advance answer to
as-yet unarticulated concerns that creates key lacunae within a text, for
the problematic often serves to silence future questions by making them
appear irrelevant. In symptomatic interpretation, then, the first reading
examines the manifest text and progresses to identify the “lapses, dis-
tortions, silences and absences” characteristic of the latent text and its
ideological foundations (Storey 2012, 244). In permitting a focus on
silences, the key reason to using this interpretive framework is able to
highlight what media producers may want to ignore—or actively deflect
attention from.
Applied to this research, there are several potential “silences” regard-
ing environmental problems that can be examined in the films, including
(1) what problems exist; (2) how they are defined; (3) what their causes
are; (4) who is responsible; (5) the potential impacts and consequences;
and (6) what solutions are available. As Entman (1993, 54) notes,
“omissions of potential problem definitions, explanations, evaluations,
and recommendations may be as critical as the inclusions in guiding the
audience.” The assessment of silences reveals the problematic embedded
in the texts as well as the films’ subjectivity—how they invite their young
audiences into certain identities. This type of interpretation coheres with
Althusser’s critical praxis, where ideology is defined by a relationship
between the producer of a text and the subject, including how the sub-
ject is positioned by the text (Althusser 2008).
This type of analysis provides the basis for a critique of American
hypercommercialism and consumer culture as contextualized within a
political economy framework, placing the focus on concentrated media
ownership and the concomitant drive for profit as a way to understand
how messages about the environment are distorted by the culture indus-
try for young audiences. Although a symptomatic reading would be
beneficial for any and all films included in this book, it is used here to
highlight the need to identify key omissions regarding environmental
problems when it comes to very young audiences who are still in the
process of learning about not only global environmental issues but about
the world itself. Thus, part of the reason for the focus on what Althusser
and Balibar (2009) refer to as “lacunae” is due to the relatively young
age of the audience intended for these films. While it is true that omis-
sions are almost always ideologically significant for the power structures
they reveal, in a young audience one can make this case with even more
justification.
Representations of Environmental Problems

in Hollywood’s Animated Family Films
Ice Age: The Meltdown

Fox Searchlight Pictures (now 20th Century Fox) and Bly Sky Studio
(owned by 20th Century Fox) released this film in 2006 as the sec-
ond installation in the Ice Age franchise that focuses on the adventures
of a small pack of ice age mammals, Sid the sloth, Diego the saber-
toothed tiger, and Manny the woolly mammoth. Its Brazilian director
Carlos Saldanha is known for his involvement in other films in the Ice
Age franchise, along with Rio (2011). The script was written by the
two Hollywood comedy writers, Peter Gaulke and Gerry Swallow. The
Environmental Media Association, which works with Hollywood studios
on their environmental rhetoric, gave it their highest award in 2007. It
also did well at the box office, earning $71 million in opening box office
and holding the top spot for several weeks, tying the astronomically
popular Finding Nemo and The Incredibles for second-largest animation
debut in history (Fritz 2006).
Fox Searchlight Pictures operates under 20th Century Fox, which is
owned by Rupert Murdoch.9 20th Century Fox has produced and/or
distributed several films included in other chapters of this book, includ-
ing Kingsman: Secret Service and Promised Land. Murdoch and the con-
glomerates he owns are well known for having conservative messages,
which makes the treatment of the environment in these two films (and in
Ice Age: The Meltdown) both complex and intriguing.
Ice Age: The Meltdown Summary

The film begins with a short vignette of Scrat, a squirrel who gives per-
petual chase for an elusive acorn in an icy landscape. He eventually finds
an acorn, but in the process pokes holes in a giant ice wall, which begins
to spout water. In this way, the film introduces the concept of climate
change and attendant melting ice in a comical fashion as Scrat attempts
to stop the flow of water with various body parts.
42 E.E. MOORE
Once the central part of the film begins, it is clear that “global warm-
ing” (identified by this phrase in several scenes) is impending. Large,
clear pools with crystalline ice slides have been created by warmer tem-
peratures, and a wide variety of animals are playing in them. The opening
scenes thus look like the glaciated version of a recreational water park:
the sun is shining while adults and kids play and sunbathe.
However, soon a turtle named Fast Tony draws a crowd due to his
loud claims about global warming while he tries to sell useless “sur-
vival” items in the confusion and fear he has created. At first, no one
believes him, but most animals become alarmed once the stars of the
film (Manny, Sid, and Diego) confirm that the changes are real: all the
characters are living in a giant “bowl” that will fill up once the ice dam
behind them breaks. In their panic, the animals travel together in a
group to a “boat” (made out of gargantuan piece of curved wood) to
escape both the flood and the carnivorous monsters that have been freed
by the melting ice.
Eventually, a portion of the ice wall holding back the water breaks
and the flood occurs, appearing as gigantic waves cresting mountaintops
that thunder towards the animals. The animals scream and crowd on to
the makeshift ark-shaped boat. It looks as though all animals will perish
until Scrat reappears: prized acorn in paw, he punctures a second set of
holes in the ice wall, thus creating a fissure through which all the water
can escape. Once the waters recede, the consequences of the melting ice
are revealed: areas once covered in ice are replaced with green pastures.
Sid capitalizes on the remaining water to start a swim school and Manny
finds the rest of his herd and realizes his species is not extinct. Most
interesting is that the land, now ice free, looks fertile and rich, and some-
how already has a palette of green vegetation growing, which will feed
the animals. The ample water flows through clear, clean, warm pools.
Thus, the film ends on a positive note for all of the animals except one
turtle, killed by the monsters.
Ice Age: The Meltdown Analysis

At a superficial level, Fox Searchlight’s Ice Age sequel can be seen as an
environmental film in that it provides an introduction to—and encour-
ages awareness of—“global warming” by making the issue central to
the narrative and by speaking directly to the child audience about envi-
ronmental degradation. In addition, the film initially presents global
warming as an authentic and considerable threat: the animals’ terror of

both the approaching mountainous waves and the sea monsters they
bring provides clear cues that climate change brings significant danger
and requires our attention. In this sense, the film introduces a sense of
realism as described by Ingram (2004) and Whitley (2008), where texts
make a claim to events in the outside world. Ties to the real world, how-
ever, dissolve when one considers omissions in the text.
One of the first silences in the film is there is no clear definition of
“global warming”: it is presented only as a brief warming trend that
results in melting ice and floods, which is reinforced by continuous use
of outdated and misleading phrases for climate change. Also absent is
any clear cause of the warming: it cannot be due to human activity, as
there are no humans in the film, which is a significant absence given that
the vast majority of scientific data reveals that human activity is at the
very least partly responsible for these changes. Instead, the film hints that
Scrat the squirrel has precipitated the disaster through his comical hunt
for a nut.
The references to Noah’s Ark and the flood are intriguing. First,
the animals travel mostly two-by-two (or as families with young ones)
to the large boat. Second, according to the Christian Bible, God sent
the flood to punish humanity’s wickedness, thus the flood in the film
seems to blame some kind of sin as the potential instigator of cata-
strophic environmental change. The religious references are somewhat
baffling unless one considers that they may be a way to avoid discussing
the anthropogenic cause of climate change. Considered in conjunction
with the depiction of Fast Tony, who tries to profit from global warm-
ing, and even the very outdated name given to the environmental issue,
the film’s treatment of climate change seems to come from a somewhat
cynical and politically conservative perspective. This makes more sense
when one considers that Rupert Murdoch’s Fox Searchlight Pictures
produced the film. In the USA, Fox News (also owned by Murdoch) has
been long critiqued for its support of conservative politicians and topics
as well as its denial of climate change. Seen from the perspective of own-
ership, omissions regarding the potential causes of climate change in The
Meltdown make more sense.
The film also contains a silence regarding possible resolution of
“global warming”: the animals are doomed to drown in the flood until
Scrat once again intervenes and the flood waters recede. Because the plot
defines climate change as episodic (and thus only briefly catastrophic),
44 E.E. MOORE
it also omits recognition that this environmental problem is also a pro-

cess: one that is complex, difficult to understand, and with long-lasting
effects. Perhaps the most important lacuna exists in the lack of con-
sequences: after the flood, almost every animal has a better life in a
warmer, greener environment.
Perhaps needless to say, this representation flies in the face of what
is known scientifically about climate change, including that it is almost
certainly: (1) caused by human activity; (2) is a complex process that
is difficult to understand and predict; and (3) that it has and will con-
tinue to result in waves of extinction for thousands of species. The
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), which is governed
by the United Nations and receives information from thousands of scien-
tists worldwide, in 2014 published its most recent report regarding cli-
mate change. Titled “Climate Change 2014 Synthesis Report Summary
for Policymakers,” the report notes that it is “extremely likely that more
than half of the observed increase in global average surface tempera-
ture from 1951 to 2010 was caused by the anthropogenic increase in
GHG [greenhouse gases] concentrations and other anthropogenic forc-
ings together” (5). Regarding non-human animal extinctions, the IPCC
report also observes that
a large fraction of species faces increased extinction risk due to climate

change during and beyond the 21st century, especially as climate change
interacts with other stressors (high confidence). Most plant species cannot
naturally shift their geographical ranges sufficiently fast to keep up with
current and high projected rates of climate change in most landscapes;
most small mammals and freshwater molluscs will not be able to keep up at
the rates projected under RCP4.5 and above in flat landscapes in this cen-
tury (high confidence). (13)
The IPCC also notes that humans will be significantly impacted as well,
with especially great risk predicated for “disadvantaged people and com-
munities in countries at all levels of development” (13).
The numerous silences in the film—regarding the definition, causes,
consequences, and solutions for climate change—fulfill the function of
the problematic to preclude additional questions and ward off critique by
presenting “global warming” as a simple phenomenon with an unknown
etiology that can be resolved quickly and simply to the benefit of liv-
ing creatures. Here, a consideration of landscape is essential due to the
significance of the contrasts before and after “global warming” occurs.

The film is bookended with mostly pleasant scenes of the environ-
mental milieu in which the animals find themselves: the water is clean,
bright, and pure, as are the enormous glittering ice sculptures created
by melting ice. In the middle of the film, the ice wall that looms over
the creatures provides an apt (if incomplete) signifier for the enormity
that is climate change as well as its tremendous potential danger. The
thundering waves that crest the mountains clearly represent the enor-
mous potential threat to living creatures, as well as the fact that the ani-
mals are powerless to stop it. At the end of film, however, the landscape
is more beautiful, more fruitful, and more hospitable to sustaining life
because of climate change—a troubling message. This bookending of
pleasant, life-giving landscapes thus contains ideological implications, as
the problem of climate change is presented in over-simplified, optimistic,
episodic terms, hinting that this serious environmental problem need not
be solved but instead welcomed.
WALL-E
This 2008 film was the brainchild of Pixar executives operating under
Disney after its acquisition in 2006 and was directed by Angus MacLane
and Andrew Stanton. Stanton is well known as a director of many a pop-
ular film, including Finding Nemo, Finding Dory, and Toy Story. WALL-E
won numerous awards and nominations for cinematic quality, including
an Oscar for Best Animated Feature Film of the Year.10 In addition, it was
lauded for its message of sustainability: Keim (2008) in Wired magazine
described it as “the decade’s most powerful environmental film.”
The film did well at the box office, achieving the top spot in its open-
ing weekend and earning approximately $62.5 million, continuing “the
perfect track record of Pixar, the Walt Disney unit that has made nine
films, all of them critical and commercial successes, including Cars;
Monsters, Inc. and the Toy Story movies” (Germain 2008, 2). As noted
earlier, Pixar’s creations tend to draw in both adults and children, and
WALL-E was no different, which contributed to its commercial and cul-
tural success.
46 E.E. MOORE
WALL-E Summary
WALL-E opens on a somber note with a slow aerial pan of a large
American city at dusk with large skyscrapers below. More detail is pro-
vided on the screen until it is gradually revealed that the majority of the
“buildings” are actually thousands of stacked trash cubes in a dusty, dirty,
sterile brown landscape. From this point, the film quickly introduces the
audience to the significant environmental problems on Earth: seemingly
endless mountains of trash; gargantuan dust storms that roll through
with regularity; and no vegetation, animals, or humans anywhere, since
Earth can no longer support life.
The role of large corporations in this environmental apocalypse is
made clear through the vestiges of “Buy N Large” (shortened to “BNL”
in the film): old billboards for the corporation clutter the skyline; dol-
lar bills littering the ground are actually BNL currency; and a “public
service announcement” reveals that the last American president (named
Shelby Forthright, in a bit of dark humor) was also the CEO of BNL.11
As several billboards suggest, BNL recognized that there was a problem
with “too much garbage in your face,” and so created robots to start
cleaning up the mess (while still trying to sell more products). As the
billboards note, “there’s more space, out in space!”, and so humans
escaped the trashed and sterile Earth to live in spaceships. The message
“We’ll clean up the mess while you’re away!” suggests that this move was
temporary and that the plan was for people to return to Earth once it
was cleaned up.
Only two creatures seem to have survived in this desolate, decaying
landscape. WALL-E (“Waste Allocation Load Lifter, Earth Class”) is a
solar-powered, rusty, dirty, slightly crazy but likeable robot whose task
is to clean up the world while the humans live on a large spaceship. He
has been compacting the trash on Earth for over 700 years. In his loneli-
ness, he has become an obsessive collector of trash, saving jewelry boxes,
lighters, car keys, an iPod that plays Hello, Dolly!, and Apple “mice” that
scurry across the floor when he comes home. He recharges himself daily
(in a comical scene that likens his low battery to adults needing coffee
in the morning), and makes the Apple start-up chime when his battery
is full. The only other organism that has survived is a cockroach that
WALL-E keeps as a pet.
WALL-E’s loneliness is solved with the arrival of EVE, who comes to
Earth not to clean it, but to scan for any sign of life. Luminously white,
intelligent, sleek, and powerful, she hovers above the ground, seem-
ingly weightless (unlike WALL-E, she can fly). When she recognizes a
living plant that WALL-E has found, she takes it back up to the spaceship
where humans are living.
The film then introduces the audience to the superficial lives of
humans on the spaceship, who are overweight due to lack of physical
activity and continuous distraction from computer screens, controlled
by BNL, and obsessed with consumption. The film makes clear that
the distracted humans will not be the ones to help save Earth; instead,
the catalyst for positive change comes from EVE and WALL-E’s efforts.
Together the robots fight off the bad guys (BNL robots) and help to
bring a potentially enlightened group of humans back to Earth to start
anew.
WALL-E Analysis
Unlike Ice Age, WALL-E defines its environmental problem and atten-
dant consequences very clearly: overconsumption, operating within a
powerful consumer culture driven by large corporations, is devastat-
ing the planet. The film makes clear which parties are responsible for
the degradation: equal blame is assigned to both the large corporation
“Buy N Large” as well as the humans who have let this happen. The text
invites audiences to be horrified by overconsumption’s catastrophic effect
on the environment, including the devastated natural landscape, but
also the deteriorated human mind and body, providing an example of
an “overt” critique of consumerism that Heumann and Murray (2009)
describe. In so doing, the film “risks engagement with controversial ele-
ments of the environmentalist agenda in more overt ways than any previ-
ous animation” (Whitley 2008, 141) and appears to be an example of the
“radical” environmentalism defined by Ingram (2004) that operates out-
side the typical consumerist milieu. However, like Ice Age: The Meltdown,
there are significant inclusions and omissions that become apparent in
the latter half of the film with the comparison of WALL-E to EVE, and
these fundamentally change the message of the text.
First, it is important to delve into the significance of the film’s rep-
resentation of the degraded landscape. Aside from the one plant that
WALL-E finds (and the very few others seen at the end of the film), the
landscape is devoid of any plant or animal life. Thus, the film provides
very little respite from the visual depiction of human’s devastating impact
48 E.E. MOORE
on the environment: everything is a shade of brown, and even the blue

sky takes on a smoggy, brown-tinged hue. Gandy’s (2006, 316) obser-
vation that “desolate spaces” like this provoke “deep unease” has reso-
nance here, because it appears WALL-E’s scenes are meant to wake us
up to understand the true devastation of our planet. The massive dust
storms that thunder through with regularity are a reminder of the unsus-
tainable agricultural practices, drought, and environmental degradation
that set off the Dust Bowl predicament in the 1930s. Visually, then,
the film’s portrayal of the landscape provides a constant condemnation
of humans’ over-consumption (and is similar, in its dystopian vision, to
another science fiction film—Interstellar).
WALL-E, with his rusty, aging body that functions as a trash com-
pactor, represents humans’ past sins of overconsumption and willful
ignorance. Firmly rooted to the ground, he is cumbersome and dirty,
representing the trash he is trying to organize. His centuries-long efforts
to clean up the Earth is also a reminder throughout the film that over-
consumption is our fault as humans, that someone needs to clean it up,
and that we cannot continue with our current practices.
By stark contrast, EVE’s weightlessness and luminosity suggest that
she has no negative impact on the Earth: she’s a different breed of tech-
nology that represents a clean, enlightened future. Significantly absent
from her presentation is an explanation of her actual role in a clean envi-
ronment. Does she represent a break from older patterns of wasteful
manufacture, overconsumption, and environmental degradation? EVE’s
physical form itself presents the problematic, for her spotless body seems
associated with no waste at all, and thus can allay the potential con-
cerns of young audiences watching the film regarding her role in Earth’s
future.
The silences surrounding EVE’s production invite additional explora-
tion of this unusual heroine into a film critiquing consumption. The first
important clue about EVE comes from Disney’s acquisition of Pixar 2
years prior to the creation of WALL-E that enabled Steve Jobs, founder
of Pixar and Apple, to become a board member and largest shareholder
at Disney (La Monica 2006). It was Jobs’ influence at the three com-
panies involved—Pixar, Disney, and Apple—that shaped the creation of
both WALL-E and EVE. According to Stanton, WALL-E’s director (in
Siklos 2008), “I wanted EVE to be high-end technology—no expense
spared—and I wanted it to be seamless and for the technology to be sort
of hidden and subcutaneous. The more I started describing it, the more
I realized I was pretty much describing the Apple playbook for design.”
The way in which EVE was designed (through meetings with Stanton
and creative designers at Apple) prompted Siklos (2008) to note “It may
be the first time a character was based on a true corporate sibling.” The
collaboration between the corporations explains the product placements
in the film, including the Apple “mice” in WALL-E’s home, WALL-
E’s classic Apple start-up chime when he reboots, and Disney’s musical
Hello, Dolly! shown on an iPod. It is important to note, however, that
WALL-E represents a new trend in Hollywood away from mere product
placement:
People talk about how products and brands will sponsor movies… that’s
what’s going to happen. But Apple has already done that here without
being directly involved … I would call it product homage. And that is way
more valuable than product placement. It doesn’t just reinforce a single
Apple product, it reinforces Apple’s entire design approach from MacBook
to iPod to iPhone. (McQuivey, in Bulik 2008, emphases added)
Returning to the Althusserian problematic, WALL-E provides assurance

that, while humans have made mistakes, the environment will be pro-
tected in the future with a combination of enlightenment and cleaner
technology. But it is important to note that it is not just any technol-
ogy—or any corporation—that can provide a sustainable future. “Buy N
Large, a thinly veiled reference to giant discount retailers like Walmart,
is a hazard for the environment, as is older technology and overweight
individuals, whose “Middle America” obesity stands in for the gluttony
and selfishness associated with mindless consumption. Thus, while the
film purports to criticize environmental degradation due to overcon-
sumption, it really functions as a critique of the working and middle
classes, for it is only the wrong type of consumption (say, buying in bulk
at discount prices) that leads to catastrophe.
Ultimately, there appear to be two messages contained in the film.
In the first half, the film sends the message that humans live on a finite
planet with limited natural resources and that overconsumption is devas-
tating the environment. The film takes a strong position on this through
the visual depiction of the landscape in a way that directly references
the idea of the “life cycle” or “cradle-to-grave” process with consumer
goods. One example of this is China’s “cancer villages,” where the natu-
ral landscape and human health have been destroyed due to technology
production and disposal. The film also appears to reference the other end
50 E.E. MOORE
of the harmful global e-trade patterns: the end life of technology. The
documentary Digital Dumping Ground (Dornstein 2009) reveals that
entire regions of Ghana have been destroyed by e-waste shipped from
the USA and Europe. This irresponsible disposal pattern (only about half
of the computers shipped to Ghana actually work) means that Ghana’s
environment and people are struggling to deal with the end cycle of
these products that contain harmful chemicals and heavy metals. In one
terrible example, an area called Agbogbloshie used to be a pristine wet-
land; now it is a toxic dumping ground for wealthy nations’ e-waste, thus
providing a terrible instantiation (and extension) of Alfred Crosby’s con-
ception of ecological imperialism.
By broadly referencing ecological degradation on a global scale from
overconsumption, WALL-E initially provides an anti-consumerist mes-
sage, which would be very powerful for audiences both young and old.
However, the message delivered in the second half of the film, which
contradicts and threatens to disarm the power of this message, is that the
purchase of Apple products is good for the planet. Children are invited
to see EVE—and associated Apple products—as part of the solution to
environmental problems rather than an integral part of the old, destruc-
tive consumption pattern. Thus, although there is initially an “ecologi-
cally attuned version of environmental attentiveness” that Whitley (2008,
150) recognizes, the message is completely undercut by the fact that
Apple products provide the starring roles.
When I discuss the promotion of Apple within WALL-E with my stu-
dents, the question inevitably arises as to how much impact this place-
ment has—that is, my students wonder how much of this could the
audience possibly recognize and acknowledge? My answer to them is that
while an overt advertisement (naming the company and/or making the
logo highly visible) might make the Apple brand more recognizable to
audiences, the inclusion of highly visible product placement in this film
might prompt some uncomfortable questions for Apple (and the film’s
producers) about the link between consumption and the environment.
In my classroom I then re-play the scene where WALL-E re-charges
his battery (which makes the Mac “start-up” chime). While it is true
that the child audience might not make a conscious, direct connection
between WALL-E’s heroes and Apple, the company’s distinctive chime
encourages a subtle yet pleasant association between beloved Disney
characters, sustainability, and the computer company. As I argue above,
while the film itself makes a very strong and bold connection between
consumption and environmental devastation, it places Apple outside of

this detrimental cycle, potentially reducing the effectiveness of the film’s
environmental message.
The Lorax
Directed by Chris Renaud, of Despicable Me fame, this 2012 Universal
Pictures film had a particularly robust showing at the box office, pull-
ing in $122 million in the first two weekends and taking the top spot
for weeks in the USA (Barnes 2012). It won several awards, including
Teen Choice, Kids Choice, and one from the Environmental Media
Association. The film is based on Dr. Seuss’s book of the same name
that is widely considered an unequivocal critique of American consumer
culture and a chronicle of “the human race’s ecological crimes” (Little
2012). Like the first two films, The Lorax focuses on a specific environ-
mental problem—in this case, the loss of indigenous forests and wildlife.
The Lorax Summary

The narrative focuses on Ted, a young boy who lives in an artificial land-
scape devoid of natural vegetation. The suburb in which he lives contains
semblances of plant life (colorful plastic trees and flowers line his sub-
urb), but they are entirely manufactured. Due to the lack of real trees, as
well as the nearby factories, the air quality is so low that one company—
run by the uniformly charmless and single-minded businessman Mr.
O’Hare—sells bottled air to those who can afford it. Ted, like most of
the town’s younger inhabitants, is not concerned about the loss of living
trees because he does not know that real ones ever existed. He plays with
his remote-controlled airplane, rides his sleek razor-type scooter around
town, and shyly chases after his female neighbor.
Once he hears about the existence of trees (and his potential girl-
friend’s interest in them), however, he goes in search of a knowledge-
able yet elderly recluse named “the Once-ler” who holds the key to the
mystery of their disappearance: all the trees were destroyed, he explains,
through the production of “thneeds,” odd-looking items that serve only
an ornamental purpose. In his desire for profit, the Once-ler did not lis-
ten to a small creature called the “Lorax” who lived in the forest and
tried to stop its destruction. The Lorax provides the moral compass in
the film: he knows that needless consumption is wrong and that trees
52 E.E. MOORE
are needed for a healthy environment. Ted’s ultimate attempt to reintro-

duce a tree into the environment is thwarted by O’Hare, who believes
that enlightenment of the population will hurt his business. Through
Ted, O’Hare is ultimately defeated, and the people in the town realize
the importance of trees for environmental health. In the end, wisdom
about the connection between overconsumption and environmental deg-
radation resonates across generations, enabling the natural environment
to thrive.
The Lorax Analysis

The Lorax contains an environmental message that, on the very sur-
face, can be distilled into one clear point: mindless consumption of use-
less “thneeds” unequivocally causes environmental destruction. The
film defines deforestation and loss of wildlife habitat clearly, as it does
the consequences: the forests are not able to grow fast enough to sus-
tain high demand for products, and the loss of native forest precipi-
tously decreases biodiversity by devastating the natural landscape, which
ultimately harms humans. The film also identifies the cause of envi-
ronmental damage clearly, placing responsibility for the destruction on
both the corporations that mass produce “thneeds” as well as the peo-
ple that engage in overconsumption. The film (like the book) parodies
the fads prevalent in consumer culture where useless items are collected
and highly prized for a short time, providing a powerful critique of
hypercommercialism.
The film’s multiple portrayals of landscape are worth investigating
due to the clear contrasts made between them. There are three depic-
tions that are particularly significant: Ted’s plasticine suburban town,
the devastated landscape around the Once-ler’s house, and the scenes of
Truffula tree forests in their original, healthy state. It is clear from the
portrayal of the artificial, plastic-filled landscape in which Ted resides that
we are not meant to want to live there: the absence of trees means that
people suffer from poor air quality and (it is suggested) compromised
health. Interestingly, however, the film does not dwell too much on the
plastic nature of this suburban landscape, and so, while we are told that
this is an artificial landscape, we also see that Ted and his multi-genera-
tional family are in excellent health. Here is a somewhat contradictory
message.
The second significant landscape is the area surrounding the Once-

ler’s home, which is bleakly monochromatic and dark. There is old, dead
vegetation surrounding the house and brown–grey skies overhead, visu-
ally suggesting that where once there was life, now nothing can grow.
The message this landscape sends is that this man is living in an environ-
mental “hell” that he himself has created.
The third type of landscape exists, according to the film, only in the
past and (perhaps) to the future: this is the pristine natural landscape of
the past that the Once-ler shares with Ted through his stories. When
the Once-ler was a boy, the sky was blue, Truffula forests remained
untouched, the rivers ran clear and pure, and biologically diverse wildlife
thrived. It is in this colorful and healthy landscape, not a degraded or
plastic environment, that we are meant to live, according to the film. The
message through visual depiction of landscape, then, is one of conserva-
tion and reduction of consumption, which ties into the central message
of the text.
Although it has clearly critical messages regarding deforestation and
the need for biodiversity, the film falters somewhat by individualizing
the problem in the form of both the young boy, Ted, and the evil Mr.
O’Hare. Ingram (2004) notes that Hollywood often avoids a strong cri-
tique of consumer culture through individualization, where blame for
environmental problems is placed on one bad person or corporation: by
this logic, once that person or organization is stopped, an entire envi-
ronmental issue is resolved. In The Lorax, Ted is seen as the solution to
the problem of deforestation: he alone can bring a healthy environment
back. Conversely, Mr. O’Hare provides the one impediment to Ted’s
endeavors: Ted must defeat him before the environment can thrive. The
film thus presents a simplistic solution to a very complex problem and
ignores the deep structural realities and complexities of environmental
degradation. In so doing, it presents a profound silence about what is
truly needed to help mitigate the problems it defines: lessening overall
consumption.
For the most part, The Lorax avoids the rampant product placement
seen in WALL-E, although there is a subtle but clear plug for Converse
All Star shoes when Ted kneels down to play with his toy aircraft. What
becomes visible at this angle are white high tops with a black circle near
the ankle. During the film release, the Converse website and other stores
displayed shoes featuring The Lorax characters, revealing the strong like-
lihood of a corporate merchandise tie in. Thus, another significant lacuna
54 E.E. MOORE
is closely tied to the film’s marketing. The fact that the film had over 70
product tie ins (Hetter 2012), including products like Hewlett Packard
printers (using “green” packaging) and a new Mazda Hybrid SUV,
prompted New York Times critic A.O. Scott (2012) to note that “The
movie is a noisy, useless piece of junk, reverse-engineered into some-
thing resembling popular art in accordance with the reigning imperatives
of marketing and brand extension.” Indeed, The Lorax’s official movie
website had numerous links to contests sponsored by Target, Seventh
Generation, and Sun Maid. American cultural critic Stephen Colbert
phrased his dismay over merchandizing of the film in Seussian verse in a
humorous and succinct way:
To the producers of the movie I say:

This cashtacular sellout is not quite enough,
I’m demanding more branding of Loraxian stuff!
With what you could buy, boy, the sky is the limit:
A filet-of-fish meal with real humming-fish in it.
Film makers get cracking, the market is lacking,
A splendiferous Lorax-themed drill made for fracking!
Or the fine, certain something that all people need,
Indeed you’ll succeed if you sold us a thneed!
They’re easy to make if you only take
All the Truffula tufts off the trees by the lake.
They’re comfy and thick as the thick ironies,
Of The Lorax and Seuss hawking big SUVs.
The silence regarding real solutions to environmental problems,

paired with the mass marketing that accompanied the film, points to
the Althusserian problematic: the problem with consumption of con-
temporary “thneeds,” according to the movie, is that they are not green
enough. What is needed is not less consumption, but more “sustaina-
ble” consumption. The film thus accomplishes an elegant sleight of hand:
while the movie itself provides a compelling critique of consumption, the
child-focused marketing surrounding the film represents an attempt to
reassure young audiences that they will not hurt the environment if they
simply consume the “right” way. The incorporation of this problematic
precludes discussion of environmentally friendly alternatives like reducing

consumption and reusing existing goods.
Ideological Implications of the Symptomatic Reading

Analysis reveals that there are common ideological threads woven
through these films. All three movies present real environmental issues
as urgent and worthy of attention. This type of portrayal has the poten-
tial to underscore the serious nature of environmental degradation for
young audiences and provide a call to change, as Mayumi et al. (2005)
note. Unfortunately, while the problems presented in the films engage
with “realism” (in sense that they correlate to ongoing environmental
concerns), significant silences about viable solutions serve to undercut
any serious message about environmental protection. Specifically, the
films studiously avoid identifying individual sacrifice and change as the
answer: in WALL-E the environment was saved by production of enlight-
ened Apple products; in The Lorax people just needed to plant one tree
after deposing one evil CEO; and in Ice Age 2 all the animals needed to
do to survive the effects of climate change was to move to a different
neighborhood.
Accompanying these key omissions is individualization. As Ingram
(2004) argues, the consequences of individualization are two-fold: it
both obscures the complexity of environmental problems and reduces
them to a simple cause-and-effect set of circumstances. The films attempt
to reassure children that their role in environmental problems is negli-
gible—that one person or entity will fix things for them, and that the
American consumerist lifestyle is not only acceptable but necessary for
a healthy environment. Thus, while all three films appear to adopt what
Ingram (2004) terms radical environmentalism, their “environmental”
messages are entrenched within a capitalist framework, reinforcing a
mainstream, consumerist mindset. The Althusserian problematic is very
prominent here, for it is clear that the films incorporate ecological dis-
aster only to soothe viewers’ fears about the future and their role in it.
Indeed, all three films provided soothing messages about the environ-
ment, which is partly due to the fact that “family films” target a wide
range of ages, including children.
56 E.E. MOORE
Simply put, while these commercial films purport to embrace an envi-

ronmentalist perspective, they do so only to—as Ingram (2004, 14)
puts it—“reproduce capitalist ideologies.” Seen from this perspective,
Hollywood readily incorporates the mainstream environmental approach
into its media artifacts because it fits with the pre-existing hypercom-
mercialism that defines American culture. Whitley explains clearly how
this works, noting that sustainability rhetoric in the “West” is “designed
to accommodate relatively minor changes in outlook and lifestyle to the
underlying norms of economic growth and productivity” (2008, 2).
The films in question may be relatively new, but they instantiate older
and broader trends in the culture industry: in How to Read Donald Duck,
Dorfman and Mattelart (1975, 36–37) incisively notes that Disney has
always functioned as a “carrousel of consumption” where “the rosy … fan-
tasy of the bourgeoisie is realized to perfection” in a world where “money
is the goal everyone strives for.” The findings from analysis of these recent
films, then, are not particularly surprising, especially for a genre like family
film, which is made to be easily digestible and non-challenging in order to
“appeal equally to all consumer groups” (Brown 2012, 217).
Given these findings, it is important to consider their implications.
The first relates to how environmental issues are defined by these texts:
when Hollywood takes an issue that has the potential to provide seri-
ous critique of existing consumer culture and effectively removes the
critique through commodification, it turns the environment into simply
another product in the concentrated media marketplace. Commodifying
the environment—and contemporary environmental problems—results
in a clear subordination of environmental concerns to what McAllister
(2007, 273) calls the “economic imperative.” Thus, while all of the films
contain interesting and provocative messages about environmental issues,
the commercial motive consistently serves to undercut these potentially
transformative messages.
This economic subordination of the environment leads to another sig-
nificance of these findings, which is a paradox: commercial media, play-
ing an increasingly central role in children’s lives, are the very source that
will not provide children with accurate and useful information about the
environment that is crucial to their futures. The American media oli-
garchy effectively removes “alternative viewpoints” and enables “corpo-
rate media to promote dominant ideas and frame public discussion and
debate” (Andersen and Gray 2007, 97). The lack of critical perspective
about environmental issues is undergirded by an absence of discussion
about how we have gotten to this point. McChesney (2004, 165) argues
that “as marketers intrude deeper into our children’s lives … hypercom-
mercialization goes mostly unmentioned in the media or political cul-
ture.” As a result, the general public is not often allowed “behind the
curtain” to observe how the media industry works. Mayumi and col-
leagues claim that films play an important role in helping audiences make
the connection between environmental concerns with overconsumption
and “capitalist consumption patterns” (2005, 7). However, this research
reveals that these “environmental” texts are the very sources that will not
help to make those connections.
The third consideration to the above findings relates to identity and
subjectivity. That Hollywood films address children in narrow ways and
provide consumer-oriented solutions for environmental problems is
particularly important as “media culture has become a dominant force
of socialization, with media images and celebrities replacing families,
schools, and churches as arbiters of taste, value, and thought” (Kellner
1995, 17). Without audience research, one cannot know how chil-
dren are interpreting and responding to these media texts; however, it
is possible to recognize that these media texts invite their young audi-
ences into certain subject positions—those of consumers, not citizens.
The Althusserian perspective that ideology is related to the construction
of the audience as a particular subject provides one clue as to how this
socialization occurs in a hypercommercial milieu: while these Hollywood
films give superficial attention to the need for community and care for
the environment, they “hail” their young audiences solely as consumers
and not citizens, leaving little room for the construction of other poten-
tial subjectivities or identities.
Mammoth corporate media entities like Disney consider children’s
culture as an opportunity for “not merely a new market for the accu-
mulation of capital but a petri dish for producing new commodified
subjects” (Giroux and Pollock 2010, 3). This is incredibly important,
because young people are invited to approach the environment as self-
interested consumers, a vantage point that fundamentally limits which
solutions to environmental problems are considered viable. Speaking
to the mutually exclusive categories of citizen–consumer, Giroux and
Pollock (2010, 89) stress that corporate culture within the past decade
has kindled the popular imagination with a discourse of reform that cel-
ebrates egotistic individualism, profits, and the culture of the market.
Lost in this shift is the language of community, democracy, and public
58 E.E. MOORE
interest, a shift that undermines claims for public purpose, public service,
and public education.
Frozen in Time: Disney’s Global Blockbuster

Although this book analyzes movies that address environmental prob-
lems directly, it is essential to consider Disney’s surprise global hit Frozen
in the context of the findings above. This recent blockbuster (produced
by Peter Del Vecho) provides an excellent example of US media’s global
influence: grossing close to $1.2 billion from worldwide box office
(Lynskey 2014), it was released in 41 different languages (Keegan 2014)
and was number one at the box office in Japan for almost three months
(British Broadcasting Corporation 2014).
The film focuses on two sisters, Elsa and Anna. Elsa has a gift/curse:
the “gift” is that she can create ice and snow from nothing for innocent
fun between her and Anna; the “curse” is that, when she’s anxious or
angry, everything she touches freezes. The stress finally breaks her emo-
tionally and she strikes out on her own to live a solitary life in an ice cas-
tle, but only after instantly entombing her country (likely Norway) in ice
and snow in what appears to be a permanent winter. Anna ventures after
her into the snowy wilderness to save her sister and her country from the
cold.
In the cartoon, the cold is beautiful, pristine, and glittery. There are
multiple scenes of bright white snowy mountainous landscapes, shim-
mering ice architecture, and icicles that hang from trees like Christmas
lights. The cold, however, is also portrayed as being potentially deadly:
although no one is shown dying, the film hints that if this cold snap goes
on long enough, people will starve from not being able to grow enough
food in the wintry landscape. In the end, Anna meets her true love, and
her sister comes down to warm the land back to its seemingly natural
and healthy state. At the end of the film the people rejoice in the warmth
while Elsa plays with her icy power for their amusement.
The reason Frozen is included in this chapter is that it was impossi-
ble not to do so. Unlike the multitude of children’s films that focus on
environmental problems (I count nine Hollywood blockbusters thus far),
here is a film that claims that the problem we need to worry about the
most is that the world is too cold. This plotline seems even more unu-
sual within the context of what is happening regarding climate change
around the globe: in 2015, the USA Pacific Northwest experienced the
burning of 10 million acres of land as part of what one Washington Post

article referred to as “mega fires” (even a rainforest caught on fire); in
2016, Rajasthan, India, experienced a record-breaking heatwave of 124
degrees Fahrenheit (the year before that thousands died during another
heatwave); in July and August 2015, many European countries suffered
from an unprecedentedly long heatwave; in the same year, California
entered its fourth year of extreme drought.
Viewed from this perspective, Frozen—based on Hans Christian
Andersen’s “Snow Queen” fairy tale—seems like an odd, unabashedly
anachronistic text entirely removed from our current global environ-
mental reality. The online rumor mill states that Disney had considered
this story for many decades, but only recently decided to make the film
(and only loosely base it on the original story).12 From a psychological
vantage point, perhaps it is a soothing idea that the world may become
too cold and wet instead of too arid and hot. Given that the film never
alludes to realistic environmental issues at all, it is impossible to tell, but
given the current widespread knowledge—and scientific acceptance—
of climate change, the timing and message of the movie actually seem
more rather than less suspect. This suspicion seems somewhat supported
by an article from the Washington Post that chronicled the recent efforts
by a US special representative to the Arctic region to convince Disney
that the beloved Frozen characters could be used to educate children
about the devastating effects of climate change on the Arctic. The rep-
resentative—Admiral Robert Papp—is described in the article as being
bewildered at a Disney executive’s unwillingness to engage with environ-
mental issues:
“I said, you’ve taught an entire generation about the Arctic,” Papp said,
relaying his conversation with the Disney exec. “Unfortunately, the Arctic
that you’ve taught them about is a fantasy kingdom in Norway where
everything is nice. What we really need to do is educate the American
youth about the plight of the polar bear, about the thawing tundra, about
Alaskan villages that run the risk of falling into the sea because of the lack
of sea ice protecting their shores.”
Papp described the executive as perplexed at the idea that Princesses Elsa
and Anna, Olaf the snowman, and Sven the reindeer would star in PSAs
[public service announcements] making dire warnings about the rap-
idly warming Arctic. The executive told him, “Admiral, you might not
60 E.E. MOORE
understand, here at Disney it’s in our culture to tell stories that project
optimism and have happy endings”. (Itkowitz 2015)
Due to its trademark desire for “happily ever after,” then, Frozen distin-
guishes itself in the amount that it chooses to omit when it comes to climate
change rather than what it chooses to include. But perhaps it is more accu-
rate to say that Frozen rests at the opposite end of the spectrum of the other
films chosen for analysis in this chapter in terms of its denial that there is a
problem at all—an omission that itself becomes one of the most powerful
lacunae from an ideological standpoint. Why fix a problem that does not
exist? Perhaps Disney intends to address climate change in its sequel (set for
late 2019)‚ but it does not seem likely. Regardless‚ all four films in this chap-
ter are similar in that they can be seen as an attempt to soothe the younger
audience regarding ecological damage, and all are in some sort of denial
about either the cause of the problem or its manifestation. Intriguingly,
however, Frozen may engage with the Althusserian problematic more closely
than WALL-E, The Lorax, or Ice Age because its central message appears to
be “Problem? What problem?”—and leaves it, uneasily, at that.
Conclusion
Like major environmental problems like climate change, deforesta-
tion, and pollution, US media formations underscore their importance
by ignoring international borders. Although the subject matter of this
research is Hollywood film, it is obvious (even from an examination of
Frozen’s massive global success alone) that the reach of the American cul-
ture industry goes well beyond the borders of the USA. This is espe-
cially true when it comes to the cross-cultural vehicle that is animation,
as several other scholars (Brown 2012; Cavalier 2011) have observed.
Hollywood as a global industry dominates not only the cultural land-
scape of the USA, but also the media culture of other countries (Miller
et al. 2004), making a clear case for considering the implications of cul-
tural imperialism.
As awareness of the urgency of international environmental problems
continues to rise, the culture industry continues to make the environ-
ment a central focus; at the same time, however, it does a serious dis-
service to young audiences by undercutting any meaningful messages
about sustainable change and deflecting attention away from personal
responsibility and towards increased consumption. Giroux and Pollock

(2010) argue that it is essential to secure
young people’s right to learn and think deeply about the effects of their
actions within the complex network of human and animal life on this
planet … A critical education that explores the complexity of self and soci-
ety is no guarantee that a person will live ethically, but it is the only way to
equip youth with compelling reasons for why they should choose not to
taint their innocence by inadvertently colluding in processes that further
environmental destruction. (88)
Unfortunately, the commercial media giants are targeting children more

and more, and thus are “linking the supposed pleasures of consumption
with those of entertainment” (Grant 2007, 259). McChesney (2008,
20) cautions that “if we learn nothing else from the political economy of
media it is that commercialism comes at a very high price and with mas-
sive externalities.” The externalities, in this case, relate to massive envi-
ronmental damage as the cost of doing business with the child audience.
Notes
1. Brown (2012) himself notes that the designator “family film” is a “vague
and unsatisfactory label to describe such a diverse, pluralistic body of
films,” but it is the only term available to use to describe this generic
form.
2. Pixar and Disney’s Wall-E provides a clear example of a film that straddles
two genres. In terms of themes of space exploration as well as its decid-
edly dystopian focus, the film has clear ties to science fiction; in terms of
the characters and the medium of animation, the film also can be clearly
linked to family films. Wall-E was categorized in this book as family film
because that is how it was marketed (to children).
3. Brown (2012) specifically points to a Supreme Court case whereby
Hollywood film was seen to be a for-profit venture, and thus could be
censored. The self-censorship by the industry means that many filmmak-
ers were eager to please the constraints placed by the early Hays Code
that eventually grew into the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of
America) so that their films could still reach a wide audience.
4. Wells (2003) provides similar attribution of the success of animation to
Disney, who drove the animation market in the USA.
5. A short opinion piece in an online University Wire (2015) article suggests
as much: that animation should be considered as a technologic form—a
62 E.E. MOORE
medium—on which diverse forms on content exist. In his impressive

tome The World History of Animation, Cavalier (2011) treats animation
as a visual art form upon which many types of content (and many differ-
ent genres) can exist.
6. Giroux and Pollock (2010), in the update to Mickey Mouse Monopoly,
makes a clear case for visual media as a form of education, but of largely
the wrong kind: animated films (but especially those produced by Disney)
appear to identify children more as self-interested consumers than com-
munity-serving citizens.
7. Bell (2012) notes that Hasbro is planning at least five more mov-
ies based on its games, including Candy Land, Ouija, and Monopoly.
Brown (2012) describes DreamWorks’ Transformers series as “the most
brazenly ‘kidult’-oriented franchise in the history of popular cinema.
It started life as a successful toy range produced by Hasbro … Hasbro
then struck a distribution deal with DreamWorks for a motion picture
based on the toy line” (200). Later, Brown notes, Hasbro CEO con-
gratulated director Michael Bay for making a very “toyetic” film. Schuker
(2009) agrees, noting that “no recent project has been more toyetic than
‘Transformers.’”
8. One can add the subject of fantasy to the criticism of family films as well,
because, as Brown (2012) notes, “a richly detailed fictional world affords
almost limitless opportunities for merchandise and other ancillary reve-
nues” (195).
9. In 2013, Murdoch split his media monopoly into 20th Century Fox and
News Corp, but still maintains control over both.
10. Wall-E also won Best Original Screenplay (Academy Awards), Best
Film (American Film Institute), and Best Animated Film at the Golden
Globes, among other accolades.
11. It is actually unclear whether Shelby Forthright even was the President of
the United States or whether the office of the presidency had been sub-
sumed by a corporate entity. The films hints that this may be the case,
even while it film appears to represent the USA.
12. In the original fairy tale, an evil sprite tries to create mischief by taking
a magical mirror (that makes everyone look bad in some way) from the
Snow Queen up to the top of the sky, but it breaks, sending shards of
misfortune down on everyone for years to come.
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Potato Head’s Agent!’ Wall Street Journal, November 6.
Siklos, Richard. 2008. Apple and Eve Revealed. CNN, May 12.
Silverman, H. 2002. Groovin’to Ancient Peru: A Critical Analysis of Disney’s
the Emperor’s New Groove. Journal of Social Archaeology 2 (3): 298–322.
doi:10.1177/146960530200200302.
Steinberg, Shirley R. 2011. Kinderculture The Corporate Construction of
Childhood, 3rd ed. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Storey, John. 2012. Cultural Theory and Popular Culture: An Introduction.
Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press.
Townsend, Allie. 2011. State of Play: Toy Companies have Become Hollywood’s
New Auteurs. Time Magazine, July 11.
Turow, Joseph, and Matthew P. McAllister. 2009. The Advertising and Consumer
Culture Reader. New York: Routledge.
Wasko, Janet. 2003. How Hollywood Works. London, UK: Sage.
Wells, Paul. 2003. Animation: Forms and Meanings. In An Introduction to Film
Studies, ed. Jill Nelmes, 3rd ed. London, UK: Routledge.
Whitley, David. 2008. The Idea of Nature in Disney animation: From Snow White
to WALL-E. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Publishing.
CHAPTER 3
The Spy Who Saved Me: Sustainability,

Identity, and Intrigue in the Espionage
Thriller
This chapter analyzes two films that are identified as existing (predomi-
nantly) in the spy thriller genre: Quantum of Solace and Kingsman:
The Secret Service. As with all other films selected for analysis in this
book, Quantum and Kingsman deal with environmental issues, in this
case water scarcity and climate change respectively. In addition, both
films have a similar narrative structure and a familiar set of characters.
Although this book could (and perhaps should!) be criticized for includ-
ing a film like Kingsman, which has been described as a parody of the
spy thriller intended for millennials, it also is clear that this film closely
and consistently follows all the conventions of the generic form. The
film’s core theme about climate change makes it even more alluring
to include in this chapter. Indeed, both films can trace their lineage to
British spy fiction and historic “narratives of intrigue” (Hepburn 2005).
Van Ginneken (2007, 152) contends that “The spy movie is a particu-
larly attractive genre. The hero is [someone] we can easily identify with,
but his actions (and he is usually male) take place in a highly charged
military context abroad …” Hepburn (2005, 53–54) provides perhaps
the best treatment of spy literature (and, by extension, the spy film genre)
in terms of both origin and broad defining characteristics. The spy thriller
is ripe for analysis because it is “often about codes, secret languages, and
encrypted meanings [that] require reading beyond the surface.” In liter-
ary form, spy narratives began to flourish in in the early 1900s through
works by Joseph Conrad and Erskine Childers (among others) as a way
to address concerns about national security (Hepburn 2005). In terms

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_3
68 E.E. MOORE
of defining features, Hepburn notes that spy narratives “rely on thrills …

at moments of crisis” (24), and that the spies themselves (although they
work independently) exhibit “absolute, unswerving allegiance to country
or ideology” (25) that ultimately makes them “act in the interests of the
public or the state” (20). Chapman (1999, 20) identifies the common
denominator in spy fiction as the characters themselves: they are “instinc-
tively competitive, patriotic, honest, and square-jawed defenders of the
realm.” Partly because of this unswerving nationalism, the spy ultimately
becomes a fungible signifier for various cultural fears and fantasies as well
as embodying political identity and struggle through “messages of repres-
sion and conservatism, masculinity and sexuality” (Hepburn 2005, 21).
Indeed, it is through the rigid structure of espionage narratives that the
analyst can begin to draw out ideology:
Recurrent tropes in spy fiction acquire new meanings when located in

different narratives, since variations in representation bring variations in
signification. The problem of intrigue narratives is not one of formulaic
repetition, but of interpreting repetition as a clue to ideologically sensitive
material. (Hepburn 2005, 21)
The job for analysis, then, of any generic form, but especially the espio-
nage thriller, is to suss out the repetitive elements that occur in different
contexts and focus on different subjects of “intrigue”—in this case, how
the ecological issues of climate change and drought are treated in the
fairly rigid structure of the spy thriller genre in Kingsman and Quantum
of Solace, respectively. Because these films focus on different environ-
mental problems, there should be room for polysemy, especially when it
comes to alternate and/or critical messages about consumption and capi-
talism. But the spy genre itself may offer, as I have noted earlier, some
resistance to resistance: Hepburn notes that in intrigue narratives “sub-
version, whether embodied in terrorists or rogue agents, is eliminated
from political representation as too dangerous. Intrigue narratives invent
ideological alternatives, but those alternatives are not de facto revolu-
tionary or subversive” (2005, 21).
It is important here to state the obvious: that not every spy film is
the same, and that even individual espionage movies contain multiple
generic elements—which means they do not fit neatly into any one typol-
ogy or generic form. Writing on the Bond series in particular, Chapman
(1999) notes that locating the film franchise “in the generic profile of
popular cinema is not such an easy task [because] relationships can be
3 THE SPY WHO SAVED ME: SUSTAINABILITY, IDENTITY … 69
identified between the Bond movies and several other types of poplar
cinema both past and present” (19), including the British imperial spy
thriller, the cliff-hanger adventure serial, the Hollywood action movie,
and the “Bondian”—that unique genus formed solely by Bond films.
Bond films follow the generic lineage of British spy fiction, but at the
same time the series “marks the convergence of a number of different
generic forms and traditions” (Chapman 1999, 22). One can, of course,
make the same claim about the spy narrative “pastiche” when it comes
to Kingsman: The Secret Service, which is part British spy thriller, part
parody (especially of Bond films), with elements of action adventure.
When it comes to Bond films, however, in the end Chapman agrees that
“the spy thriller is … the most appropriate generic context in which to
place [Bond’s] adventures” (24). Stated a different way, it is still true
that the “dominant recognizable form” of the spy thriller remains Bond
(Solomon and Formula 1976).
To recognize that Bond films in particular contain an admixture of
different traditions as well as elements of several generic forms is not to
argue that Bond films themselves are heterogeneous in meaningful ways
when it comes to ideology. Here, Umberto Eco’s analysis of the novels
on which the Bond films are based reveals that
We might compare a novel by Fleming to a game of football in which we

know beforehand the…rules of the game…. It would be more accurate to
compare a novel by Fleming to a game of basketball played by the Harlem
Globetrotters against a local team. We know with absolute confidence that
the Globetrotters will win: the pleasure lies in watching the trained virtuos-
ity with which they defer the final moment, with what ingenious deviations
they reconfirm the foregone conclusion…. The novels of Fleming exploit
in exemplary measure that element of foregone play which is typical of the
escape machine geared for entertainment of the masses. (Eco 1992, 166)
Eco believes that Bond novels contain rigid narrative structures that
“inevitably entail ideological positions, but these do not derive so much
from the structured contents as from the way of structuring them”
(1992, 167). And it is important to understand the ideological positions
of Bond films when it comes to environmental issues due in part to the
sheer and lasting popularity of Bond: as Woollacott and Bennett (1987,
15) note, Bond is the quintessential popular hero who is “massively and
enduringly popular.”
70 E.E. MOORE
A note is in order about the genre that many scholars believe created the
foundation for print and cinematic spy adventures: the thriller.1 McCarty
(1992) places the origin for the thriller in England (in both print and cin-
ematic form) that only later gained respect in the USA as more than just
“pulp.” About Bond novels in particular, Palmer (1979) observes that Ian
Fleming was one of the most successful and prolific thriller creators, with
consistent elements of “good living, sex, and violent action” as well as the
theme of conspiracy that undergirded most Bondian plots (40).2 Although
he demurs that he can’t “lay claim to a formula” (80), Palmer recognizes
that thrillers are designed to electrify the audience or reader through “sex-
ual provocation, danger, conspiracy …” that involves heroes against vil-
lains (76).3 Hoppenstand (2014, xiv) appears to agree with many of these
elements, but also adds that many American thrillers contain elements of
the horror story, where “fright and the development of fear are the desired
responses.” Because of this, Palmer believes Fleming texts to be “paradig-
matic of thrillers in general,” and not just of espionage films (40).
Having defined how the spy thriller genre is defined and will be used
here, this chapter continues with interpretation of both Quantum of
Solace and Kingsman: The Secret Service. Each analysis begins with a brief
description of the characters central to the story as well as the overall nar-
rative as it relates to the specific environmental issue in question. An inte-
gral component of this textual analysis (and of diagnostic critique as it is
used here) is the exploration of the prominent signifiers as they relate to
ecological problems. Analysis of each film then progresses with a consid-
eration of the environmental context in which these films are made—espe-
cially in terms of issues relating to global drought and climate change.
How Environmental Issues are Portrayed in the Spy

Thriller
Quantum of Solace
Water, water every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
Robert Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Quantum of Solace—the 22nd film in the Bond franchise—opened

in 2008 to lukewarm reception from critics but a robust initial open-
ing weekend at the box office (almost $68 million) and a high summary
total (US domestic plus international ticket sales) of over $580 million.4
It was produced and promoted by Hollywood backers Metro-Goldwyn-
Mayer Pictures and Columbia Pictures. Directed by Marc Forster (who
has produced an impressively diverse set of films including The Kite
Runner, World War Z, Monster’s Ball, and Sueno), the film chronicles
the global adventures of Bond (played by pale, blue-eyed, blonde Daniel
Craig) as he tries to single-handedly stop an elite, secret, and danger-
ous group called “Quantum.” Quantum’s ringleader is Dominic Greene,
the founder of an ersatz ecological organization called Greene Planet,
which provides a front for illegal activities. The first written version of
this appeared as a short story in a 1959 issue of Cosmopolitan magazine.
Although it shares the same name as the Hollywood film, the plot is not
the same, and it generally is not considered a spy story. What follows is
a synopsis of the film, highlighting scenes and characters germane to the
analysis that follows.
Quantum of Solace Summary

Quantum of Solace opens with Bond in Italy, where its predecessor film—
Casino Royale—ended, with a fast-moving shot low over Lake Garda.
As the audience, we move quickly over the clean, sparkling blue water,
suddenly rising to see Bond engaged in a quick and deadly car chase on
a road adjoining the lake. Successful in shaking off his pursuers, Bond
brings in a man wanted by the British Secret Service (MI6). During
interrogation, the man reveals that he is a member of an all-powerful
secret group (which turns out to be Quantum) that has members eve-
rywhere. The man escapes with the help of people from the organiza-
tion (plants within MI6), which sets Bond on an international chase to
find out more about the group. His first stop: Port au Prince, Haiti.
After almost getting killed by a woman (Camille) at the airport, he winds
up following her to a dock over the waters of Port au Prince, where he
meets Mr. Greene, who is working with a sadistic Bolivian general so
he can buy a large section of (seemingly) barren Bolivian desert. In this
scene, Bond is shown wearing his sunglasses, while two-thirds of the
screen is occupied by the aqua waters that sparkle brightly behind him.
Because General Medrano absconds with Camille, Bond chases Medrano
72 E.E. MOORE
and his men on a boat, ultimately saving the woman after a prolonged
chase scene on the appealingly blue, glittering waters.
In search of more information about Quantum, Bond travels to
Austria, arriving at the famous Bregenz open-air floating theatre on
Lake Constance for a night performance of Tosca. As Bond learns more
about Quantum from the members—including Greene—who attend the
opera, the azure waters of the lake gleam darkly in the foreground. Mr.
Greene, unaware Bond is listening in on his wireless conversations, tells
his fellow Quantum members enigmatically that more pipeline is needed,
for “This is the world’s most precious resource. We need to control as
much of it as we can.” What “this” is, exactly, is unidentified for the
moment, although the reference to “pipeline” hints that it may in fact
be oil. Bond ultimately disrupts the group and follows Greene to Bolivia,
where the majority of action takes place. At the airport, Bond is met
by Strawberry Fields, a British agent who has been tasked with taking
him back to Britain the next day due to his (characteristically) renegade
behavior. During his cab ride from the airport, his Spanish-speaking cab
driver (through subtitles) expresses concern about the lack of water in
the country, saying it “has not been raining enough,” and that the gla-
ciers are melting. After they arrive at their hotel room, Bond (characteris-
tically) shows interest in Agent Fields and they sleep together.
After his sexual encounter, Bond (with Fields) attends a fundraiser to
raise money for Greene Planet, where he hears Mr. Greene say the fol-
lowing to the group of wealthy attendees:
We are in a spiral of environmental decline. Since 1945, 70 percent of

the planet’s vegetated surface has been irreversibly degraded. The Tierra
Project is just one small part of a global network of eco parks that Greene
Planet has created to rejuvenate a world on the verge of collapse.
Interested to learn more about why Greene wants to purchase a dry plot
of Bolivian desert, Bond and Camille take a plane to survey the area.
When they are shot down in what turns into a fiery plane wreck, they
parachute out to learn (from a visit to an underground cavern) the rea-
son Greene was so desperate to purchase the land: a vast underground
water source that he has dammed, creating a drought for the people of
Bolivia. The scene cuts to another showing Bolivian citizens living in a
nameless desert town who gather around the town’s drying well. They
stare with concern as the pipe from the well releases only a few precious
stops—and then stops. As Camille and Bond survey the subterranean

dam, the water glitters invitingly in the background, even without any
apparent light source. Bond has a revelatory moment, telling Camille:
“Greene isn’t after the oil; he wants the water. It’s one dam: he’s creat-
ing a drought and will build others.” They return to the hotel to find
Agent Fields naked and dead on the bed, her skin—and lungs, as M
reveals to Bond—coated in gritty black oil.
It is clear at this point in the film that there are other parties interested
in Greene. Two American CIA agents are convinced that Greene wants
oil that might exist in the Bolivian desert. As a result, the US government
is willing to work with Greene—despite his illegal and homicidal activi-
ties—if it means access to oil for the USA. Despite American interest, it is
clear that oil is not the commodity in which Greene is interested.
The culmination of the film occurs at a structure that, in the film, is
identified as an “eco hotel” called “Perla de las Dunas” Greene owns
and that runs on fuel cells from hydrogen in the middle of the Bolivian
desert.5 General Medrano and Greene meet to sign over the land while
Medrano (partly joking, with portent) asks if the fuel cells that power
the hotel are safe. Medrano then learns of Greene’s intention to control
the water utilities of Bolivia and balks, but is ultimately persuaded when
Greene threatens to remove him from power and install a puppet gov-
ernment, asking him rhetorically, “you don’t need another Marxist giv-
ing all the resources to the people, do you?”
Ultimately, the scene ends in murder and chaos. As Bond attacks a
vehicle containing the chief of police, it backs into one of the hydrogen
tanks used for “clean energy” for the hotel, which sets of a chain reac-
tion of explosions. During the sequential pyrotechnics. Bond goes after
Greene, and Camille attempts to kill Medrano. As Bond fights with
Greene in the hotel hallway, sprinklers go off overhead, dousing the two
characters who are surrounded by flame. Greene smashes the glass case
holding a hatchet and fire hose and tries to use it against Bond. Both
Bond and Camille manage to kill their enemies. In the meantime, the
sequential explosions quickly destroy the hotel and anyone unlucky
enough to still be inside of it. Bond and Camille escape alive, with Bond
taking Greene to the middle of the desert, leaving him with only a can of
motor oil to drink. He is found later, dead of gunshot wounds, and with
motor oil in his stomach.
At the end of the film, when Bond travels to Russia to avenge a for-
mer love (and, supposedly, for the sake of the Crown), it is snowing on
74 E.E. MOORE
the streets. He drops a memento in the snow, thus moving past his pain-
ful feelings for former love Vesper Lynd. M meets Bond, telling him
that MI6 needs him to return to serving the agency. Bond’s reply? “I
never left”—reaffirming his unwavering commitment to his crown and
country.
Quantum of Solace Analysis: A Fight for the Right Resource

As a Bond movie, the film provides few initial surprises when it comes
to characters and overall narrative. James Bond is still—40 years after
the first film Casino Royale hit the screens—hegemonically mascu-
line: white, upper-class, heterosexual, muscular, and violent. Although
a loner who rebels against the constrictions his government places on
him, Bond still embodies the “militaristic and nationalistic ideology”
that Eco (1992, 177) recognized in the original Fleming novels.6 As a
result, even though Chapman (1999) identifies Bond is a “shifting signi-
fier” “whose meaning changes over time and is reconfigured according
to different cultural and ideological circumstances” (2013, 1), Savoye
argues that Bond “remains the guardian of the Order and of Western
normative values, and corresponds thus to a very determined ideological
tendency” (2013, 19). In other words, “as a signifier, James Bond may
be highly mobile; as a signified, he doesn’t travel much” (Savoye 2013,
19). As such, the formula recognized by Savoye and Eco for spy thrillers
and Bond novels (respectively) remains firmly in place regarding Bond’s
(almost always) casual sexual dalliances mixed with violent encounters
where the forces of good always win out over evil. Interestingly, all this
formulaic structure remains rigidly in place despite Forster’s assertion in
an interview (Reelz, n.d.) that he was given complete freedom except for
one “rule”—“that Bond doesn’t kill innocent people.”7
Analysis gets more interesting when one realizes that there is another
major character in the film, one that is woven into every major scene in
some form or another: water. Water in this film is everywhere, includ-
ing to the point of potential awkwardness: in one scene involving the
American government agents in their hotel room, one questions the
cleanliness of the bottled Bolivian water that the other is drinking. Both
assume the bottled water is not what it is supposed to be (clean). Aside
from that scene, water is portrayed in very romantic terms: it is spot-
less and pure, it sparkles even when it is nighttime (at the opera), or in
total darkness in an underground cave. Its innate value is recognized by
most in the film, including Greene, the Bolivian citizens, and of course
by Bond himself.
In contradistinction to the purity and value of water is oil, which plays
a distinct supporting role to water in a way that ultimately underscores
water’s value. In visual contrast to the impossibly clean, luminous water
in the film, oil is black, gritty, dirty … and hazardous to your health. Oil
is—twice—the direct agent of death for characters in the film: the British
agent (whose lungs were coated with it), and Greene (whose stomach
was filled with it). The Americans were willing to do business with cor-
rupt organizations as long as they could get more of it, demonstrating its
corrupting influence as well as the Americans’ dependence on it.
As Savoye (2013, 97) aptly recognizes, Quantum of Solace reveals the
importance of nature within the film’s narrative “by directly associating
water with the primary conflict.”8 Here, water and oil are competing
commodities, but the film makes clear which is the most valuable. Greene
cannot drink the oil, which proves (in its binary position) water’s supe-
rior position in terms of ultimate value to human life. In the end, what
becomes the most important—what is essential for human life—is water.
It is important to note that in 2008 the average gas price worldwide sky-
rocketed, making oil one of the most commercially valuable commodi-
ties. Fossil fuels, of course, also provide the scaffolding for the global
agricultural system (as well documented by Jackson 2010 and Macedo
et al. 2015), making it even more valuable on a broader scale. In 2008, it
would have made sense for Forster as director to choose oil to be the sub-
stance most fought over by different organizations and countries. But, as
noted, it was water that was the star of the film. As Buell (2005, 4) notes,
in literature, nature can represent a main character, or “agential force.”9
And although water is literally the backdrop in major scenes, it is clearly
the central character. In an interview, Forster (2008) explains:
I believe that the next crisis will be water. I think there are so few peo-
ple who have access to drinking water, and I think it’s a really emerging
problem. There are so many people like Greene who are buying up water
sources. And water, right now, is already way more expensive than oil. I
think the main bulk of politicians in this world hopefully understand now
that we have to move away from oil and look for alternative energy sources,
and have to rethink that. But I think nobody has understood, yet, the essen-
tial necessity for water and how that will affect us in the coming millennium.
Forster’s comment echoes the central message of the movie: if you’re

enlightened, you realize that water, not oil, is fast becoming our most
76 E.E. MOORE
precious resource. He chose to film much of Quantum of Solace in the

Atacama Desert in Chile, the driest place on Earth: this geographic loca-
tion thus provides an apropos backdrop for a film so focused on water
scarcity. Gandy observes that the desert landscape can be “a powerful
tableau for the enactment of a particular form of cultural critique” (317).
That much of the latter half of the film takes place in the desert (where
the final shootout takes place, and where the evil Mr. Greene dies) hints
strongly to us that the struggles by Bond against the bad guys represent
larger issues around power, including those related to this most precious
resource. In this sense, the “arid landscapes” function as the wider cri-
tiques of society that Gandy (2006) identifies.
It also speaks to what is happening on a global level with water scar-
city. The politics of water—including those around water shortages and
human manipulations of landscape—have been studied for decades (e.g.,
Ostrom 1953; Reisner 1987; Ward 2002; Shiva 2002; Fishman 2012;
Chellaney 2013; Franco et al. 2013), and is fast becoming seen as a valu-
able and profitable commodity: as famed asset manager Michael Burry
recently stated, “Fresh, clean water cannot be taken for granted. And it
is not—water is political, and litigious” (in Pressler 2015). Along these
lines, in Water Wars, Ward (2002, 2) recounts what a Turkish Minister
of State once told her: “If you end the oil supply, the motor stops.
But if you stop the water supply, life stops.” This is especially true for
drier places, where managing water becomes essential to ensure viable
human habitation (Ward 2002), including South American nations.
There is nowhere in the world where the water shortage situation is
more acute than in Brazil: as Lizzie O’Leary observed in a Marketplace
interview with a former environmental minister about overpopulation
and drought, “You have all the elements for a perfect storm, except that
we don’t have water” (in Specter 2015). As Ward (2002, 9) keenly rec-
ognizes, there is human conflict about even relatively small sources of
water: “As we face the alarming fact that the physical supply of water
has limits, we dig our wells deeper, remove salt from the ocean at huge
expense, and use and reuse water over and over.”
The significance of the focus on water rights in Forster’s Quantum of
Solace is underscored by the growing trend of “water grabbing” through
land acquisition. According to Franco et al. (2013, 1653–1654), “Water
grabbing is a process in which powerful actors are able to take control
of, or reallocate to their own benefit, water resources used by local com-
munities…” By its very nature, water grabbing (mostly through land
acquisition) involves issues of environmental justice, with a particular

emphasis on “water justice.” Franco et al. (2013, 1654) note that it is
important to see the control of a natural resource like water “as the cap-
turing of control not just of the water itself, but also of the power to
decide how this will be used—by whom, when, for how long and for
what purposes—in order to control the benefits of use.” Thus, the scene
in Quantum of Solace, when the Bolivian townspeople gather around the
town’s drying well, speaks directly to the growing issue of global water
justice. It also alludes to the fact that water grabbing represents a wider
pattern of natural resource control and allocation on an international
scale that Franco et al. (2013) recognize and document.
Franco et al. (2013, 1662) note that the Dublin Statement (result-
ing from a 1992 international and intergovernmental International
Conference on Water and the Environment, held in Ireland) was a
pivotal (and problematic) moment in defining water as a commod-
ity (“economic good”), because to do so was criticized by many in the
water justice movement as legitimizing “the ‘commodification’ of a
life-giving resource” as well as justifying “potential privatization” of
water. Quantum of Solace of course speaks directly to the idea of water
as a profitable commodity, made more valuable in its scarcity. But, as
Holmgren et al. (2013) note, “water is not just another commodity. It
is both a public and a private good,” and one that requires cooperation
across national borders. According to Specter (2015)
The various physical calamities that confront the world are hard to
separate, but growing hunger and the struggle to find clean water for
billions of people are clearly connected. Each problem fuels others, par-
ticularly in the developing world—where the harshest impact of natural
catastrophes has always been felt. Yet the water crisis challenges even the
richest among us.
As a result, “water—and who controls it” is “caught up in the painful
politics of nations (Ward 2002, 173).
This discussion would not be complete without noting the current
(May 2017) violent and painful struggle over both water and oil in North
Dakota in the USA, where for months the Sioux Native American tribe
has been fighting alongside hundreds of other Indigenous tribes for their
right to clean water. Energy Transfer Partners, the company behind the
approximately 1100-mile Dakota Access Pipeline that would take oil from
northern North Dakota to southern Illinois on its way to the Gulf of
Mexico, has employed security guards to fight the tribes protesting the
78 E.E. MOORE
pipeline using attack dogs, mace, tear gas, and (it has been rumored) con-
cussion grenades. As of this writing, winter has set in, and the Indigenous
protesters have been subject to tear gas and water cannons in freezing
weather, endangering their health. One protester (who was White) had
her arm nearly blown off during protests and was hospitalized.
At issue is the fact that the pipeline is set to cross the Missouri river.
Originally, as various sources reported, Energy Transfer Partners con-
sidered constructing the pipeline upstream from the town of Bismarck;
however, rumors began to circulate that several of the city’s citizens were
concerned that it would endanger their water supply. Whether because
of this or for some other reason, the corporation moved the pipeline so
that it was downstream from Bismarck, but upstream to the Pine Ridge
Sioux Reservation. If an oil spill were to occur, it would endanger those
on the reservation, and not the people of Bismarck. The issue thus
becomes a struggle over clean water, one that clearly falls within envi-
ronmental justice concerns. “Mni wiconi” has been heard as the rallying
cry by the protesters: the Sioux translation is “Water is life.” However,
the issue runs deeper, for the Indigenous “water protectors” also believe
that the US government should be moving away from the use of fossil
fuels and towards a new economy based on renewable energy. The pipe-
line and Indigenous protests thus speak to the “real-world” correlates
to Quantum of Solace, especially when it comes to privileging access to
clean water over the continued use of polluting oil.
On the surface, it would seem that Quantum of Solace is concerned
with environmental justice issues on a global scale, especially between
those with economic and political power who can control natural
resources needed for health, and those who have little to no economic
power or political agency. I think this is true to some extent but for a
few significant inclusions and omissions in the film that invite additional
exploration. First, it seems odd that the Bolivian people shown in the
film lamenting the drying of their wells would not know the ultimate ori-
gin of their water. Perhaps not all would know, but local engineers, some
elders, or local government officials would likely know from whence
their water flows. Second, it seems that, because some of them logically
would have this knowledge, they would go to the source to find out why
it was dry. There they might discover the dam that Greene had built,
and begin to work on any solution possible to gain their water back. As
Ward (2002) notes, people who live in the driest places tend to be the
ones who know water the best, because they need to know about water
to survive. The film, however, depicts them as passive—things happen
to them and they have no ability or (perhaps) desire to control their

fate—and also ignorant of the cause of the woes facing them. Because
of this, Quantum of Solace includes the well-known trope referred to as
the “White Savior,” where a White (and almost always male) hero comes
to save people of color from their sundry predicaments, most recently
seen in Universal’s The Great Wall with Matt Damon, Dream Works’ The
Help with Emma Stone, and (more subtly) 20th Century Fox’s Hidden
Figures with Kevin Costner. Hughey (2014, 2) identifies the prob-
lem clearly when it comes to filmic portrayals of race: “Such imposing
patronage enables an interpretation of nonwhite characters and culture
as essentially broken, marginalized, and pathological, while whites can
emerge as messianic characters that easily fix the nonwhite pariah with
their superior moral and mental abilities.” As such, one can clearly see
echoes of the “racist colonialism” that Eco (1992, 177) identifies in
Fleming’s novels, as well as the “imperialist nostalgia” of the Bond genre
as described by Hasian (2014, 573), where “Anglo-American viewers”
are encouraged to create (or reinforce) “new forms of post-colonial
identities.”10 Imperialist nostalgia is visible within Quantum of Solace,
especially when considering Britain’s involvement with South American
countries like Peru and Argentina in the early nineteenth century. If the
Bolivians are not organized or knowledgeable enough to protect them-
selves against power-hungry evildoers like Greene and Quantum, then
the British Empire is undoubtedly obliged to step in/intervene. As
Hasian (2014, 570) puts it, Bond films become “a way of celebrating the
continued relevance—and implied superiority—of (post)colonial ways of
governing societies in the battles that have to be fought against terror-
ism.” And, because of this, the “white savior” becomes directly—if inad-
vertently, or even supposedly unwillingly—identified as the protector of
the environment and an agent for environmental justice.
The “white savior” theme coheres well with the fact that, even after
Bond defeats and kills Greene, there is no indication that he took any
action regarding the dam, or even told anyone about it. Even though
initial scenes revealed the townspeople’s suffering from the Greene-
induced drought, there was no follow-up showing the Bolivian peo-
ple joyfully getting their water (and lives, and livelihoods) back. Here,
then, we understand that Bond acts not for the Bolivian people, or for
any overtly environmental cause, but for the sole purpose of defeating a
threat to the Crown—the Quantum organization through Greene.
In addition to concerns about the portrayals of Bolivian townspeople
are some curious depictions of environmentalists, environmentalism, and
80 E.E. MOORE
environmental technology. Two specific portrayals are of note. First, the

only environmentalist (Greene) that we as the audience get to know in
the film is pathological, homicidal, and elitist. The ersatz nature of his
environmentalism is made clear by Greene’s front company—Greene
Planet—which operates only so that he can grab and control major water
resources for profit and global power. The other characters supposed to
be interested in environmentalism are wealthy donors who show little
enthusiasm for the ecological cause other than the prominence of their
own name or organization in public identification. As such, the portrayal
of environmentalists is cynical—it’s all about profit and “feel good”
activities rather than “real good” ones. Bond himself, as we’ve already
established, is no environmentalist—he acts as he does for the sake of
England, and not for the Bolivian people or for the environment.
Second, regarding environmental technology, we as the audience get
a mixed message. Bond, the shameless hawker of countless commercial
goods, drives a Ford Edge that supposedly runs on hydrogen power via
fuel cells (but that, even almost 10 years later, is a technology still in
the making). Typical for Bond, the car is sleek, reliable, and powerful—
and thus seems to be a positive “plug” for ecologically friendly new fuel
technologies. But the almost comically explosive hydrogen tanks that
are responsible for the quick and deadly incineration of the Perla de las
Dunas “eco hotel” send a different message. It only took a vehicle back-
ing into one of the tanks to transform the hotel into a fireball, making
fuel cells seem more akin to the much-maligned 1970s Ford Pinto than
to a sophisticated technology of the future.
Ultimately, it is worthwhile to question what we as the audience
are invited to believe about myriad facets of environmentalism from
Quantum of Solace, including the motives of environmental leaders, the
feasibility of cleaner technologies, and who should be in control of nat-
ural resources. Regarding the first, this film encourages us to see those
who engage with environmentalism as corrupt and profit driven. In this
view, the environment is here just a commodity—albeit a valuable one—
to be manipulated and controlled by power players on the global stage.
The film also sends quirky and contradictory messages about what role
cleaner technologies should play in our lives: will they provide a clean
energy source that we can use in lieu of dirty fossil fuels, or will they
provide a questionable and volatile source of energy that may inciner-
ate us without notice? Finally, Quantum of Solace implicitly identi-
fies who should be in charge of a precious natural resource like water:
it can’t be the Bolivians, who are portrayed as either too immoral (the
General) or too ignorant (the people) to protect it or use it sustainably.
In this aspect, the film presents postcolonial fantasies about the need for
the British Empire to act decisively on the world stage to protect natural
resources on behalf of other countries who are too poor, disorganized,
or corrupt to do it themselves.
Feldman (2012) notes concerns about “the geopolitics of freshwa-
ter,” especially the increasingly intense competition over water supply
on a global scale, which requires careful and active management by dif-
ferent nations in cooperation. In this sense, Forster’s Quantum of Solace
is a film set in the future, one that will see more droughts due to cli-
mate change and overpopulation as well as a time with great potential
for cleaner technologies that move us away from an overreliance on fos-
sil fuels. How nations will face this challenge—indeed, if cooperation is
feasible or even needed—is one rhetorical question posed by Quantum
of Solace, a film about the politics of water in a world increasingly con-
cerned about access to it. Related to this is Fleming’s well-known state-
ment that he saw his Bond stories as “fairy tales for adults.” Fairy tales
are cautionary stories that contain admonitions about morality, power,
and “right” courses of action and character. As such, while Quantum
of Solace provides a clear call to recognize the value of clean water, its
portrayals of Bolivian people serves to (inadvertently or purposefully)
marginalize people of color and their potential role in global efforts to
address this situation.
Kingsman: The Secret Service

Opening in early 2015, Kingsman: The Secret Service garnered a relatively
modest $36 million in domestic (USA) in its initial weekend. However,
by the time the dust had settled on box office numbers, including inter-
national tickets sales, numbers had swelled to a little over $414 mil-
lion, marking it officially as a box office success, and ensuring a sequel,
released in 2017. Mendelson (2015) at Forbes attributes the international
success of the film, which “has basically grossed five times its $81 million
budget in just under three months of worldwide release,” to the strong
international presence of the transnational distributor of the film—
20th Century Fox, Inc. Part of the analysis that follows interrogates the
potential role that this concentrated, politically conservative company
82 E.E. MOORE
may have played in the content of the story itself, especially as it relates
to an politically charged environmental issue like climate change.
Kingsman Summary
Kingsman is a self-referential, over-the-top, ultra-violent update to the
spy thriller genre film that is at once a parody of spy movies (especially
Bond films) and a steadfast homage to the genre. It was adapted from
a graphic novel by Mark Millar and Dave Gibbons about a professor-
turned-technological entrepreneur who wants to kidnap celebrities while
he plots the demise of the world’s population through lethal cell phone
signals. The original graphic novel is a text focusing almost entirely on
the actions of white men (British agents) who spend much of their time
denigrating Chinese, Vietnamese, and Arabs in “casual” conversation
while fighting international crime.
The film is loosely based on the graphic novel and revolves around
working-class Gary “Eggsy” Unwin, whose father was a secret agent in
an international organization called “Kingsman.” When Eggsy, an intel-
ligent but troubled young man, is bailed out by Harry Hart, one of his
father’s old friends (also a secret agent), he embarks on a journey with
fellow agents to save the world from Richmond Valentine, an African-
American graduate from MIT who wants to halt climate change by hav-
ing the world population kill themselves using his free smart phone SIM
card, which sends out a signal that dramatically increases aggressiveness.
Valentine is aided by his accomplice, a heavily accented woman of
color who has sharp swords as prosthetic limbs that she uses to slice
limbs and heads off people that try to thwart Valentine and his evil plan.
Valentine has been using his influence as a technology entrepreneur and
billionaire to gain support for his murderous plan from world leaders,
including former American President Barack Obama, who is shown nod-
ding encouragingly at Valentine as he tells him his evil plot while he sits
in the White House. In the end, world leaders and other wealthy and
political elite gather in Valentine’s snowy mountain top retreat to watch
the “V-Day” mayhem (where the working-class of the world kill each
other mano a mano) on Valentine’s cameras while listening to the gar-
ishly upbeat KC and the Sunshine Band song “Give It Up” while disco
balls and colored lights make this a festive occasion. Eggsy’s cohort, a
female agent almost incapacitated by her fear of heights, temporar-
ily disables Valentine’s communications satellite using old but reliable
technology from “Reagan’s Star Wars program.” But soon the plan
is back on, and Valentine and his female accomplice are groaning with
delight as they watch people murder each other in London, Rio de
Janeiro, and other places around the world.
Ultimately, Eggsy (primarily) and his friends figure out a way to kill
the elites, who have (as a plot twist) agreed to a cranial implant that will
protect them from the SIM cards effects. Unbeknownst to them, the
implants can also overheat their brains, causing them to explode. When
Eggsy figures out how to activate the implants, the heads of the wealthy
and world leaders begin to colorfully explode: like fireworks, there are
sparks with a multitude of colors that shoot to the ceilings. The scene
depicts Obama’s head (again from behind) exploding in a dramatic
burst, along with his entire cabinet in a colorful fireworks display. And
so, Valentine’s plan is foiled, ultimately leaving him and his accomplice
dead, both receiving appropriately gory ends. The film offers no conclu-
sions about the impact of Eggsy’s success in stopping Valentine on the
threat of climate change: instead, the final scene shows Eggsy prepar-
ing to have anal sex with a “Swedish princess” (she has offered her “ass-
hole” in exchange for him saving the world and freeing her). The camera
shows her naked buttocks in great detail as she lifts them to receive him
(the camera’s positioning indicates that we are Eggsy in this fantasy), and
then the credits roll.
Climate Change as a Myth and the Role of the Upper-

Class White Male in Solving a “Non-Problem”
Part of the challenge of analyzing Kingsman is that there are so many
potential points of intersection around the filmic portrayals of climate
change, including ethnicity, conservative politics, and media ownership.
In addition, the fact that the movie is both parody of 1960s spy thrillers
and an uncritical homage to them makes it a complex task to interrogate,
because it appears to offer no one ideological perspective in earnest. In
the end, however, it is clear that there are serious, politically conservative
messages about climate change underneath the humor, including those
that connect directly with ethnicity.
Although there is much to say regarding portrayals of gender in
Kingsman (mainly that women play marginal roles in the spy world by
being either inept, ornamental, one-dimensional, and/or unswervingly
84 E.E. MOORE
evil), analysis here turns primarily to the significance of portrayals of eth-

nicity in relation to an ecological problem like climate change. Before
the primary plot begins, the film opens with a backstory depicting non-
descript Arab “Others” wearing scarves and sporting beards somewhere
(we are told) in the “Middle East,” who are easily killed by British secret
agents. In the dust and rubble of the destruction of what appears (gener-
ically) to be an Islamic temple behind them, the words “20th Century
Fox presents” come comically bouncing out in garish gold lettering, per-
haps to suggest that this is all for fun, and not to take anything too seri-
ously. But as this initial scene makes clear, humor or no, Hollywood’s
trend of unfavorable and often incredibly facile portrayals of people of
color continues in Kingsman.
Most “bad guys” in the movie (including President Obama) are people
of color: as noted, evil megalomaniac billionaire Richmond Valentine is
African-American, while his accomplice, the woman with brown skin and
swords for prosthetic legs, is not identified by specific ethnicity but speaks
in a heavy (non-British, non-American) accent. Here, it is worth describ-
ing Valentine in detail. He is “hip hop accoutered,”11 always wearing his
signature sideways baseball cap with gaudy track suits and gold jewelry
in a style.12 In an apparent nod to his intelligence and nerdiness, he also
wears collared shirts buttoned up to the top, and thick glasses. He has just
created a movie about himself, entitled Valentine: The Movie, about “the
internet billionaire’s rise to power.” His offer to give anyone in the world
a free SIM card and free access to the internet has made headlines world-
wide. And he seems to really care about environmental issues, including
conservation and climate change. When Harry Hart meets Valentine at his
house in order to learn more about him, they walk past Valentine’s giant
canvas artwork, which mostly depicts oversized, stylized neon pandas
(although one handgun is featured as well). For dinner, Valentine serves
him McDonald’s burgers and fries under a silver dome with a 1945 Lafitte
wine while they hold a conversation about climate change:
Hart: limate change is a threat that affects us all … and

C
you are one of the few powerful men who seems to
share my concerns
Valentine: I closed things down (that sector of my business)
because I wasn’t getting anywhere. Every bit of
research kept pointing to the same thing …
Hart: hat carbon emissions are a red herring, and that

T
we’re past the point of no return no matter what
remedial actions we take?
Valentine (laughs): A
h, you know your shit!
Hart: Sometimes I envy the blissful ignorance of those

less well versed in the … “shit.”
One of the first things of note about this exchange is that it is rare
in any Hollywood film for such a plain, no-holds-barred conversation
about climate change. Here, the film both recognizes and enters into an
important current dialogue in scientific circles about the (likely) irrevers-
ibility of climate change, including the “point of no return” and whether
we have reached it. According to Naomi Klein, author of This Changes
Everything (2015), scientific data reveals that reductions in emissions
needed to have occurred by 2017 in order to avoid catastrophic events
due to climate change. In its report with data from thousands of scien-
tists around the world, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change
notes that “Without additional mitigation efforts beyond those in place
today, and even with adaptation, warming by the end of the 21st century
will lead to high to very high risk of severe, widespread and irreversible
impacts globally (high confidence)” (2014, 17). In addition, last year, an
article in the Guardian notes scientists’ dire prediction that most of the
Antarctic will be irreversibly changed no matter what corrective measures
are taken now.
On this point, then, Valentine, with his MIT pedigree and billions of
dollars amassed from his technological genius, seems well versed in the
realities of climate change in a way rarely addressed by mainstream film.
However, it is the delivery of the message that seems to belie Valentine’s
intelligence and logic. Another quote serves an example—it occurs in
one important scene that starts with Valentine seated in a darkened room
talking to Obama on the White House grounds saying the following (in
his heavy lisp):
Yo, man, you know me: money’s not my issue. I could have retired straight
out of MIT, fucked off to some island, and let the business run itself.
Nobody told me to try to save the planet. I wanted to. Climate change
research, lobbying, years of study, billions of dollars, and you know why
I quit? Because the last time I checked, the planet was still fucked. Here’s
my epiphany: money won’t solve this. Those idiots who call themselves
86 E.E. MOORE
politicians have buried their heads in the sand and stood for nothing but
re-election. So I spent the last two years trying to find a real solution. And
I found it. Now, if you really want to make the world a better place, I sug-
gest you open your fucking ears, because I’m about to tell it to you.
Here, the film makes clear that these two African-American men know
each other very well (enough for Valentine to speak so openly and crassly
to such a powerful politician), and that the President of the USA is a
willing accomplice in Valentine’s plan to kill the majority of the Earth’s
population. The reason for Obama’s complicity is not provided overtly
but is implied: he is power hungry, willing to use his “concern” about
climate change as an excuse, and doesn’t care about the people of the
world—even the American people he is sworn to protect. As a result,
Kingsman identifies both of the prominent black males in the film13 as
dangerous, different, inherently unknowable, and unworthy of pub-
lic trust or stewardship. The portrayal of the black male in mainstream
media as a dangerous “Other” has been demonstrated so many times
that it need not be repeated here (see de Oca 2012; Hughey 2014;
Moore and Coleman 2015; Sanders and Ramasubramanian 2012;
Van Ginneken 2007). While we turn to the (all white, almost all male)
Kingsman agents to save humanity, it is the African-American males
Obama and Valentine who are the primary threats to humanity.
But what about their environmental interest? The movie initially hints
that they may actually be out to save the world from imminent destruc-
tion (albeit in a misguided way). During his presidency, Obama received
international recognition for advocating climate change reform, includ-
ing his Global Climate Change Initiative, which highlights the need
to invest in clean energy, and his public support of the decisions about
climate change made during the Paris Climate Summit talks in 2015.
However, the film makes Obama’s interest seem specious, or at least
dangerous: he either uses climate change as a front to advance his own
agenda, or he cares so much about it that he is willing to have his own
people murdered. And Valentine? Having graduated from a top-notch
technological institute, he’s supposed to be smart, although his profan-
ity and his heavy lisp seem to disprove this intelligence or at least make
him too comical or “odd” to take seriously. Throughout the movie, he
repeatedly cites his deep concerns over the impact of overpopulation on
climate change as the reason for his actions. However, he shows a bit too
much unrestrained glee at the idea of members of the world’s population
falling on each other in a homicidal rage: the disco balls, colored lights,
and KC and the Sunshine Band’s music are indications of that. He
likes watching people kill each other. So, what drives him? The answer,
intriguingly, may come in the form of his speech impediment.
In an interview on the US Today show, Jackson discussed his concep-
tion of Valentine’s character, including the lisp: “He is smart, he does
make you laugh. I gave him this interesting speech pattern because I
wanted him to be sort of odd.” Jackson goes on to note that he him-
self stuttered as a child, and he had to overcome people’s ridicule of
him because of this. He notes that he conceived of Valentine’s lisp in
much the same way: as something that Valentine must have overcome
as a child, when people must have made fun of him. In admitting this,
Jackson implies that Valentine has a reason for being an outcast and/or
being angry. In that vein, if one takes Valentine’s absolute joy at watch-
ing people kill themselves, along with his implied past of being bullied
about his speech impediment, then climate change becomes just an
excuse for mass murder. Thus, is Valentine truly an environmentalist, or
simply using ecological problems as a cover for his homicidal urges? The
film leaves that possibility open, but hints strongly at the latter. Although
the film seems tantalizingly poised to associate the black male with envi-
ronmental stewardship (and protection of humanity), this message does
not survive the specific portrayals of either character.
In contrast to the portrayal of people of color are the Kingsman agents.
Although Kingsman is supposed to be an international agency with spies
from around the world, when the film depicts them gathered together
they are all white (and look, with their dark-rimmed glasses and slim-fit-
ting suits, straight out of the 1960s). They (almost singlehandedly through
white young male Eggsy) save the world’s population from certain self-
destruction. But here one must stop to consider the implications of this: if
Valentine was in fact correct about the deleterious effects of overpopulation
on climate change, then he might in fact be the hero of this story after all,
making the Kingsman agents the instrument of environmental destruction.
They, after all, have halted Valentine’s plan to cull the human overpopula-
tion problem, which means that climate change will continue to acceler-
ate. Interestingly, the film provides two reassurances to the conclusion that
might be drawn by moviegoers. The first is in the intentionally comical and
“Othered” depiction of Richmond Valentine: with his nouveau-riche man-
nerisms, crude speech, stereotypical hip-hop garb, and over-emphasized
lisp, it is clear that we are not meant to take his scientific proclamations
88 E.E. MOORE
about the dangers of climate change seriously. While what he says might in
fact be true regarding current scientific prognoses regarding overpopula-
tion and carbon emissions, it is the mode of delivery that undercuts any
serious message about environmental degradation. And, as noted above, he
seems to want to cull the human population not to save the planet, but
perhaps to watch people kill each other with abandon.
The film provides another reason why we, the audience, should not
take any ecological message from Valentine seriously. This comes in the
form of visual rhetoric of the natural landscape: Valentine is, on multi-
ple occasions, shown in different cold, snowy, pure, white wildernesses
around the world. The inclusion of these pristine, snow-laden wonder-
lands in the film are significant, because they demonstrate visually that
nature remains unchanged and untouched by (and therefore safe from)
human action. In other words, the film’s numerous depictions of wintry
landscapes makes Valentine’s concerns about overpopulation and climate
change seem more like delusions than practical, scientific considerations
of humans’ impact on our planet. This depiction is in keeping with the
recognition by Svoboda (2015) at Yale Climate Connections that while
“Kingsman does not deny these environmental problems … it does
mock public concern for them.”
It is here that analysis turns to the potential role played by media
ownership and conservative politics. The original graphic novel did not
have a climate change sub-plot; instead, Millar and Gibbons’ 2014 book
Secret Agent was about a crazy professor (Dr. Arnold, a white man)
who wanted to kidnap celebrities to keep them safe while he, through
his technological innovation, had the people of the world murder each
other. The reason for the massacre? Just good old-fashioned homicidal
urges and megalomaniacal power grabs reminiscent of multiple earlier
spy films with capitalist–industrialist bad guys. In the transition from
the comic book to the screen, a white evildoer is replaced with a black
male, and specious claims about the “correct” remedy for climate change
become the justification for murder on a global scale.
The film received generally positive reviews in the USA (75% of all
critic reviews rated it as “fresh” on the meta-critic site Rotten Tomatoes),
but was panned by many critics in the UK. In an article rhetorically titled
“Is Kingsman the Most Conservative Comedy this Century?” Jason
Ward (2015) notes that “this James Bond pastiche is a throwback in
more ways than one,” including its contempt for women and the work-
ing class, having an “environmentalist baddie,” and a pro-establishment
hero. While he too finds it significant that the film depicts the violent
death of an evil Obama, the most significant aspect for Ward is that “the
world-threatening villain of Kingsman is a climate change activist.”
As mentioned in the previous chapter, 20th Century Fox, as is widely
known, is owned by the conservative Rupert Murdoch. There have been
many controversies surrounding Murdoch’s politically conservative con-
glomerate, including its subsidiary Fox News’s role in calling the 2000
presidential election in favor of George Bush. The insertion of a new plot
“twist” that includes a climate change activist as the primary “bad guy”
who wants to dispose of the world’s population thus appears to be asso-
ciated with 20th Century Fox as transnational distributor for the film.
In fact, 20th Century Fox presents climate change much in the same
way as it does in another film (produced by Fox Searchlight Pictures):
Ice Age: The Meltdown (discussed in Chap. 1). It is tantalizing to sur-
mise the potential influence of 20th Century Fox in the development of
a very conservative message from the graphic text to the screen; in the
end, however, the conglomerate’s specific role in shaping the political
ideology of the film remains unknown. However, what is clear is that the
conservative perspective presented by the film means that climate change
is presented as though it belongs in the domain of “Chicken Littles”—
those who always say the sky is falling. In other words, you’d have to be
crazy to believe in it. The movie does contains some interesting truths
about the link between overpopulation and climate change, but com-
ing from Valentine’s character it seems like climate change activism is the
sole domain of the deluded and elite.
This final section of analysis highlights the role that parody plays in
the film’s conservative ideology. There are multiple indicators of spy
thriller pastiche within Kingsman: when Eggsy orders his martini as
“Gin, not vodka, stirred for 10 seconds while glancing at an unopened
bottle of vermouth”; when another spy thinks Eggsy has named his dog
JB for James Bond; or when a Kingsman spy kills a man and then takes
the 1962 Dalmore whiskey out of his hand to take a sip, smiling. And
then, of course, is this exchange:
Valentine: You like spy movies, Mr. De Veer?

Hart: Nowadays they’re all a littler serious for my taste. But the
old ones? Marvelous! Give me a far-fetched theatrical plot
any day
Valentine: The old Bond movies—oh man!
90 E.E. MOORE
The movie continues this self-referential, toothless spoof even in

more serious moments, such as when Harry Hart is killed by Valentine.
Although it continuously references and imitates older spy films,
Kingsman has a modern, younger feel. The film appears made for mil-
lennials, and perhaps this is no surprise: Eggsy as the new spy is young,
cheeky, crude, and baldly sexual in a way that would make even Bond
blush. One indication that the film is meant to appeal to the much
younger crowd comes from a key scene in Valentine’s mountaintop
stronghold. When Eggsy is shooting at innumerable faceless “bad guys,”
we as the audience see (through his perspective) the head-up display of
his special glasses: with the gun in front of it, it looks exactly like a first-
person shooter game. Kingsman thus becomes both a throwback to the
1960s Bond films as well as a modern update (but without the accompa-
nying modernization of gender and racial ideologies).
Considering the film’s apparent conservatism, parody plays an inter-
esting role here, because although it is a comedy, its underlying politi-
cal message doesn’t come across as that humorous. Writing about
Valentine’s evil plot, Ward (2015) argues that
the depiction of Valentine’s plan as a throwback to a less serious era of spy

movies is revealed as a feint, with the ulterior motive of undermining environ-
mentalists: not only is the character amoral and dispassionate, but his methods
are buffoonish, the doomed-to-fail scheme of a lisping, squeamish eccentric.14
Ward goes on to note that “just because a film acts as if it doesn’t take
itself seriously isn’t an indication that this is the case. Kingsman (hides)
its unpalatable political convictions beneath a studied affectation of
cheerful irreverence.” In the end, Valentine is killed, which means peo-
ple will live, which means that climate change will continue. But, we
never really needed climate change to be addressed, according to the
film, because the environment is doing just fine. Instead, it’s the climate
change activists with which we need be most concerned.
White Male Saviors in Ecological

Spy Films: Conclusion
By way of conclusion, I ask (and perhaps answer) a key question that
emerges from this analysis. Considering the limited number of spy films
addressing environmental issues, why do the two films analyzed in this
research both depict ersatz, elite environmentalists who push their own
agenda while using environmental care as a front? I believe there are two
reasons for this. First, coming from the perspective of genre, it becomes
clear to anyone who enjoys spy films (or studies them, or both) that spy
films typically contain antagonists that are homicidal, psychopathic elites
(typically industrial capitalists, although not always) who do in fact hatch
farfetched plots (that often border on the verge of campiness) to gain
power or money. In so doing, both Kingsman and Quantum follow the
contours and traditions of their generic form. But then, what about the
negative view of environmentalists? Both films engage in ongoing dia-
logues about important, pressing ecological issues like water scarcity and
climate change—not unusual for Hollywood studios these days in their
efforts to create content that resonates with audiences.
Bringing those two trends together, these films contain plots where
the environmental issue becomes inextricably linked with the outlandish
plots of the films’ central “bad guys.” The landscapes in these films are
imbued with meaning: whether it is the Atacama Desert in Chile (the
driest place on Earth) as a stand-in for water scarcity in Quantum of
Solace, or a generic snowy landscape that seems to hint that fears about
climate are unjustified in Kingsman, the films use visual representations
to send a message about contemporary ecological issues. In adherence
to the spy genre, both films position white men as those who save the
day and people of color as either corrupt or inept. The spy film, perhaps
like other genres, creates limitations that constrict portrayals of people
of color—and ecological issues. Including environmental degradation in
this particular generic form leads to a kind of awkwardness in portrayal.
There’s not much room for level-headed, rational thinking about envi-
ronmental issues in the fantastical plots of spy films.
Notes
1. Hoppenstand (2014) cites Childers’ 1903 novel The Riddle of the Sands
and Maugham’s Ashenden (1928) as clear examples.
2. The “good living, sex, and violent action” description Palmer provides
originates in the Times Literary Supplement as an effort to identify the
“essential” components of Bond novels.
3. Hoppenstand (2014) adds that “Thrillers feature escapist plots and
emphasize narrative action, typically limiting characterization, rather
than involving highly realistic plots and deep character development …
Second, thrillers are intended to entertain, rather than instruct [obviously
92 E.E. MOORE
not the case with eco-thrillers: their superficial message is definitely to

instruct and to moralize—although it’s true that neither film I examine
actually teaches anything] … the thriller is not usually meant to be solely
didactic in nature … Third, thrillers employ protagonists or heroes who
are exceptionally brave, exceptionally smart, or exceptionally courageous
… A favorite plot technique of the thriller is to place an ‘average’ indi-
vidual into the middle of an exceptionally dangerous situation … And
finally, thrillers are intended to reach as wide a readership as possible …”
(xii–xiii).
4. Chapman (1999) notes that box office numbers can be fraught with dif-
ficulty due to inflation as well as the omission of ancillary and global sales
related to each film. In this book I refer to box office as ticket sales cau-
tiously as only a broad indicator of the film’s popularity.
5. “Perla de las Dunas” is really an observatory in Chile called Cerro Paranal.
6. Hasian (2014, 572) notes that Bond films (referring specifically to Skyfall)
are “unabashedly patriotic,” even while Bond appears to act outside of
the agency.
7. One can easily test this supposed “freedom” with a hypothetical altering
of the plot to include Bond having a sexual encounter with a fellow male
agent, to have Bond be any other ethnicity than white, or to have Bond
attempt to solve any conflict through negotiation and diplomacy rather
than violence.
8. Savoye (2013) actually sees more elements than just water at play in this
film, writing that “The progression of the main conflict in Quantum of
Solace … is itself outlined by the use of Air, Water, Earth and Fire as
decisive narrative motifs, for it is after they parachute into a cavern from
their plane of fire that Bond and Camille discover the underground dam
built by Greene in order to secure the monopoly of water, hence linking
the four elements” (98).
9. Here, Buell refers to the positioning of Egdon Heath (in Thomas Hardy’s
Return of the Native) as a character central to the narrative.
10. Hasian refers specifically to Skyfall, when Bond’s visit to Hong Kong
depicts it in violent disarray after the British left.
11. Svoboda, with the Yale Climate Connections newsletter, noted that
Valentine’s SIM card “signal is to be delivered via a free phone and inter-
net service offered by the black, lisping, hip-hop accoutered villain played
by Samuel Jackson. In this plot turn, some reviewers saw allusions to the
‘Obama phone’ video that went viral, on conservative websites, during
the 2012 presidential election” (n.p.).
12. This portrayal has garnered more than one comparison to American hip
hop mogul Russell Simmons: both are African American, both have lisps,
and both wear tracksuits.
13. There are almost no other people of color in the film: both Eggsy and his
stepdad have a black British friend each who have ancillary, non-speaking
roles.
14. This is meant to remind the audience of “farfetched theatrical plots”:
Aurich Goldfinger (in Goldfinger) wants to irradiate the gold at Fort
Knox so that he have control of the gold market; in Moonraker, Hugo
Drax wants to destroy the majority of humanity so that he can recreate it
with a “master race,” and in You Only Live Twice, Ernst Blofeld was cap-
turing spaceships to start a war between the USSR and the US.
References
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Crisis and Literary Imagination. Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Chapman, James. 1999. Licence to Thrill: A Cultural History of the James Bond
Films. London: New York, IB Tauris.
Chapman, James. 2013. Foreword. In The Signs of James Bond: Semiotic
Explorations in the World of 007, ed. Daniel Ferreras Savoye, 1–2. NC:
McFarland & Company.
Chellaney, Brahma. 2013. Water, Peace, and War: Confronting the Global Water
Crisis. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.
de Oca, Jeffrey Montez. 2012. White Domestic Goddess on a Postmodern
Plantation: Charity and Commodity Racism in the Blind Side. Sociology of
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and Myth, ed. Glenwood Irons, 157–182. Toronto, CA: University of
Toronto.
Feldman, David Lewis. 2012. Water. Polity Press: Cambridge, UK.
Fishman, Charles. 2012. The Big Thirst: The Secret Life and Turbulent Future of
Water. First Free Press Trade Paperback Edition. New York: Free Press.
Franco, Jennifer, Lyla Mehta, and Jan Veldwisch Gert. 2013. The Global Politics
of Water Grabbing. Third World Quarterly 34 (9): 1651–1675. doi:10.1080/
01436597.2013.843852.
Hasian, Marouf. 2014. Skyfall, James Bond’s Resurrection, and 21st-Century
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Hepburn, Allan. 2005. Intrigue Espionage and Culture. New Haven, CT: Yale
University Press.
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Holmgren, Trogny, and Anders Jägerskog, Jens Berggren and John Joyce. 2013.
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Klein, Naomi. 2015. This Changes Everything: Capitalism Vs the Climate. New
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Lynskey, Dorian. 2014. Frozen-Mania: How Elsa, Anna and Olaf Conquered the
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director-marc-forster/.
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Career of a Popular Hero, ed. Janet Woollacott. New York: Methuen.
CHAPTER 4
Imagining Disaster in the Eco-Thriller
This chapter centers its analysis on two films within the relatively new
sub-genre of “eco-thriller” (sometimes referred to as “eco-horror”)
films: The Happening (2006) and The Bay (2012). As noted in the
Introduction, this new cinematic form retains traditional elements of the
classic thriller while adapting the form to include new heroes and vil-
lains directly linked to environmental problems. In Chap. 3 on spy films
I briefly noted some of the key elements of the thriller, which include the
attempt to rouse audience excitement via the battles between the heroes
and the “bad guys” over a conspiracy that frames much of the action.
McCarty (1992, 13) defines a thriller as a generic form designed with a
“single-minded purpose, which is to put the reader or audience on edge
and keep them there”: in other words, the tension created by the thriller
is meant to be relentless from start to finish. More specifically, perhaps,
Hoppenstand (2014) identifies what he considers to be the defining ele-
ments of the thriller:
Thrillers feature escapist plots and emphasize narrative action, typically

limiting characterization, rather than involving highly realistic plots and
deep character development … Second, thrillers are intended to entertain,
rather than instruct [as] the thriller is not usually meant to be solely didac-
tic in nature … Third, thrillers employ protagonists or heroes who are
exceptionally brave, exceptionally smart, or exceptionally courageous … A
favorite plot technique of the thriller is to place an “average” individual

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_4
98 E.E. MOORE
into the middle of an exceptionally dangerous situation … And finally,

thrillers are intended to reach as wide a readership as possible …” (xii–xiii)
While Hoppenstand’s description is particularly apt when it comes to spy

or crime thrillers, his list does not seem as applicable to eco-thrillers in
several regards. First, with the focus on pressing, real-world environmen-
tal issues (pollution, deforestation, and climate change, to name a few)
that focus on ecological and human devastation, these plots seem any-
thing but “escapist.” In addition, although there is no arguing that these
two films are intended to entertain, there is a clear instructive and mor-
alizing element to each film when it comes to the portrayal of humans’
responsibility for environmental problems. And although The Happening
(featuring Mark Wahlberg, the star of many an action adventure film)
definitely contains an extraordinarily brave protagonist, the same cannot
be said for The Bay—at least not in the typical sense.
Perhaps eco-thrillers do not fit neatly into what is considered tradi-
tional thrillers due to the “elasticity” of the genre that Hoppenstand
(2014, x–xi) recognizes: “Popular narrative formulas such as the thriller
are ‘organic’ in nature. They grow, shrink, and intersect with other
popular narrative formulas …” The thriller, then, has always been a sort
of pastiche: Palmer (1979, 115) wryly notes that the thriller’s generic
“debts are apparently enough to mortgage its entire future” and include
the heroic romance, Gothic fiction, police memoirs, and “low-life litera-
ture.”1 To this list McCarty (1992) also would add Westerns, romantic
comedies, and war stories, thus highlighting the thriller’s “chameleon”
nature.2 Thus, although we could take issue with Palmer’s contention
that all thrillers contain sexual intrigue at their basic level, we could still
agree that the eco-thrillers consistently contain danger, edge-of-your-
seat thrills, and some form of conspiracy, albeit from an “environmental”
source.
Recognition of the thriller’s fluidity helps to alleviate some tension
around placing the diverse set of “eco-thrillers” within the well-estab-
lished, more traditional genre, because
the single most important characteristic of the thriller formula is its abil-
ity to conform to changing tastes of new generations of consumers, while
maintaining the basic archetypal appeal of its original narrative structures
that include the adventure story, the horror story, the romantic suspense
4 IMAGINING DISASTER IN THE ECO-THRILLER 99
story, the technological thriller story, the detective story, or the spy story.
(Hoppenstand 2014, xvii)
The eco-thriller is a print and cinematic form enjoying a rise in popu-

larity. Stephenson’s Zodiac: The Eco-Thriller3 came out in print in 1995,
closely following David Poyer’s The Circle4 in 1993. In 2006, China
(with Columbia Pictures) created an eco-thriller film called Kekexil:
Mountain Patrol about the environmental struggle against poaching
faced by the Tibetan people, who are described as leading “quiet lives
in harmony with nature” until the order is disrupted. Other filmic eco-
thrillers include but are not limited to Attack of the Killer Tomatoes
(1978, a horror parody about genetically modified food), The Prophesy
(1979), The Day After Tomorrow (2004), and The Last Winter (2006).
In other words, the 1970s onward has seen a surge in thriller films
focused on environmental issues. Ford (2010) acknowledges this rise in
Hollywood:
There’s a new wave of horror films stalking the box office. You can for-
get the torture porn of “Saw” and “Hostel” – in fact these new films are
marked by a distinct lack of blood and guts. But there is no doubting their
ability to chill audiences to the core: Welcome to the world of eco-horror.5
Cieply (2007) takes the recognition of a new popular form in Hollywood

a bit further by noting the
possibility of more sophisticated entertainment, and perhaps even the

kind of impact that The China Syndrome, with Jane Fonda and Michael
Douglas, exerted on the nuclear power industry when it came out in
1979. That an environmental consciousness should slip into prospec-
tive Hollywood blockbusters is not surprising in an era when Al Gore and
friends have won an Oscar (and hefty box-office returns) for their global-
warming documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, and the issue has largely
slipped its partisan moorings. (9)
According to Kaplan (2015, 1), the rising popularity is no surprise:

“The increasing number of futurist dystopian worlds in film and liter-
ature in the post-9/11 era evidence severe anxiety about the future in
Eurocentric cultures.” She contends that ecological dystopia films both
reflect as well as induce pre-traumatic stress in spectators—stress that
100 E.E. MOORE
may ultimately help to bolster those in power rather than challenge them
or provide new, critical ways of thinking.
In addition to recognizing the possibility of more complex and multi-
layered entertainment, Cieply (2007) also identifies what he refers to as
the “environmental bete noire,” where the traditional Hollywood villain
is replaced with a larger-scale, non-human source. This replacement is
tantalizing for in eco-thrillers there runs throughout the narrative a clear
theme of revenge against humans for degrading the natural environment.
As noted earlier, there is a certain moralizing element to eco-thrillers that
is solely focused on environmental degradation. While the eco-thriller
category seems to be fairly inclusive and expansive, in this chapter I limit
my analysis to those films that present nature as the avenger of environ-
mental destruction that functions (or pretends to function) as a critique
of the actions and behavior of modern human societies.
In the next sections, I analyze The Happening and The Bay for their
environmental themes, focusing especially on how nature is portrayed
as a potential aggressor that is out for vengeance, paying special atten-
tion to myriad forms of landscape: both natural as well as human-made.
In addition, I examine how humans themselves are depicted in these
films: are they presented as being truly responsible for the environmen-
tal degradation that provides the catalyst for the events? That is, do they
“deserve” the destruction that ensues, and what reasons are given for
nature’s aggression?
The Happening
The Happening (2008) was written and directed by M. Night Shyamalan
and distributed by 20th Century Fox. The film earned a lukewarm $163
million worldwide at the box office. Shyamalan himself called the film
the “best B movie ever,” and also frames it as a love story, noting his
inspiration for the film in an interview (Ganley 2008):
I was driving down the highway from Philly to New York, which is about
a two-hour trip, and the highway, the Pennsylvania Turnpike, you know,
basically goes through farmland for a lot of the trip. And you’re just see-
ing beautiful greenery for as long as you can see on either side and trees
hovering over the highway and it’s just going by the window. And then I
had the score going for movies, like this dark score, and the trees and dark
score, and said, “Oh my God, what if, what if it turned on us?”
In a later interview with Scientific American, Shyamalan spoke again

about the film, revealing that he did not believe that certain natural phe-
nomena like bees’ colony collapse or red tide will ever be understood
scientifically, likening it to not understanding when animals flee beaches
before tsunamis hit. Although Scientific American’s George Musser
pressed him to give the events in The Happening meaning in relation to
real-world environmental issues, Shyamalan consistently deflected the
conversation away from climate change, pollution, or deforestation, or
even human folly: in the end, he believes the film is a love story about
what happens when you think it’s the end.
The Happening Summary

The film opens in New York’s Central Park in an area with a colonnade
of trees flanking a wide walking path. Two young white women sit in a
park: both of them are reading books. Screams are heard, and one of the
women turns to see everyone at a standstill, and then beginning to walk
backwards. She turns to her friend, who stabs herself in the neck with
her hair pin. The next scene depicts construction workers on the ground
floor of a skyscraper; other workers begin throwing themselves off of the
top in mass suicide. As the workers begin to cry, the scene cuts to Elliot
(Mark Wahlberg), a white man in his 30s in front of his high school sci-
ence class, asking students to explain bees’ colony collapse. The students
offer various theories to explain the mass death/disappearance (viruses,
chemical pollution, and global warming), but Elliot finds none of these
compelling. Only when a student responds with “It’s an act of nature
and we’ll never fully understand it” does Elliot give praise for a “good”
answer. Just then, Elliot is pulled from class to hear about what is consid-
ered to be a terrorist attack by an “airborne chemical toxin.” Class ends
early, and Elliot calls his wife, Alma, on his flip phone. He is joined in the
hall by his friend, Julian, who holds up his Nokia phone when talking
about how scared his mother is.
The scene cuts then to Alma, who is sitting at home staring at her
own Nokia flip phone while her love interest, Joey, calls. She ignores his
call, and when her husband comes home they play the news. An expert
talks about humans brains being
equipped with a self-preservation mechanism to stop us from harmful

actions. This is controlled by a combination of electrochemical signals in
102 E.E. MOORE
the brain, the blocking of neurotransmitters by certain toxins has proven

to cause hallucinations, asphyxiation, and paralysis. This new neurotoxin is
basically flipping the self-preservation switch, blocking certain neurotrans-
mitters in a specific order, causing specific and self damaging, catastrophic
effects …
As Elliot, Alma, Julian, and his daughter Jess board a train to leave the
city, they hear about a similar “attack” in Philadelphia, where people
have killed themselves en masse. On the train, they learn that “Boston’s
been hit too.” The train stops in the small, rural town of Filbert,
Pennsylvania, because it has lost contact with all stations. People are
seen calling family on their ubiquitous flip phones while they wait in a
local diner, and one woman shows Elliot a video on her iPhone (with the
Apple logo visible) of a man committing suicide by entering a lion enclo-
sure at a zoo: lions rip the man’s arms off one by one (which is meant
to be frightening, but is actually a little reminiscent of a famous Monty
Python sketch).
In a panic, people leave Filbert in cars. Julian leaves to find his wife in
New Jersey, while Elliot, Alma, and Jess get in a car with two plant nurs-
ery owners, one of whom espouses his theory about plants being able to
chemically ward off danger, while Alma makes a “crazy” gesture behind
him. They drive until they realize they are trapped: there is mass death
all around them. The group take offs on foot through agricultural coun-
tryside until half gets exposed to the neurotoxin and dies. Somehow,
Elliot figures out that it is the trees that are killing people in an act of
vengeance through release of a neurotoxin. Elliot’s smaller group tries to
find shelter from the trees. He sees an abandoned truck and hears on the
radio that the American Northeast has more nuclear power plants than
any other area in the USA, and that perhaps this is somehow to blame.
At one point, the group runs through a new subdivision—a tract of
land for housebuilding—that has a billboard advertising new homes,
which seems to speak indirectly the reason for the trees’ vengeful actions:
above the name of the new community—“Clear Hill”—is lettering that
reads “You Deserve This!” They find, in the green, deserted fields, an old
transistor radio telling them that the whole northeastern USA is under
attack and to head to various stations. Meanwhile, in a garage, men load
guns while watching the news on a dusty old TV.
Finally, Elliot, Alma, and Jess find an old farmhouse with no electricity
and no cars. The woman who lives there, a recluse, doesn’t have a radio
or any other modern devices. When she gets gassed by the trees while
standing in her garden, she breaks the windows in her house, threatening
to destroy Elliot, Alma, and Jess by exposing them to the trees’ deadly
neurotoxin. Ultimately, Elliot and Alma decide that they want to be
together regardless of the consequences, so they go outside, but at that
moment the trees stop their deadly rampage and they are saved.
In the next scene, everything is back to “normal.” Another expert on
the news, a Dr. Ross, tells a news anchor that
Most environmentalists think that this event is like the red tide, but,
instead of algae killing fish, this happened on land. Now, plants and trees
can’t just get up and move when they feel threatened like other species.
They have only one option: to rapidly evolve their chemistry … This was
an act of nature, and we’ll never fully understand it … I believe that this
was a prelude, a warning, like the first spot of a rash. We have become a
threat to this planet: I don’t think anybody will argue that.
With clear skepticism, the news anchor responds to Dr. Ross by noting
that “If it had happened in one other place, anywhere else, we could all
believe what you’re saying.” The scene then cuts to Alma at home, who
has just discovered she is pregnant. Elliot goes to hug her while they
both smile broadly and plan their future.
The film ends with a final scene in the Jardin de Tuileries in Paris,
where multiple people socialize and relax on a sunny, warm day. Two
young white Frenchmen are walking and talking about what to do with
their bicycles. Suddenly, one man starts repeating himself over and over
again. The other man looks around to see the mayhem ensuing and cries
“Mon Dieu!” The screen goes dark.
The Happening: The Consequences of not Revealing a Cause

The first point to make about this film is in regards to landscape, which is
portrayed as relatively pure, verdant, and lush: almost every scene depicts
trees surrounding or near the characters, as well as lower-lying vegeta-
tion. Interestingly, all the vegetation (large and small) through which the
central characters travel has been altered by humans: they run through
agricultural fields flanked by trees as well as tree-lined suburbs and parks.
Never do Elliot and his group pass through a natural, unaltered for-
est. While carefully managed greenery continuously frames the action,
104 E.E. MOORE
director Shyamalan tries to change our feelings about being in it: instead
of relaxation and renewal, the audience is meant to associate it with ter-
ror and painful deaths. This reframing of the multiple green landscapes
doesn’t quite work, because many of the outdoor scenes are so bucolic,
but the rustling of the trees as a harbinger of human destruction does
seem work at times. Interesting, however, is the question of what we
are supposed to make of the natural world as a result of this potential
danger: is the message not to venture forth into it, to cut all the trees
down (or stay in places with conditioned air only?), or is it for humans to
change their destructive, earth-damaging patterns?
Throughout The Happening, some subtle (and not-so-subtle) clues
are provided for the trees’ homicidal response to humans. First, when the
construction workers die, it is while working on a towering skyscraper,
creating a tenuous link between environmental degradation and con-
struction. Consider that the US Environmental Protection Agency esti-
mates that buildings were responsible for 6% of global greenhouse gas
emissions in 2010, and one could surmise the reason for Shyamalan’s
choice of a building site setting. However, the general location itself may
be more significant: the place chosen by the trees for their first round of
killing is in New York City, home of the New York Stock Exchange and
a long-time stronghold of US corporate power. Thus, the film early on
hints that it may be corporate America that has raised the ire of the trees.
The second hint is dropped when Elliot learns that the American
Northeast has more nuclear power plants than any other area in the
USA. The scene itself (when Elliot leans into an abandoned truck) does
not seem to have much importance unless one considers what is being
said on the radio about nuclear power. So, perhaps the trees are angry
about the toxicity of nuclear energy in the USA, especially with regard
to the storage of radioactive waste and the mining of uranium. Both of
these issues have been controversial. Indigenous groups in the USA have
fought uranium mining on their land and others have been pressured to
store radioactive material. However, this potential reason for the trees’
revenge is left unsubstantiated in the film, so the audience is left to sur-
mise only.
A third potential (and perhaps the most obvious) clue comes when
Elliot, Alma, and Jess run for their lives across the field with the bill-
board—an admirably creepy moment—advertising the new “Clear Hill”
subdivision: “You Deserve This.” Important is the billboard’s emphasis
on two things: the destruction of the trees on the hill (“Clear Hill”), and
the notion that humans deserve the destruction that is befalling them due
to deforestation.
Finally, at the end of the film, the scene depicting Elliot and Alma’s
joy at being pregnant is directly followed by the trees causing mass
deaths again. The clear juxtaposition of these two events seems to pre-
sent a causal link that once again only broadly and indirectly insinuates
that our natural environment is negatively impacted by human over-
population. Overpopulation has been identified as a substantial con-
tributor to environmental problems, with cogent arguments made by
scholars across disciplines, including Meadows et al.’s well-known Limits
to Growth (2004), Schor and White Plenitude (2010), and (more con-
troversially) Ehrlich’s Population Bomb (1978) to name only a few.
However, The Happening, as with all other potential clues to understand
the trees’ murderous behavior, lets the suggestion go unexplored.
Shyamalan thus drops only brief, indirect clues for the trees’ desire to
help Earth by wiping humans off of it. And yet certain symbols (or lack
of them, perhaps more aptly) are telling. During the key opening scene
in New York’s Central Park, which shows nature’s destructive vengeance
for the first time, the two young women are not staring at their phones
or playing with electronic devices, but instead are reading “old-fash-
ioned” print books. Then, during the critical end scene, when the audi-
ence learns that the trees are not done seeking vengeance on humans,
the two Frenchmen walk while discussing riding their bikes. The inclu-
sion of rather old-fashioned, pre-electronic (or mass-transportation)
activities serves to make the trees’ actions seem rather irrational, because
these people seem to be doing no harm. Throughout the film, no char-
acters are seen consuming anything but food, and even then that is rare.
The film thus misses the opportunity to have a causal link between the
environmental harm associated with overconsumption and the environ-
ment’s reaction to protect itself. In fact, of the myriad potential causes
for the environment’s response, consumerism is not only not one of the
clues dropped, but is actively avoided. Imagine if the two women were
on their Blackberries when the trees start to quiver while releasing their
gas, their electronic devices falling to the ground with them in heavy
symbolism. Alternatively, one can picture the end scene, where two over-
weight men (Hollywood has long used weight to signify deviance, glut-
tony, selfishness, and more) step out of their automobile, or are eating
a hamburger (in an allusion to beef production as the leading cause of
deforestation and methane gas emissions): this would invite the audience
106 E.E. MOORE
to consider this destructive consumption perhaps in light of their own

contribution to environmental problems.
When one pictures these alternative scenarios, the film’s consistent
avoidance of any meaningful critique of consumerism becomes clear.
Importantly, only one person has an iPhone in the entire movie—oth-
erwise, it is old-fashioned flip phones (all or almost all of them Nokia,
perhaps product placement), old television sets, and transistor radios that
are consistently shown in center screen. It certainly doesn’t reflect (even
by 2008 standards) our heavy reliance on electronic devices, the creation
of which has wrought havoc on environments and people around the
world when it comes to both the production of electronics (including in
China and Vietnam) as well as the long-term, harmful disposal of these
items (in India, Ghana, and China, among others). As a result, the film
thus presents humans as essentially blameless, because they are depicted
as non-consumers of anything that might harm the environment.
As noted, in numerous interviews, M. Night Shyamalan said that he
never intended this film to be centrally focused on environmental issues;
instead, the mass human deaths that result from the trees are meant to
frame Elliot and Alma’s marital bond by placing a husband and wife in
a desperate situation to see how they navigate it with their relationship
intact. As such, while the film alludes to what may be causing the trees’
act of self-preservation, it contradicts (or at least muddies) that mes-
sage by visually presenting humans as fairly irreproachable. It’s very tell-
ing that Shyamalan got his inspiration for the film while driving through
greenery and wondering what would happen if it turned on humans.
That is, he did not get the idea through reading about the latest news on
climate change or pollution; he was driving and thought of a unique plot
twist that did not necessarily stem from environmental concern. While
Kaplan (2015) notes that in The Happening “Shyamalan is thinking alle-
gorically such that humans’ making nature do weird things stands in for
a much broader argument – that humans are now a geologic force that
is destroying the very elements we need to survive” (55), it is an opaque
argument at best. Ultimately, it is the quote repeated twice in the movie
that seems to explain the portrayal of humans’ impact on the environ-
ment and what may come as a result: “It’s an act of nature and we’ll
never fully understand it.” As such, environmental concern becomes sub-
ordinated to a potential, if tenuous, love story, and the causes of environ-
mental destruction remain purposefully unidentified and out of focus.
The Bay
The Bay (2012) was directed by Oscar-award winning Barry Levinson,
who has directed a diverse set of films, including Good Morning Vietnam,
Rain Man, and Bugsy. He was originally approached to direct the film
as a documentary about Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. After he real-
ized to what degree problems in that waterway had been documented
(in documentaries like Poisoned Waters and books like Fight for the Bay
and Chesapeake Watershed) he decided to make a fictional film based on
the ecological horrors of the polluted waterway (Wheeler 2012). In an
interview, Levinson stated that he and screenplay writer Michael Wallace
learned that isopods (a type of crustacean—the central “villain” in the
film) had moved from the Pacific to the Atlantic, calling the migration
“truly frightening.” In addition, Levinson believes Chesapeake Bay to be
an environmental “stew of disaster.” He decided to use what he refers
to as “consumer cameras” (Skype, iPhone, and security) instead of a
RED (industry) camera for a “found-footage” style. Although it received
strongly positive reviews from critics, the film was a box office failure,
earning only $30k during its run in the USA, despite being picked up for
distribution by Lionsgate and Roadside Attractions.
The Bay Summary

The description of this film is longer than any other in this book due to
the level of detail, the complexity of the story, key recurring symbols,
and the urban and natural landscapes. In The Bay, two of the most ubiq-
uitous and complex visual elements are the American flag and the water
itself. Special attention during the description of the film is paid to these
two recurring signifiers.
The film opens with multiple segments of (what appears to be authen-
tic and archival) news reports of numerous “environmental mysteries”
around the world: thousands of dead fish washing ashore and multiple
blackbirds simultaneously falling from the sky, dead. A TV news reporter
asks what has caused these mass animal deaths and we hear the unsatisfy-
ing answer: “Scientists don’t know what killed them …all the films ana-
lyzed in this book” After a few seconds of darkness on screen, the film
tells us that “Those events were covered by the media. The following
story was never made public.” The “untold story,” we learn, is the death
of hundreds of people in small-town “Claridge,” Maryland, in 2009.
108 E.E. MOORE
A young woman appears on screen through a Skype video, which

is somewhat blurry, uneven, and pixelated. She says that her name is
Donna Thompson and that she was an intern for a local Claridge TV
news station covering the July 4 celebration:
For three years I and a few others have been trying to speak out about what
happened in Claridge, Maryland, but sometimes words have no impact.
But now, with a website called ‘Govleaks.org,’ all of the digital information
that was recorded that day has been obtained—all of the digital information
that was confiscated. Now I don’t know if anyone is watching this, I don’t
know what will happen to me as a result of putting this all out there …
As our guide and narrator for the film, Donna paints a picture of
Claridge as numerous scenes appear on the screen: people sunning them-
selves, playing in the water, competing in “crab-walking contests,” and
laughing under a blue sunny sky. A July 4 banner over the main street
bears the American stars and stripes as radio host “Mike in the Morning”
wishes everyone a happy Independence Day. A man and his daughter
ride past on a tandem bike with a red, white, and blue awning, and the
girl also wears red, white, and blue. A man fishes in brownish water. An
American flag waves in the breeze at the end of the street.
Donna notes how that day she interviewed John Stockman, the mayor
of Claridge (who wears a red, white, and blue hat in the footage), adding,
of course, at the time I didn’t know how culpable he was for what was
about to happen. The first signs that something was very wrong happened
six weeks before July 4. It was on the news, but I don’t think that any-
body really put the two and two together and knew what was going on.
Footage of this day shows a couple shopping at a glass ornament
stand while flags wave in the background. Donna herself is shown in the
“old” footage, smiling for the camera, a US flag behind her and a star-
spangled bunting to her side. A man smiles for the camera while a small
pile of American flags sits in the background. While Donna conducts
an interview, the water behind her is shown to be greenish-grey. A still
photo of a boy shows him jumping off a dock into grey water, while an
American flag waves above him in the corner of the screen.
Grainy “newsreel” footage describes the grisly discovery of the bod-
ies of two oceanographers who had been working to measure pollution
levels in Chesapeake Bay and creating a video to send to the Chesapeake
Environmental Council. Their bodies were found in the water and bore
bite marks that were initially attributed to sharks. One scene from their
footage is shown—the male scientist discusses their findings in the water
samples, which include red algae feeding off nutrients from “chicken
run off” and water pollution from multiple sources: “mercury levels way
above standards … PCBs [polychlorinated biphenyls, which cause can-
cers in humans] that haven’t been legal for twenty years … endocrine
disruptors Viagra and estrogen, trace amounts of giardia …” The female
scientist, using an infrared map, identifies a large stream of toxins follow-
ing the water current into the bay.
Throughout the film, the water that surrounds them is greenish-grey
in all scenes but one—where the male scientist talks about the health of
the bay while the water sparkles a deep luminescent blue:
Take a look around. It’s beautiful, breathtaking, one of the most beauti-
ful estuaries in North America. You’d have no idea what’s underneath.
Beautiful water. You have no sense of how the ecosystem is actually being
affected. You have no idea of the nightmare underneath here.
With some of the water pollution issues identified, Donna tells us that
“There were people who were concerned about what was going on in
the Bay. And with some of the townsfolk it did cause arguments.” She
shows older footage of a bearded, older man from Claridge, wearing a
shirt festooned with marlins, yelling at Mayor Stockman “Your chicken
plants are putting chicken shit in my bay and you’re killing it!” While
other townspeople wave their hands in disgust and dismiss the man,
the mayor replies, “The important thing to understand is that the EPA
[Environmental Protection Agency] continues to test the bay and it’s
really their responsibility.” Most townspeople people clap at this. A
woman in her 50s stands up:
I don’t care what people say about the bay, I know it looks a little dif-
ferent, but all our kids have grown up in the water in the bay. So I don’t
know what all the doom and gloom is all about. We got to have improve-
ment of the economy, we got to develop—I say we develop the hell out of
the Bay—and then we can pay to clean it up [multiple cheers and claps].
Donna voices over: “People were worried about the economy and the
water, but mostly that wasn’t their focus: they were just … doing the
‘American thing’: trying to make a living, dealing with their children
110 E.E. MOORE
and enjoying their lives, and everything really seemed … pretty good.”
Donna’s newsreel footage from the day shows a woman putting out
red and white cupcakes from a blue plate next to a red, white, and
blue bucket. Another, laughing, woman is shown being submerged in
a dunk tank, an American flag ribbon on its side and a red, white, and
blue umbrella behind. The man trying to dunk her is in a red and white
striped shirt and a blue canopy is visible in the background.
The scene cuts to a young couple boarding their small yacht to
Claridge to see the July 4 fireworks. A large American flag flies at the back
of the boat, and is in most every scene with the young family, sometimes
enveloping the frame while it waves in the wind, the greyish-brown waters
directly behind it. When the couple kiss, the American flag floats behind
them, taking up the entire background; when the husband films his wife
and baby, the flag again provides the backdrop. When the husband jumps
in the water, it is shown as brown with slimy foam on the top.
Back in town, the horror begins. The woman who was dunked starts
screaming in the main street, blood over her face and chest, crying to
go to the hospital. Then, children in the public swimming pool start
screaming and running for their parents, blisters and boils covering
their skin. People participating in the “Crab Eating Contest” (with an
American flag to one side) start violently throwing up. One man vomits
directly over American flag bunting attached to the side of the table.
The film then “documents” what happens to the town over the
course of the day: people show the first symptoms (skin lesions), which
progresses to being eaten from the inside out, including their legs,
abdomens, and tongues. When a local woman dies, Donna interviews
her neighbor for a news update. As she does, we can see two digi-
tal American flags and fireworks as part of the news website framing
the video footage. An American flag hangs from the neighbor’s house.
Donna also films Jack Abrams, head physician at Atlantic Hospital who
saw over 300 patients that day, and later died himself. Earlier, he had
alerted the CDC—Centers for Disease Control and Prevention—whose
scientists seemed to believe that the cause was an outbreak of Vibrio
vulnificus, a bacterium that thrives in warm waters and can cause tissue
necrosis and death. Later, however, the CDC (in conversation with the
EPA) understands the full nature of Chesapeake Bay pollution, which
includes agricultural runoff, red algae, a leak from a nearby nuclear reac-
tor, poultry farming, radium, and pharmaceuticals. A scientist who has
seen the results of water sampling talks to the CDC over Skype:
Toxic superchemicals can produce certain mutations. What’s also con-

cerning is the level of chicken excrement in the bay. I mean, if the num-
bers you gave me are correct, the amount of steroids and the amount of
manure, could be accelerating growth by 50 or 60 times, both in size
and quantity.
The scene then cuts back to the earlier nighttime footage taken by
an environmentalist at the poultry farm, who whispers “This stuff
has so much chemical steroid in it, it will take a little birdie and turn
it into a full grown birdie in 42 days, what Mother Nature would take
six months.” From this, the audience is meant to understand that
the chicken manure (which carries with it steroids from the chicken
feed itself) has created the perfect storm: isopods (“sea lice”), having
migrated to the Atlantic, are multiplying and mutating into large, aggres-
sive, flesh-eating creatures. By now, most townspeople are dead.
When night falls, the young couple finally arrives in Claridge by boat.
Dead bodies litter the main street. The final scene returns to Donna: as
she recaps the reasons for the outbreak, as well as government attempts
to control information about the environmental problem, older foot-
age once again shows the townspeople. A young blonde girl wraps an
American flag around her face so we cannot see her expression. A boat
sails by in the green–gray water with a large US flag on the back. The
film ends.
The Bay: Consideration of “Real-World” Environmental Problems

Through the Lens of Fiction
Of all the films analyzed in this book, The Bay engages the most heavily
with realism and contains the most critical perspective. Although Ingram
(2004) notes that realism is a somewhat contested term in film studies,
he also contends that it can be expressed in terms of the style (or “stylis-
tic choices”) of the film as well as (if to a lesser degree) the content. The
film engages with realism in both regards. First, it engages with “real-
world” environmental problems known to plague Chesapeake Bay: when
the characters in the film summarize the Bay’s environmental woes, they
are taken from truths about not only the level of chemical pollution in
the estuary, but its sources, including agricultural runoff and myriad oth-
ers. Levinson himself claimed in multiple interviews that “80%” of the
facts about the bay in his film were true.
112 E.E. MOORE
Realism through direct reference to the actual problems in

Chesapeake Bay are reinforced by the “found footage” style of The Bay.
In an interview with Entertainment Buzz Hub, Levinson noted that,
unlike other directors, who shot their “found footage” film on profes-
sional RED cameras and then reduced the quality after filming, he
wanted the style to be as authentic as possible, and thus had his actors
take the footage themselves. Because the footage is taken from the per-
spective of “regular” people and other unofficial sources, it reinforces the
idea that this is not a Hollywood fiction, but a reality that the audience
should take seriously. Levinson identified why this was so important to
his film:
What is the option, to not talk about the fact that the Chesapeake is 40 per
cent dead, to put it under the rug, let it continue to decline? A lot of this
stuff has been hidden for a long time and at some point you have to say
we’re going to deal with this, not ignore it. It won’t just go away. There
is nothing that’s going on the Chesapeake Bay that can’t be corrected. It’s
not an unknown disease, we know all of the contributing factors, so how
do we aggressively try and fix it? It’s 40 per cent dead now. We don’t want
it to become 55 or 60 per cent dead … As a filmmaker, I have the obliga-
tion to entertain an audience. But I can also pose questions. The facts are
what make this movie more captivating at a certain level.6
Here, Levinson makes clear that he wanted to make an environmen-

tal impact with his film. He acknowledges that he originally conceived
of the film as a documentary, but then realized that the PBS (Public
Broadcasting Service) series Frontline had created an informative and
well-made documentary (Poisoned Waters) that had not been acknowl-
edged on a broader scale by the public or policymakers. This appears
to have been recognized by critics, including Roger Ebert (2012), who
wrote that “Although there are some scary moments here, and a lot
of gruesome ones, this isn’t a horror film so much as a faux eco-doc-
umentary. Levinson, a major director (Rain Man, Wag the Dog) seems
more interested in spreading a green message than terrifying viewers.”
Unfortunately for Levinson, The Bay only opened in 23 theaters to lim-
ited attention from audiences, and so did not have the impact he would
have liked.
Unlike many of the films analyzed in this book, The Bay makes explicit
who should be held responsible for the Chesapeake’s environmental
degradation. The film itself points (with varying degrees of directness

and subtlety) to three potential parties. The first (and most explicitly
identified) are the poultry factory farmers, whose fertilizer, antibiotics,
and waste runoff goes into the bay, and is at least partly responsible for
the proliferating dead zones. Multiple scenes depict gargantuan piles of
chicken manure lying directly adjacent to the waters of the Bay, making
an unambiguous connection between unregulated agricultural practices
and the area’s deteriorating health.
In late 2010, the US Environmental Protection Agency imposed a
“pollution diet” on the estuary (known as the “Chesapeake Bay Total
Maximum Daily Load”), which restricts the amount of certain mate-
rial—phosphorus, nitrogen from farm runoff, and sediment—that can
enter the waterway.7 In 2015, the US Geological Survey reported that
the health of the Bay had not improved, but in 2016 the University of
Maryland Center for Environmental Science gave some portions of the
estuary a passing (improved) grade.8 Agricultural runoff is a problem
that impacts waterways worldwide: in Vietnam, the water quality of the
country’s famous Ho Xuan Huong Lake in the mountainous town of
Da Lat has plummeted due to agricultural practices; the Gulf of Mexico
has a growing dead zone due to agricultural-related material from the
Mississippi; and in the US Northwest, the Environmental Protection
Agency has fought local dairy factory farms to stop manure runoff from
contaminating fragile shellfish beds in Puget Sound. In focusing primar-
ily on agricultural runoff as the main culprit, The Bay uses Chesapeake
Bay as a stand-in for environmental struggles occurring globally and to
protect the health of all types of waterways.
Levinson visually depicts the failing health of the waterway through
constant representations of its dirty water in the film: it is foamy, brown,
grey, or a muddy and dark green. Because it is not presented as idylli-
cally blue, clear, and pure, the water effectively signifies the heavily
polluted state of the bay. Portrayal of the water reinforces the verbal
statistics—it looks unhealthy, except in one scene when the oceanogra-
phers make explicit a very important environmental point: although the
bay looks healthy on the surface, it is an environmental “nightmare”
underneath. In this sense, the water functions as Meinig’s “landscape
as problem” that, as Levinson makes clear, is “a condition needing cor-
rection” (1979a, 39). The horrors that befall the people of Claridge are
thus meant to reveal the dire consequences of disequilibrium in the local
environment.
114 E.E. MOORE
In addition to unsustainable agricultural practices, The Bay also points

a direct finger at politicians who are more concerned with economic
growth than environmental health—and even the health of their own
citizens. Claridge’s mayor, “Honest” John Stockman, clearly represents
the film’s criticism of profit at any cost, but also the condemnation of the
cozy relationship between corporations and politicians who support neo-
liberal practices in eschewing proper care for important environmental
resources. According to the film, it is politicians who should be (and are
not) the watchdogs of businesses who would degrade the environment.
More subtly, the film also places some culpability on citizens them-
selves, who exhibit too much apathy, are too busy with their own lives,
or who actively prioritize economic development over environmental
care. The film suggests citizens’ accountability a few times during the
film. When the older man criticizes the agricultural runoff entering the
bay, other citizens dismiss him with contempt, as if no one wants to
hear or believe what he says. When the older woman notes that what is
needed is to “develop the hell out of the bay and clean it up later,” peo-
ple cheer, also hinting that townspeople do not want to curtail economic
activity for environmental health.
Related to the citizens’ inaction and apathy regarding degradation
of the Bay is narrator Donna’s statement that people were “doing the
‘American thing’: trying to make a living, dealing with their children
and enjoying their lives.” Thus very much related to the potential blame
placed on citizens is the “American thing,” which Levinson appears
to suggest is the somewhat myopic care for everyday life at the exclu-
sion of seeing the bigger (environmental) picture and taking action to
resolve it. Robert Putnam, in his tome Bowling Alone, laments the loss
of social capital and civic engagement that once characterized the USA.
According to Putnam, what replaced civic activity was a narrower focus
on individual concerns, reducing civic engagement to voting in major
elections and writing checks for “good” causes. The Bay thus seems to be
taking aim not necessarily at consumption, but the political and environ-
mental apathy that appears to mark American culture.
Because Levinson appears to critique the “American thing,” it is per-
haps no surprise to see the US flag in so many scenes in The Bay, espe-
cially in relation to consumption, celebration (of July 4), and death. One
telling scene is when the man throws up directly over the flag. By associ-
ating the Stars and Stripes with the mayhem that follows, what message
is The Bay trying to send? One could surmise that this potent symbol
identifies a degraded natural resource as a uniquely American prob-

lem. The film focuses exclusively on one important holiday in American
culture—Independence Day. It is impossible to know (Levinson did
not indicate why he chose this holiday in any interview) for certain,
but one can surmise that he was critiquing “freedom” in an American
context specifically related to environmental regulations—currently a
wide-reaching debate in the USA. Czarnezki and Fieldler (2016), Van
Alstyne (2015), and many others discuss what they term the “neoliberal
turn” towards market-based strategies when it comes to environmen-
tal regulation. In a Rolling Stone article, Tim Dickinson (2014) decried
the “Market-Based Management” practices of Koch Industries, not-
ing that the general principle of the practice is that it is less expensive
to pay for environmental fines and government fines than to do proper
maintenance on their oil and gas infrastructure. The Bay thus seems to
enter directly into contemporary debates raging about the market-based
management of anything, much less important natural resources like
Chesapeake Bay. The critique of “freedom” discernible in the film may
thus be more aimed at corporations than at citizens themselves.
One final pattern evident in the film is the constant use of Claridge’s
main street. Meinig (1979b, 165) recognizes that some landscape depic-
tions “may be powerfully evocative because they are understood as being
a particular kind of place rather than a precise … locality.” In The Bay,
one of the most prominent cultural landscapes can be best described
as “Main Street, USA”—or, as Meinig calls it, “Main Street of Middle
America”—which becomes less about Maryland and Chesapeake Bay
than it does, broadly, about the USA as the whole. Although the film is
set in Maryland, The Bay does not present a scene from a “New England
village” (another cultural landscape that Meinig identifies) as much as it
presents an idea of a small, “wholesome” town somewhere in the USA.
In the film, much of the action/destruction occurs on Claridge’s main
street, perfectly described by Meinig as “a commercial center surrounded
by agriculture and augmented by local industry” (167). In fact, the film’s
horror—from the first screams of terror to the final mass death—begins
and ends on this street. Thus, this cultural landscape has real significance,
especially when conjoined with environmental degradation, which can be
explored further. Although Meinig believes that “Main Street of Middle
America” represents an “idealized version” of small-town America, I
believe Levinson is using this in a different way, for in connecting human
116 E.E. MOORE
death with the environmental problems of the bay he hints quite strongly
that we destroy ourselves when we degrade the environment.
Summing up the iconography in the film, we can discern that the
constant visual association between the polluted water, “small-town
America,” and the ubiquitous American flag in The Bay invites us to see
these as intimately connected. Levinson appears to be telling us that this
is an American problem, and that “doing the American thing” is not
working any longer, neither for the natural environment nor for us. The
isopods who wreak havoc on the townspeople can be seen as a prime
example of the “violation of nature” script that Weart (1988) identi-
fies: “in most human cultures the violation of nature, and forbidden
acts or things in general, have been directly identified with contamina-
tion … whatever goes against the supposed natural order is called pol-
luting” (188). Seen from this perspective of contamination and natural
order, the film tells us that something has gone wrong, it is our fault,
and nature is not the same because of it.
Discussion: Gaia Theory and the Nature of Ecological

Revenge Fantasies
Both films analyzed in this chapter contain different characters, narra-
tives, iconography, and environmental problems: The Happening (2008)
depicts nature’s revenge on humans for (seemingly) widespread pollution
and overpopulation; The Bay (2012) shows audiences the consequences
of a perfect storm of rising water temperatures, species migration, and
human-made pollution. In The Happening, the film never overtly iden-
tifies exactly why nature is so angry, so the mass killings by homicidal
vegetation end up unexplained and seeming a bit random. While the
foundation is laid for a strong critique of capitalism, this never arrives.
However, The Bay places blame squarely and clearly on corporations,
governments, and (more subtly) individual American citizens for the
environmental horror they face.
Despite the differences, there remain some commonalities, including
references to the Gaia hypothesis. Turney (2003) observes that although
this hypothesis, which emerged in the 1960s, was met with “indiffer-
ence” from the scientific community, it has slowly gained a more positive
reception, as marked by its elevation from hypothesis to theory. Lovelock
and Margulis (1974) proposed that
the total ensemble of living organisms which constitute the biosphere can
act as a single entity to regulate chemical composition, surface pH and
possibly climate. The notion of the biosphere as an active adaptive control
system able to maintain the Earth in homeostasis we are calling the “Gaia”
hypothesis. (3)
James Lovelock, who often is credited with the Gaia theory, himself
believed that the Earth’s homeostatic mechanisms (striving for equilib-
rium) suggests that the planet itself is a living being—or, as Schwartzman
notes, that the Earth functions as a superorganism “with its own phys-
iology” (6). Schwartzman (1999, 6) notes that important elements of
Gaia include “the richness of interactive processes and feedbacks,” and
recognizes that “planetary biota actively determine [their] planetary
environment.”
If need be said, the purpose of this chapter is not to evaluate the Gaia
theory’s validity; however, it is clear that eco-thriller films, where vari-
ous natural actors attempt to (and do) kill those humans responsible for
creating disequilibrium in the environment, are indirectly pulling from
the theory. Perhaps what scientists refer to as the drive towards equilib-
rium is what both films in this chapter would label as “revenge.” There
is a certain seeming malevolence, an intentionality, which suggests that
humans have not only disturbed the ecological equilibrium, but have
angered the Earth (or at least some of its inhabitants).
As thrillers with a strong environmental focus, The Happening and
The Bay can be seen broadly as uneasy revenge fantasies. In each, those
who have done wrong by hurting the environment will be punished. But
in The Happening, humans mostly are given a pass on their culpability,
because they are rarely shown consuming, possessing, or using modern-
day consumer products (like Smartphones, computers, and the like). So,
while we understand that the trees may be upset with humans, we aren’t
given any visual proof that would align us with the trees in standing in
judgment of humans. Instead, because they seem relatively guiltless, we
empathize with them and want them to live. In The Bay, humans play
both potential villain and victim, trapped in dangerous reinforcing cir-
cumstances that they might have been able to control if had been paying
more attention, taking action, and perhaps were being more critical of
existing economic and political structures. In both films, however, the
story is one of environmental disequilibrium, and, either indirectly or
overtly, the cause appears to be humans.
118 E.E. MOORE
Notes
1. Palmer (1979) appears to have pulled the idea of “low-life literature” from
Darnton’s seminal essay “The High Enlightenment and the Low Life of
Literature” (1971) on popular literature created and consumed during the
Late Enlightenment—literature written by “eighteenth-century authors
[who] were men of flesh and blood, who wanted to fill their bellies, house
their families, and make their way in the world” (82).
2. To demonstrate the breadth of thrillers, McCarty includes films as diverse
as All the President’s Men, Rear Window, Deliverance, Silence of the Lambs,
and Abandon Ship!
3. Zodiac centers on an environmental activist/“extremist” who fights against
pollution in Boston Harbor.
4. Not to be confused with Dave Eggers’ novel of the same name, Poyer’s
The Circle features a sailor on an American destroyer in the Arctic.
5. Ford is referencing mostly documentaries that he identifies as “eco-hor-
ror,” but the message is very much the same for documentaries and fiction
in this genre.
6. In an interview with Take Part at http://www.takepart.com/arti-
cle/2012/10/19/flesh-eating-two-and-half-foot-long-parasites-rule-eco-
horror-film-bay.
7. More information is available from the Chesapeake Bay Program: http://
www.chesapeakebay.net/track/restoration
8. According to Dance (2016), in the article “Scientists Give Chesapeake
Bay its Highest Environmental Grade Since 1992” in the Baltimore Sun:
http://www.baltimoresun.com/features/green/blog/bs-md-chesapeake-
bay-grade-20160517-story.html.
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Meinig, Donald William. 1979b. Symbolic Landscapes. In The Interpretation
of Ordinary Landscapes: Geographical Essays, 164–192. New York: Oxford
University.
York: St. Martin’s Press.
Randers, Jørgen, L.Meadows Dennis, and H.Meadows Donella. 2004. The
Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea
Green Pub. Co.
Schor, Juliet, and Karen Elizabeth White. 2010. Plenitude: The New Economics of
True Wealth. New York: Penguin Press.
Schwartzman, David W. 1999. Life, Temperature, and the Earth: The Self-
Organizing Biosphere. New York: Columbia University.
Turney, Jon. 2003. Lovelock and Gaia: Signs of Life. New York: Columbia
University.
Van Alstyne, Andrew. 2015. The Neoliberal Turn in Environmental Governance
in the Detroit River Area of Concern. Environmental Sociology 1 (3): 190–
201. doi:10.1080/23251042.2015.1045332.
Weart, Spencer R. 1988. Nuclear Fear: A History of Images. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University.
Wheeler, Timothy. 2012. Scientists Find a Little to Like in the Bay Film. Baltimore
Sun, Nov 2.
CHAPTER 5
Stranger than (Science) Fiction:

Environmental Dystopia in Hollywood
Sci-Fi
This chapter analyzes films that fall within the category of the generic
form known as science fiction, sometimes referred to as “sci-fi,” and
often called “SF” (this chapter uses all of these labels interchangeably).
Like most of the genres considered in this book, Hollywood’s sci-fi texts
have their origin in a distinct literary tradition; however, the move from
print to screen has created significant expansions and shifts. Hellekson
(2010, 100) notes that “film and tv in particular have become increas-
ingly important vehicles of expression within the genre of SF,” in part
because of the broad and far-reaching distribution network offered
through visual texts, but also due to the fact that what she refers to as
“visual SF” has the ability to tell complex stories about important politi-
cal, economic, social, and, I would argue, environmental, issues.
Understanding and detailing this diverse, long lineage of sci-fi—the
first step in this chapter—lays the foundation for the analysis of the three
films included here: the fairly recent Allegiant (2016) and Interstellar
(2014) as well as Children of Men (2006). While there are other films in
this genre that focus directly or indirectly on the environment (includ-
ing Oblivion and Independence Day), these films place primary emphasis
on resource depletion due to outside (alien) invaders: because they do
not focus directly on Earth’s environmental degradation, they were not
chosen.1
Here, the study of landscape becomes particularly significant as a
complex element in understanding the visual story these films tell about
environmental problems. One assertion made in this chapter is that

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_5
122 E.E. MOORE
visual SF’s dystopian perspective, heavy reliance on computer-generated

imagery (CGI) and critical approach means that this cinematic form may
be uniquely situated to vividly depict ecological problems in a way not
seen in other genres. While the films chosen for analysis have substan-
tively different plots that focus on different environmental issues, what
they share is a portrayal of the dangers of environmental catastrophe as a
point of no return.
Visual Sci-Fi as Genre

The origins of literary science fiction are somewhat contested, if only
because—like most generic forms—not everyone agrees on an exact
definition. Sanders (2009, 139) believes that, aside from some notable
exceptions in the 1930s and 1940s, literary sci-fi did not “come of age”
until the 1950s. Others, like Slusser (2005), assert that Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein (published in 1818) is the first instantiation of what has
come to be known as the SF novel.
Like the other genres included in this book, science fiction consist-
ently draws from and refers to other genres: in literary form, SF has
been seen as closely aligned with the romance tradition (Slusser 2005).
Considering its visual form, Langford (2005) recognizes science fic-
tion’s “dominant presence” in Hollywood (in films such as Star Wars,
Close Encounters, and The Matrix), believing that these films often pre-
sent themselves as the “action blockbuster,” especially when it comes to
the frequent use of cutting-edge CGIs/visual effects.2 Sanders (2009,
196) agrees, noting that “Hollywood often depicts global catastrophes
with elaborate CGI special effects, sentimentality, and superficiality,
the destruction of the human race usually treated as a backdrop for a
muscular action hero to strut his macho stuff.” In this sense, modern
SF cinema draws heavily from the conventions of the action blockbuster
(discussed at greater length in Chap. 3) while retaining many traditions
and narrative elements from print SF.
However, like other generic forms, it is clear that visual sci-fi contains
its own unique elements that distinguish it from other literary or filmic
traditions. Despite Hellekson’s (2010, 99) somewhat gloomy (but per-
haps justified) perspective that most efforts to “essentialize” the genre are
“doomed to failure,” there is some utility in attempting to understand
common themes and other narrative elements of SF as they impact the
portrayal of environmental issues. Langford (2005, 182) identifies some
5 STRANGER THAN (SCIENCE) FICTION … 123
as “futuristic themes and technologies, hyper-modernity, mind control,

genetic mutations, and radiation poisoning.” Seed (2005, 4) defines SF
through its consistent inclusion of the themes of “world-building” and
exploration, which he believes forms the core of SF texts. While it is true
that many films marketed as “science fiction” seem to have little to do with
science itself, Slusser asserts that “SF is all about science. It is the sole liter-
ary form that examines the ways in which science penetrates, alters, and
transforms the themes, forms, and worldview of fiction” (2005, 28).
One of the primary themes in science fiction—regardless if in print or
visual form—is technological development. Otto (2012) refers to print
science fiction as a technophilic literature that is always set (necessarily)
in the future. A specific example of this technophilia is the inclusion in
many sci-fi texts of what is termed the novum—“a scientifically plausi-
ble innovation that catalyzes an imaginary historical transformation”—
that provides a catalyst for the narrative (Csicsery-Ronay 2005, 52).3
The novum can be found easily in many movies that are marketed as
science fiction (including those included in this chapter), but the trans-
formation does not always have to be positive: although it is a genre
that often looks ahead, SF has an uneasy relationship with technological
development. Langford (2005, 198) notes this wary embrace, identifying
the “fatal hubris of technological wizardry” as a key signifier in SF film.
Slusser (2005, 28) agrees, noting that SF reveals an apprehensive view
regarding the consequences of technological or scientific developments
on humans.4 Examples of this tense relationship with technology can
be seen in numerous popular SF films, including The Terminator, Blade
Runner, and The Matrix, where intelligent machines created by humans
have taken over the world and threaten to destroy human society.
This close engagement with (yet mistrust of) technological changes
fits with a second key element of the SF text, which is that of dystopia.
While numerous scholars recognize dystopia as a common component
in science fiction, they also recognize that the genre engages heavily
with both utopia and dystopia.5 Moylan (2000, 112) refers, in a striking
metaphor for the depth of dystopian portrayals, to the dystopia found
in SF as “maps of hell” that are often paired with “horizons of hope”
(147). Echoing this recognition, Stableford (2008, 139) notes that while
some sci-fi producers have reacted to the idea of “ecocatastrophe” with
the optimistic perspective that these problems might be solved, many
also have “collaborated eagerly in the alarmism of the apocalyptic eco-
catastrophists.” In this chapter, this potential for a dystopian/utopian
124 E.E. MOORE
dyad is considered carefully as it relates to how environmental problems

and their potential solutions are presented to the audience.
SF’s inclusion of futuristic technologies as well as its dystopian lean-
ings lead to a third common thread that links most SF texts: engage-
ment with social commentary. Alford (2010, 105) observes that “as
the Science Fiction genre tends to take place in dystopic worlds, it does
also have a tendency to provide more cerebral warnings of the dan-
gers of power and technology …” Criticism of existing power struc-
tures is an important common denominator to consider in SF texts, for
the presentation of severe environmental dystopia practically demands
an examination of who or what is responsible. In his definition of SF,
Csicsery-Ronay (2005, 43) believes that critique lies at the core of the
genre: “Since it is in the nature of SF’s oxymoronic fusion of the rational
and the marvelous to challenge received notions of reality—sometimes
seriously, sometimes playfully, critical provocation is part of SF’s generic
identity.”
One of the potential reasons why science fiction contains such criti-
cal elements is due to its historically inclusive nature. As one example,
Csicsery-Ronay (2005, 52) argues that feminist critics have recognized
“that the genre’s hospitableness to outsiders [has] long given voice to
marginalized women.” The inclusivity that marks SF also has extended to
other historically-marginalized groups, including people of color and the
poor or working class.6 As Langford (2005, 189) notes, many SF films
present “a vision of oppressive power” that can be seen as both fantasy
and cultural parable—and most often as cautionary tale.
Integral to SF’s social critique is its engagement with postmodernism.
Langford (2005) ties SF’s critical nature to postmodernity while sum-
ming up the central conventions of the form:
Institutionally implicated in shifting practices of global film distribution

and marketing; placed at the cutting edge of changes in representational
practice such as digitalization that challenge traditional assumptions about
the ontology of the photographic image …; porous and hybrid across
boundaries of genre and national cinema alike; centrally focused on ques-
tions of technological change and their impact on human identities; and
skeptical about the continuing validity of traditional assumptions about the
stability and fixity of human nature: these key attributes of SF film … com-
prise a virtual checklist of the hallmarks of postmodernism. (184)
This chapter examines the portrayal of environmental problems in

Hollywood through the conventions of science fiction cinema identi-
fied above, paying close attention to sci-fi’s key themes of technological
advancement, world exploration, social commentary, and dystopia/uto-
pia. Before beginning analysis, however, it is important to recognize the
existing (and relatively limited) scholarly ecocriticism of the genre.
Ecocriticism Woven into Sci-Fi

Many scholars who practice ecocriticism discern in SF texts a rich mantle
of environmental themes, more so than seen in other genres. Examples
of science fiction films that address ecological issues include The Host,
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Soylent Green, the original Mad Max
series, Blade Runner, and The Matrix, in addition to those analyzed in
this chapter. Otto (2012) believes that literary science fiction consistently
poses provocative questions about environmental degradation in a way
that challenges the status quo. However prevalent ecological themes are
in SF texts themselves, it is clear that there is very little scholarly atten-
tion given to this trend.7 While (Csicsery-Ronay 2005, 43) acknowl-
edges that “no popular genre of fiction has generated as much, and as
diverse, critical commentary” as SF, it is also true that environmental
themes in this genre remain largely unexamined in critical scholarship.
Despite the relative paucity of scholarly attention to portrayals of
ecology in SF, there are a few prominent examples of this ecocriticism
that can be described briefly here. According to Stableford (2008, 128),
concerns about ecology started appearing “tentatively” in science fiction
literature in the 1920s with Beresford’s “The Man Who Hated Flies,”
which describes the “ecocatastrophe” that occurs when a man invents
the perfect insecticide, thus setting off an unintended and catastrophic
ecological chain reaction. Several scholars identify a sharp uptick in “eco-
catastrophe stories” in the 1950s: while Stableford (2008) attributes this
rise specifically to a revival of Malthusian fears concerning overpopula-
tion and limited food supplies, others like Suppia (2010, 131) attribute
the surge in “eco-SF” movies to “a new, more widespread, and to some
extent left-wing ecological conscience around the world.”8 Around this
time, many SF creators began to incorporate the idea of the “exhaustibil-
ity of other resources—especially oil—and the dangers of environmental
pollution” into their stories (Stableford 2008, 134).9 Moving away from
print SF and towards Hollywood film, Sanders (2009, 196) notes that
126 E.E. MOORE
Films such as Armageddon (1998), Deep Impact (1998), and The Core
(2003) all posit scenarios that involve the imminent destruction of planet
Earth, yet their narratives seem far removed from reality. But more recent
films, such as The Day After Tomorrow (2004), Sunshine (2007) and
Children of Men (2004), do have the ring of truth about how our future
might develop (even if the science remains vague).
In terms of realism, Sanders (2009, 196) believes that older sci-fi films
(from the 1960s through the 1980s) contain portrayals of impending
ecological disasters that are “dangerously close” to current environmen-
tal realities. He provides the example of Blade Runner, set in 2019 with
Los Angeles lying in environmental ruin due to human activity, as an
example. Like other scholars, Suppia (2010, 140) sees sci-fi texts func-
tioning as societal parable, but applies this directly to ecological issues:
“The films are parables representing a society under pressure, incapable
of breathing fresh air, and subjected to invisible, bureaucratic, authoritar-
ian, and even Kafkaesque power and threats.”10
What the limited scholarship on SF eco-criticism reveals is that SF
films focused on eco-catastrophe draw from existing narrative and the-
matic elements in the genre, including the focus on dystopia and cultural
criticism. Additionally, in eco-SF films one can find clear cautionary tales
regarding the growth associated with the Industrial Revolution and the
rise of ‘megacities’ (Stableford 2008, 134) as well as nostalgia—specifi-
cally, nostalgia for “pre-industrial times, where the values of unity and
harmony with nature are reaffirmed” (Suppia 2010, 138).
The Economic Logic of Visual Sci-Fi

Although it is true that many popular SF movies contain clear criti-
cal elements that originate from their generic literary predecessor, it is
important to remember that they remain blockbuster Hollywood pro-
ductions that function as part of a larger economic logic and structure.
While Hellekson (2010) proposes that “any fundamental differences
that can be articulated between print SF and SF in any other media
are likely spurious,” Langford (2005) suggests otherwise, reminding
us that the themes of SF cohere seamlessly with the profit motive of
Hollywood, especially in terms of the potential to produce high-budget
summer action blockbusters that lend themselves readily to merchandis-
ing, corporate tie-ins, and cross promotions.11 Similarly, Alford (2010)
calls attention to the significant ideological shift that takes place from
the print versions of science fiction texts to their Hollywood remakes,
lamenting that
It is striking that even relatively critical science fiction films from
Hollywood history have been de-radicalised during the remake process.
Tim Burton’s “reimagination” of Planet of the Apes (2001) removed
some of the more radical commentary on US power … similarly … the
remake of Godzilla (1998) … absolve[s] US responsibility for the irradi-
ated beast’s rampage. (105, emphasis in original)12
Parenti (2010, vii) agrees, noting that Hollywood functions “within
fixed ideological parameters” whose contours are shaped by “its end-
less pursuit of money and fame.” He goes on to note that as a result
of the drive for profit the movie-going audience is fed a diet of “slick,
shallow, mediocre and politically truncated presentations” that are “read-
ily digestible” (viii–ix). Whether or not one agrees that all Hollywood
productions are middling and politically abridged, analysis of the three
science fiction films in this chapter are based on the underlying ques-
tion of how a critical, questioning genre like sci-fi addresses key ecologi-
cal issues. While the three SF films clearly depict environmental dystopia
(especially eco-apocalypse), how they define the causes and potential
solutions to these problems lies at the heart of this chapter.
Children of Men
Children of Men , distributed in 2006 by Universal and produced by Strike
Entertainment and Hit & Run, is based on P.D. James’s novel of the
same name that was published in 1992.13 Alfonse Cuaron (of Y Tu Mama
Tambien fame) directed the film, which was critically lauded, winning
Saturn’s “Best Science Fiction Film Release” award and making Rolling
Stone’s Top 20 Sci-Fi Films of the twenty-first Century list.14 Although
critically acclaimed, Children of Men did not do particularly well at the
box office, garnering an extremely modest opening weekend revenue in
the UK (where it first opened) and then in the USA three months later.
Both book and film contain (broadly) the same central narrative: in
the early part of the twenty-first century the world has become infertile,
and no new children have been born for years.15 James’s novel states that
“civilization … is crumbling as suicide and despair become common-
place.” In an interview with the Paris Review (Guppy 1995, 52), James
observes that she conceived of her book as a “moral fable” after she had
read a scientific report detailing
128 E.E. MOORE
a dramatic drop in the sperm count of Western men—fifty percent in as

many years. I asked some scientists about this and they said that it was
perhaps due to pollution. But the article drew attention to another fac-
tor: that of all the billions of life-forms that have inhabited this earth, most
have already died out, that the natural end of man is to disappear too,
and that the time our species has spent on this planet is a mere blink. So I
wondered what England would be like, say, twenty-five years after the last
baby was born and then for twenty-five years no one had heard the cry of
a baby.
What follows is a brief summary of the film that pays close attention to
the way in which environmental problems are defined as well as describ-
ing the physical landscape in which the characters move.
Children of Men Summary

The film opens with the central character, Theo (a white British male
in his 40s), getting coffee at a shop in London while learning that the
youngest person on Earth (who was 18 years old) has died as a result
of a stabbing. Theo leaves the coffee shop and enters the street, which
is filled with smoke and piles of garbage. As he stands there, the coffee
shop he just left is bombed by insurgent groups fighting the British gov-
ernment’s anti-immigration policy. With this dystopian view, Children of
Men begins.
The bomb has shaken Theo, and so he leaves work to join his friend
Jasper in the country. While he rides the train, the screens above him
depict widespread mayhem, destruction, and violence in large cit-
ies around the world, including mass animal deaths, people in hazmat
suits, and raging fires. The screen reads “The world has collapsed. Only
Britain soldiers on.” The next “public service” message has to do with
“illegal immigrants,” with a voice warning that “to shelter illegal immi-
grants is a crime.” Theo departs the train to meet Jasper, at the station
seeing immigrants (both light- and dark-skinned) in cages waiting to be
deported. As he rides with Jasper, the previous city scene—shot in muted
brown and grey tones—is contrasted with a vibrant green landscape vis-
ible from the car: trees sway in the wind and the sun shines from a blue
sky; however, in the foreground the camera focuses on hundreds of cattle
that have been burned due to an unspecified disease.
As Theo settles in to Jasper’s forested home, which is surrounded by

green trees, they discuss the potential causes of worldwide infertility,
including “genetic experiments, gamma rays, pollution …” It appears
that no one knows the definitive cause for the precipitous drop in human
births 18 years ago. Meanwhile, Jasper’s dog settles happily at his feet.
As Owen makes his way back to the city, he is kidnapped by a revolu-
tionary group called The Fishes and is taken to one of their leaders, who
turns out to be Theo’s ex-wife, Julian. The group convinces Theo to get
transit papers from his powerful cousin (who is a high-level British gov-
ernment official) for a young woman of color named Kee, who is a refu-
gee (colloquially referred to as a “fugee”) originally from West Africa.
As he travels with Julian, the young woman, and members of The Fishes
in a car through a bright green forest where one can hear birds sing-
ing, they are ambushed, and Julian dies. The car reroutes and heads for
a farm run by The Fishes. While on the farm, a young kitten climbs up
Theo’s pant leg, while a puppy is visible in someone’s arms.
Eventually, Theo learns that it was The Fishes who plotted Julian’s
death, and that Kee is in fact pregnant: the first pregnancy in 18 years.
She reveals this to Theo by undressing in a barn filled with animals. As
she disrobes, she talks about humans’ horrific treatment of cattle just
to get milk. Theo resolves to take the woman to safety with a group of
scientists working on fertility, part of the “Human Project.” To get her
there, he must travel with her to the coast, where battles between gov-
ernment and insurgent forces are raging between bombed-out buildings.
Between being chased by The Fishes and dodging crossfire, Theo
takes Kee to a safe house, where she gives birth. Eventually, he is able to
get her in a boat and row her to the rendezvous point for the “Human
Project” ship. As Theo dies from a gunshot wound, the ship appears out
of the fog. Named Tomorrow, it is there to save Kee, the baby, and—it is
hinted—perhaps humankind.
Dystopia, Environmental Concern, and the Future of Humans:

Children of Men Analysis
As noted earlier, many sci-fi films engage with both dystopia and uto-
pia, and Children of Men is no exception. The depictions of urban decay
and pollution, which are directly associated with anarchy and violence in
the film, are in striking visual opposition to the portrayals of the rural
130 E.E. MOORE
landscape, where both trees and non-human animals are healthy, thriv-
ing, and multiplying. The film presents both types of landscape (decaying
urban environment and flourishing natural environment) as a meaningful
binary, where the continuous engagement with extremes of dystopia and
utopia makes serves to underscore the value of unspoiled and peaceful
nature.
Another clearly dystopic element in the film is the portrayal of power
and inequality. Sanders (2009) writes that in the film
human society has disintegrated and power structures have changed.

Britain is the focal point of the novel, for it is held up as one of the last
countries of the world not overrun by terrorism and anarchy. In its place,
however, are draconian government policies that curtail individual free-
dom, including those related to immigration.
Kaplan (2015, 58) has a slightly different take on Children of Men,

believing that the film addresses “the dangers that are inherent in the
corporate capitalism of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, capital-
ism that is directly related to environmental degeneration.” Here, the
film paints a bleak portrait of the dangers of extreme power held in the
hands of a few by critiquing the treatment of refugees, who are rounded
up like animals and shipped back to areas of the world where chaos and
violence have become the norm. In providing critical comment on the
treatment of refugees on the world stage, the film also makes a clear link
to environmental issues, because Kee, a dark-skinned “Fugee,” appears
to hold the “key” to understanding how the human species might sur-
vive the global ecological disaster. Thus, another significant element of
the film is that Kee herself is a West African: her dark hair and skin pro-
vide a constant visual reminder that although she is considered an out-
cast by the British government (which considers all refugees as “illegal”)
her health and survival is essential to the perpetuation of the human race.
It is significant that in P.D. James’s book it is Julian, the white woman,
who becomes pregnant; in the film, however, it is a poor refugee woman
of color who is associated with environmental renewal and the survival of
the species.
The portrayal of Kee is a striking change from the wayenvironmental
solutions are portrayed in other genres (especially spy thrillers and super-
hero films), where older white capitalist–industrialist males are shown as
the “saviors” of the environment. Indeed, unlike many films in different
genres, Children of Men positions older white capitalist males as part of

the problem, not the solution. Theo’s cousin, holding a powerful gov-
ernment position, is portrayed as being in denial about the state of the
environment as well as the severe social injustices his government has
created. If wealthy white males are the problem, then, the film openly
suggests that the solutions may well come from the poor and dispos-
sessed, providing a decidedly populist perspective.
As Donner (2014, 184) observes, “ecofeminism features an endorse-
ment of the ethic of care as the mirror side of a rejection of despotism
and the vices of oppression.” In one way, Kee’s body (and the other bod-
ies of the women in the film) may be seen as an example of ecofemi-
nism’s belief (which pulls from John Stuart Mill’s theory of oppression)
that the subjugation of women and the subordination of nature are gen-
erated by the same societal structures that create “systemic oppression”
(Donner 2014, 181). Infertility then becomes a stand-in for the myriad
environmental problems that patriarchal, capitalist structures have cre-
ated, and Kee’s pregnancy may be seen as an interruption of that pattern.
While this may be true, it is important to note that in Children of Men
Kee appears to be a more passive victim (or fortunate recipient) of ran-
dom circumstance than an active and thoughtful caretaker of the envi-
ronment—a departure from the active roles that women take towards
environmental issues in the other two films in this chapter.
It also is significant to note that Kee is set up to be a Madonna-
like figure, albeit one somewhat different from that of traditional
Catholicism: she admits that she has had sex with enough partners so as
not to know who the father of her child is. When she exposes herself to
Theo in the barn as a way of revealing her pregnancy, her naked body is
framed by straw, stalls, and cattle, evoking none-too-subtly Jesus’ birth
and the nativity. Not only is she associated with Mary, the Madonna,
but, perhaps troublingly, also with the non-human animals that surround
her. Many of these animals have themselves given birth (the film is filled
with scenes of young animals), and so her fecundity and theirs become
a somewhat uneasy common denominator. This potential criticism of
Kee’s portrayal is leveled with caution, for she is portrayed as a woman
who has a clear understanding of what is happening and cares about
those around her. In addition, the film invites us to get to know Kee on
a more intimate level, which would seem to mitigate the impression of
her as an unknowable “Other.”
132 E.E. MOORE
Interestingly, the film itself (much like the book) leaves the ultimate
cause of the precipitous drop in human fertility undefined. According to
Sanders (2009, 196), context for the film could include “the new millen-
nium … the United States” coming under attack by Muslim terrorists in
2001, bird flu outbreaks, “global warming,” and the trend of “greater
infertility in men across the Western world.”16 Similarly, O’Donnell
(2015, 17) refers to Children of Men as the “ambient apocalyptic,”
where “the film’s sense of pervasive crisis is not linked to a singular apoc-
alyptic event.” Important here is the constant and deliberate portrayal
of non-human animal babies in the film: as noted, kittens, puppies, and
birds abound in numerous scenes. The absence of human young (aside
from Kee’s child) seems to imply that the environmental disaster that
impacted humans’ fecundity was due to humans themselves—only their
infertility is highlighted. As a result, it is hinted that humans themselves
are responsible for ecological disaster on a global scale. With the cause
unknown (is it pollution, climate change, or a global pandemic?), it is
impossible to assign responsibility for the problem, and thus the solu-
tion remains murky and ill-defined. Sanders (2009, 196) perceives that
Children of Men does “have the ring of truth about how our future
might develop (even if the science remains vague). Whatever the cause
may be, it is clear that the movie intends to vividly portray the substan-
tive impact of ecological destruction on humanity.17
The film ends on a decidedly utopian note: a baby is born and Kee
makes it to the “Human Project,” which (it is hinted) will take care
of her in the next step to save the human race. However, it is impor-
tant to point out a potential contradiction in James’s premise regarding
resource scarcity, environmental damage, and the loss of hope, which
is seen as the driving force behind the global anarchy, violence, and—
in Britain especially—the inhumane treatment of refugees. First is the
question about resources: if no babies are being born, then the world
population would be in sharp decline, and that means less pollution and
more resources for all. It would also mean fewer workers to keep national
economies going. An appropriate case in point is Germany’s acceptance
of hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees. Lauded by many countries
as a humanitarian move, there were also murmurs that Germany would
benefit from a revived labor force. An article in the German newspaper
Der Spiegel (Dettmer et al. 2015) made this benefit clear:
The German economy is dependent on immigration, both from Europe

as well as people entering the country due to asylum rights in Germany.
With the German population shrinking, businesses are unable to fill many
jobs, and specialized workers are increasingly rare. This trend will only be
exacerbated in the coming years. It’s a development that jeopardizes the
country’s future prosperity.
A Wall Street Journal article publicly pondered if the influx of refugees

from Syria would help Germany’s labor deficit, noting that “the wave of
migrants now streaming into Germany could be exactly what Europe’s
largest economy needs to rejuvenate its graying workforce” (Adam
2015). The notion of “graying” workers (an aging population not
replaced with an adequate birth rate) is particularly relevant when con-
sidering the scenario painted by Children of Men. Countries like Britain,
needing workers to help keep goods and services flowing to its popu-
lation, should (in this hypothetical scenario) be relatively eager to have
laborers who are hungry for jobs.
Having noted all this, however, it should be recognized that in late
2016 not only did the conservative UK Independence Party (UKIP)
take hold in the UK, but the majority of the citizens (with some excep-
tions, notably in Scotland and Northern Ireland) voted to support Brexit
(“British Exit”) from the European Union. The decision, which roiled
the world markets and brought the British pound to a 30-year low
against the US currency, seems to be based on economic but also cul-
tural concerns, as reflected by UKIP’s anti-immigration platform, which
has fostered significant controversy. A good example of this discourse fos-
tered by UKIP and the Brexit movement is the controversial “Breaking
Point” billboard series funded by the party in 2016. Depicting a long line
of Syrian refugees with the words “Breaking Point” in bold red letters,
it generated comparisons to Nazi Germany’s anti-Jewish propaganda,
and the de-humanizing images are markedly and disturbingly similar to
the government-run public service announcements in Children of Men .
After the Brexit vote, a series of xenophobic or outright racist acts were
documented by Facebook groups (“Worrying Signs”), and the hashtag
#Postrefracism was prevalent. As one Washington Post article summa-
rized, actions that sparked concerns about growing xenophobia included
the spray-painted message “Go Home” on the Polish Social and Cultural
Association in West London, and leaflets distributed in Cambridgeshire
that read “Leave the EU/No more Polish vermin.”
134 E.E. MOORE
In the USA, the anti-immigration movement continues, with the US

Electoral College electing businessman and reality television star Donald
Trump to the office of President in what has been critiqued as a middle-
class, white nationalist movement that rejects the idea of equal rights for
many Americans of color and American immigrants. Like the post-Brexit
cultural environment, after Trump’s election, there were numerous
instances of people of color being harassed and threatened, including on
college campuses, while the popularity of the US Confederate flag (for
many a symbol of a racist, white nationalist past in America) resurged in
popularity. When Trump signed his immigration ban in January 2017,
many in the USA (including elected officials) criticized this as a Muslim
ban that had anti-immigration parallels with Brexit.
Thus, P.D. James may have been eerily prescient about growing con-
cerns and tensions in the UK, the US, and other parts of the world sur-
rounding ethnicity, immigration, and national identity, but perhaps not
for the reasons she stated. In the book, James blames the draconian
immigration policies enacted by the British government on the loss of
hope, but even this does not entirely ring true. It is possible that human
life would become more, not less, precious. This is speculation, but it is a
worthy endeavor to consider the impact of a dwindling world population
on the environment. A declining population would not only mean more
resources would be available, but also would mean less manufacturing,
decreased consumption, and thus less pollution—a significant benefit for
the environment. Interestingly, the successful birth of Kee’s child is posi-
tioned by the film as hope for the future; however, what is to say that
increasing human populations won’t once again despoil the environment
and cause the same problems for all life on Earth? As Patrick Murphy
(2009), writing on the critical nature of science fiction, observes:
Rather than providing the alibi of a fantasy—in the sense of an escape from
real-world problems—extrapolation emphasizes that the present and the
future are interconnected. What we do now will be reflected in the future,
and, therefore, we have no alibi for avoiding addressing the results of our
actions today. (89)
Allegiant
Allegiant, produced in 2015 by Lionsgate and directed by Robert
Schwentke, is the third in a succession of films called the “Divergent”
series (which includes Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, and Ascendant).18
These films are directly based on Veronica Roth’s novels of the same
names (except that Roth’s book Allegiant was split into two films, as is
now common practice with young adult film series). Although popu-
lar young adults novels (the first book, Divergent, was on the New York
Times’ Best Seller list for 12 weeks), the films did not do particularly well
at the box office: Variety magazine notes that the first film—Divergent—
earned a solid $54.6 million in its opening weekend, but that Insurgent
pulled in slightly less—only $52.3 million. Allegiant fared the worst in
terms of initial box office, garnering only $29.1 million in the opening
weekend (Mendelson 2016), $10–$20 million less than the already low-
ered expectations. The series also has been panned by critics and audi-
ences alike, with ratings declining for every successive film. The low
profits and perceived low quality of the movies does not stop them from
providing the dazzling visuals (and big budgets) associated with most
Hollywood sci-fi blockbusters.
This film series follow a central female character named Beatrice
“Tris” Prior who fights against existing power structures that aim to keep
US citizens separated into different factions with different personality
traits: Erudite is marked by intelligence, Candor is characterized by hon-
esty, Amity is defined by peacefulness, Dauntless is marked by bravery,
and Abnegation is characterized as bring selfless. Tris is originally marked
as belonging to “Abnegation,” which means her role is to be selfless;
later, however, she transfers to the “Dauntless” faction and prove her
bravery while she rebels against power inequalities and faction separa-
tion. She learns later that she is in fact “Divergent”—a rare person who
carries all of these traits equally. The film series is supposed to be set in
a futuristic, dilapidated Chicago that is run by older adults who—almost
without exception—cannot be trusted due to their abuses of power and
suspect motivations.
Allegiant Summary
The central focus of Allegiant is the efforts of Tris (played by Shailene
Woodley) and her compatriots (her partner Four, her estranged brother
Caleb, her friends Christina and Tori, and a troublemaker named Peter)
to break out of a decaying and dilapidated Chicago while it is on lock-
down. They want to leave to see what lies beyond Chicago and also to
escape the brutality of Evelyn’s (Four’s mother, played by Naomi Watts)
136 E.E. MOORE
new reign: she has replaced Jeanine (Kate Winslet), a cruel Erudite
leader, and seems bent on tearing Chicago apart with multiple bloody
public executions. Her former political friend Johanna (played by African
American actor Octavia Spencer) publicly disapproves of the lawlessness
and brutality of Evelyn’s actions and vows to fight against her. Tris and
her friends first break Caleb out of prison and then make their way to one
of the giant walls surrounding the city. They scale the wall amid gunfire
from Evelyn’s forces only to make it to the top to find a barren and toxic
wasteland called the “Fringe” that stretches as far as their eyes can see.
As they travel through a red-hued landscape devoid of any life (even
vegetation), rivers run red under their feet, and even the sky rains toxic
red droplets, staining Tris and her group. When one member of the
group says that the environment looks to have suffered the effects of
radioactivity, someone asks why that matters. His response: “Looks like
someone trashed the planet.” Who that “someone” is not identified.
Tris’s group travels to a small city that contains the “Bureau of
Generic Welfare,” which rests in a lushly green, clean, heavily veg-
etated circle in the middle of the wasteland. Workers take them in to
purify their bodies from the heavy toxic exposure they have received
from traveling through the Fringe. Tris is given a series of white out-
fits to wear as she works with David (Jeff Daniels), the leader of this
city. She learns that she is considered one of the “pure” humans who
has survived genetic modification after her mother was removed from
the Fringe. David explains that genetic modification of humans to cre-
ate smart smarter, faster, kinder, healthier (overall “better”) children
got out of control: some were so smart that they lost compassion; some
were so peaceful that they became too passive. Tris and all of her friends
were part of an experiment to see if they could become pure again if they
were put in a healthy environment. Only Tris became “pure,” and David
wants to use her as the basis for his future genetic research.
Tris and Four learn that David is kidnapping children from the Fringe
to taking them to live at the Bureau. One scene, which looks like com-
plete misery, depicts people living in the toxic wasteland in small make-
shift huts exposed to the red rain. The adults from the Bureau at times
shoot the parents trying to shield their children, enabling the Bureau to
take them to live in a cleaner environment. Ultimately, it is revealed that
David’s motives are self-serving: he attempts to release a gas throughout
all of Chicago that creates permanent memory loss so he can further his
control. Together, Tris and Four work to stop the gas and destroy David.
Because one more film is due (Ascendant, in 2017), the story remains, at
the end of this film, unfinished, and the environmental devastation con-
tinues unmitigated.
Allegiant Analysis: Environmental Devastation as a Generational

Concern?
One of the first noteworthy trends is that the dystopian focus of the
young adult novels in Roth’s trilogy is brought forth in myriad ways in
Allegiant, which makes extensive use of CGI to deliver a striking visual
portrait of the devastating consequences of human pollution on Earth.
The continuous imagery of red skies, unclean water, and polluted land
invites the audience to be horrified while providing little visual respite
from the eco-catastrophe: very little greenery is shown, and when it is
it is always from a distance. Instead, the film presents viewers with only
small “outposts” of green set amid barren and dangerous toxic waste-
lands. Gandy (2006, 316) observes that “desolate spaces” like this “have
the power to evoke a deep unease …” The purpose of this particular
human-made disaster appears to be just this: to create a sense of malaise
that extends from the environment to the creatures that live on it and
depend on it for survival. In this sense, the wastelands through which
Tris and her group travel function in the way described by Gandy: as a
sustained critique of American society, including its excesses and corrup-
tion. The movement between three types of spaces (decaying city, envi-
ronmental utopia, and radioactive wasteland) makes it possible to see the
“Fringe” as a liminal space: life is not what it should be in Chicago, nor
in the false green (and corrupt) “utopia,” leaving the Fringe as a place of
potential that should be reclaimed, reconstituted, and revived. But does
Allegiant suggest that this is even possible?
The red-hued, barren landscape in Allegiant appears to evoke what is
referred to as the Red Forest of Chernobyl: after the 1986 nuclear disas-
ter in Russia, the needles of pine trees turned gold, rust, and red colors
while dying. The film does not reveal when exactly the radioactive mate-
rial destroyed the landscape, but the effect seems permanent, since no
life of any kind is visible. This permanence is interesting, because several
studies about Chernobyl reveal that the environment around the nuclear
facility began its renewal from the nuclear meltdown as early as 1 year
after the event; after a decade, the small mammal population rebounded
138 E.E. MOORE
(Barras 2016). Today, even bears roam the landscape. The extreme dys-
topian view taken by Allegiant stands in contrast to real-life examples of
radioactive pollution, for the environment in the film shows no signs of
burgeoning health. Thus, although it is possible to view the toxic lands
as a potential site of environmental cultural and moral renewal, the film
deprives us of this.
Second, the cause of the environmental pollution seen in the film—
radiation—is informative. When it comes to environmental destruction,
there are many potential sources to consider: toxic plastics clogging the
globe’s waterways, carbon-fueled climate change, mass extinction of
species, shrinking forests, desertification, and droughts, to name only
a few. But radiation as a cause of environmental damage is intriguing,
especially because it is not tied to everyday activities and numerous
forms of consumption. This takes pressure off the audience, who might
be encouraged to wonder about their own activities if, say, Tris and her
group came across an ocean of plastic debris, including plastic inside ani-
mals’ bodies (a real-life scenario that has been rapidly gaining attention
worldwide). Such a scene would invite audiences to examine their own
consumption patterns, unlike radiation, which here is associated with
a third person, a “someone” in power who has created this particular
eco-catastrophe.
A third observation to make of the film is that (as with Children of
Men) although environmental catastrophe from massive radiation
is depicted clearly, no one in particular is identified as being responsi-
ble, except perhaps for adults. Aside from Johanna, now leader of the
Allegiants, who provides a singular moral bright spot, the adults appear
incapable of making good choices, including those regarding genetic
alteration, war, environmental stewardship, and care for fellow human
beings. Thus, the blame is placed firmly with older generations, while it
is implied that younger generations (millennials especially) will make bet-
ter choices in all of these areas.
Bringing these two factors of environmental devastation and untrust-
worthy adults together, it becomes clear that environmental catastrophe
is the fault of older generations, not the younger ones, who (the film
hints) will be better stewards of the environment. The Fringe landscape
thus becomes a striking metaphor for the previous generation’s mis-
takes, and perhaps explains why no renewal of the land has taken place:
the corrupt adults still remain in power in this penultimate film in the
series. Placing blame on older generations for environmental destruction
coheres well with action taken in 2016 by US millennials, who won

an unprecedented bid to take their case against the US government to
court.19 Their claim? That the USA, being the second-largest carbon
emitter in the world, should have done more to protect its youth’s future
(O’Berger 2016). Although the case is, at the time of writing, unde-
cided, the fact that teenagers are making this claim fits very well with the
attribution of responsibility for environmental destruction to older gen-
erations in Allegiant: that is, adults are the problem, and their motives
are suspect, for they are the ones who have “trashed the planet.”
Another trend into which the film appears to tap is the issue of
genetic modification of babies. In a Fortune magazine article titled “Are
You Ready for Genetically Modified Babies?” Brueck (2015) notes that
while the technology to alter genes exists, there are “no rules for when
to do it.” She cites the International Summit on Human Gene Editing
as an example of global discussions that are taking place about the pros
and cons of this new technology, also referencing a study that found
the majority of Americans are against the idea of “designer babies.”
Allegiant thus functions well as social commentary about both the mis-
takes (both imagined and potential) that have been made by those in
power.
A final observation can be made about the film’s portrayal of gender
and ethnicity. Although the central roles are still filled completely by
white characters, there are some positive changes involving gender and,
to some extent, ethnicity.20 To take the latter first: Johanna stands out
as a strong, moral character; she is the only adult in the film on whom
one can truly rely. The fact that she is African American thus is notewor-
thy, because the remainder of adults (who are white) cannot be trusted.
Thus, as in Children of Men, there is a strong and clear critique of white
capitalist structures.
Regarding gender, there is a clear divergence from what has been the
typical path for Hollywood, where central roles are usually given to older
white males. In Tris, there is promise on many levels: she is moral, she is
intelligent, and she is a leader. It is hinted (albeit obliquely) that, if she
were in charge, none of the previous mistakes made by adults in power
would have happened. Genetic modification would not have taken place
(she doesn’t believe in altering people) and the environment would be
intact. Thus, unlike most of the other genres studied in this book, the
female body is associated with environmental health and renewal. A simi-
lar association was made in Children of Men in the body of Kee, although
140 E.E. MOORE
she was not portrayed as a leader, but simply a caught in a circumstance

she could not control. And one can see a strong woman in Interstellar
(although potentially shadowed by a white male), discussed in the next
sections. Such portrayals of strong female characters—seen in the likes
of Katniss from The Hunger Games, Black Widow from The Avengers, or
Merida from Brave—is a fairly recent trend in Hollywood. Allegiant fol-
lows this trend while attaching the message that environmental renewal
needs to take place, and the ones who should be entrusted with its stew-
ardship are young, female, and (still) white.
Interstellar
Interstellar was distributed in 2014 by Paramount Pictures and written
by Jonathan and Christopher Nolan, who is best known for Inception
and The Dark Knight Rises. The film pulled in $47.5 million, less than
the $50 million anticipated by Variety (Lang 2014); however, it did
well internationally, earning $132 million overseas even before open-
ing to Chinese and Japanese markets (Shoard 2014). In interviews,
Nolan revealed that he based the film on his favorite childhood movie:
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Homage to Kubrick’s film is
audible in the music (certain scenes in Interstellar feature 2001’s score)
and visible in the presence of technology, like the robot, TARS, and the
focus on humans as space explorers.
Broadly summarized, the film is about environmental degradation
on Earth that is so severe that the majority of the world’s population
has starved: only farmers in the American Midwest (it is hinted) are able
grow any large-scale crops, and even those are dwindling fast—both in
size and diversity. In the film we learn that the last of the okra crops has
been burned due to blight; even corn, the last holdout, has started to
suffer. Coop (Matthew McConaughey) is a father with two young chil-
dren and a father-in-law to support. He was an engineer and a pilot by
training, but is now a farmer by necessity. His experience makes him
uniquely situated to captain a NASA-funded space voyage through
a worm hole to try to find planets that would provide habitation for
human life.
The film is almost three hours long, has a complex and convoluted
plot, and contains much rich detail that is relevant for analysis. What fol-
lows is a general summary, but also details from key scenes that will be
used in the analysis of the text.
Interstellar Summary
The film opens with black-and-white videos showing interviews of
elderly, mostly white, individuals discussing what appears to be the Dust
Bowl of the 1930s in the USA. One man reveals that because of the
“steady blow of dirt” he was forced to wear strips of cloth over his nose
and mouth. Another notes that “we always set the plates upside down”
due to the continuous dust. While the black-and-white videos appear to
reference an earlier time, the sudden appearance of a laptop in the scene
brings the movie abruptly into the present day (or even in the future,
since the exact date is not provided by the film).
The film revolves around Coop, a white man in his 30s who lives on
a corn farm with his father-in-law Donald (John Lithgow) and his son
and daughter, named Murphy (“Murph”). In one of the opening scenes
the five of them sit around the kitchen table eating various dishes made
of corn. As Coop stands on his porch, he sees smoke in the distance: one
of his neighbors is burning the last remaining okra crop. In conjunction
with the video interviews, the film introduces the theme of environmen-
tal degradation that runs continuously through the text.
As the film progresses the audience learns that the global human
population has declined sharply due to starvation; in one scene, Coop’s
father-in-law suggests that he flirt with his daughter’s school teacher
because he needs to “pull his weight” and “repopulate the Earth.” But
when Coop meets the young teacher, he fights with her over what his
daughter is being taught in school: that the original Apollo mission to
the moon was faked as a brilliant PR maneuver. When Coop questions
why, the teacher responds that “If we don’t want a repeat of the excess
and wastefulness of the twentieth century, then we need to teach kids
about this planet, not tales of leaving it.” Coop leaves, incredulous and
angry at the misinformation and the illogic behind it.
Back at home on his farmhouse porch, Coop complains to his
father-in-law about the school, but Donald counters with an unusual
response—one that seems to allude to humans’ wasteful past, which has
seemingly led to the current world problems: 
Coop: It’s like we’ve forgotten who we are: explorers and pioneers,
not caretakers.
Donald: When I was a kid, it felt like they made something’ new every
day: some gadget or idea. Every day was Christmas. But six
142 E.E. MOORE
billion people. Just try to imagine that. And every last one of
them tryin’ to have it all.
Throughout the film, the focus is on Murph’s bedroom, where odd
things occur: books and toys fly off her large bookshelf due to an unknown
force, and when soil from a major dust storm settles on her floor, it does
so in distinct lines (a binary code) that contain messages, including coor-
dinates for an unspecified location. Murph and Coop drive in their Dodge
Ram 3500 for hours until they reach a hidden NASA research center.
There they learn that the scientists there have sent men to different planets
to see which ones would be habitable. Professor Brand (Michael Caine),
who heads the program, invites Coop to captain a voyage to see which of
these excursions was fruitful, and to continue the mission.
The exchange between Professor Brand and Coop illuminates some of
the problems faced by humans on Earth: 
Coop: I heard they shut you down, sir, for refusing to drop bombs
from the stratosphere on starving people.
Brand: When they [the US government] realized that killing people
was not a long-term solution, then they need us back. In secret.
Coop: Why secret?
Brand: Because public operations wouldn’t allow spending on space
exploration: not when you’re struggling to put food on the
table. Blight: wheat, seven years ago; okra, this year; now
there’s just corn.
Coop: But we’re growing more than we ever have.
Brand: But like the potatoes in Ireland and wheat in the Dust Bowl,
the corn will die. Soon.
Coop: We’ll find a way. We always have.
Brand: Driven by the unshakable faith that the Earth is ours.
Coop: Well, not just ours, no. But it is our home.
Brand: Earth’s atmosphere is 80 percent nitrogen. We don’t even
breathe nitrogen. Blight does, and as it thrives, our air gets less
and less oxygen. The last people to starve will be the first to suf-
focate. And your daughter’s generation will be the last to sur-
vive on Earth.
Coop: OK, now you need to tell me what your plan is to save the
world.
Brand: We’re not meant to save the world. We’re meant to leave it.
Professor Brand explains that there are two government plans for the
survival of the human species: the first—Plan A—is to send humans who
have survived on Earth to a new planet in outer space; the second—Plan
B—is to have the astronauts who do make it safely off the Earth repopu-
late another planet using 5000 “fertilized eggs.” Professor Brand’s daugh-
ter, “Dr. Brand” (Anne Hathaway), notes to Coop that one problem with
re-population is “genetic diversity,” but that this problem has been solved
with fertilized eggs from an ethnically diverse human population.
Coop finally takes off on the spaceship after a tearful goodbye with
his daughter, and he gives her a Hamilton-brand watch (similar to the
one he owns) so they can keep a connection. He then leaves for space
with Dr. Brand and a few other explorers, including an African American
physicist named Nikolai Romilly (played by British actor David Gyasi)
as scientific adviser. Through many adventures and mishaps, only Coop
and Dr. Brand survive: eventually, Coop chooses to save her by sending
himself into a black hole called “Gargantuan.” He believes all is lost until
he realizes that he is floating in a human-made tesseract (that resembles
his daughter’s bedroom) that has been created by future humans as a
way to save the species. Coop communicates with his daughter at various
times in her life (the tesseract permits him to transcend time) through
manipulating her bookshelf and is ultimately able to create a Morse code
for her through the Hamilton watch. The code tells his daughter how to
get humans into space and survive (what was called “Plan A” by NASA).
Murph eventually finds and translates her father’s code and NASA is able
to create a human colony in space. Although Murph (now a scientist at
NASA) is given credit for humans’ survival, ultimately it is Coop himself
who provided her with the information.
As Coop drifts away from the tesseract, having completed his mis-
sion, he is picked up by a nearby spacecraft that takes him to a human
space colony orbiting Saturn. He wakes up to see humans playing base-
ball, and also finds his daughter. Because of his space travel, she has aged
well beyond him, and is surrounded on her deathbed by her large, multi-
generational family (her children and grandchildren), who fill the room.
She urges him to leave her and go find Dr. Brand, who has started a new
colony on another planet. As Coop flies to her, Dr. Brand is shown creat-
ing a small station on the new planet, with PVC pipe and plastic sheeting
illuminated in the distance. She walks towards it as the film ends, with
Coop on his way to her.
144 E.E. MOORE
Interstellar Analysis: Diversity, Dystopia, and a Lifeless Earth

Like the other films in this chapter, Interstellar presents a clear and strik-
ing depiction of environmental dystopia in a way that is distinct from
most other genres considered in this book. The environmental problems
identified in the film include drought, soil depletion, shrinking biodiver-
sity (with the accompanying danger of monocrops), and blight. The bleak
landscapes and depiction of the hardships faced by the humans remaining
on Earth are in keeping with the overarching theme of dystopia in science
fiction texts. However clearly the problems themselves may be depicted,
though, the causes themselves remain tantalizingly obscure. Various dis-
cussions by the characters in the film only allude to the potential causes of
these problems, including overpopulation, climate change, and increasing
consumption (“every day was Christmas”) on a global scale. Thus, even
if only by indirect suggestion, the film invites its audience members to
consider their own consumption practices, and thus their potential role
in environmental catastrophe. Discussion about the problems associated
with consumption—especially the potential causal link to ecological disas-
ter—is rare for a Hollywood film: in fact, no Hollywood film analyzed in
this book (aside from WALL-E) makes such a clear connection between
environmental degradation and consumption.21
This important connection between consumption and ecological dis-
aster (albeit brief and indirect) coheres with the limited amount of prod-
uct placement in the film. Aside from a rusty yet sturdy 2009 Dodge
Ram 3500 with Firestone tires, perhaps the most prominent brand is the
Hamilton Khaki Pilot Day–Date watch, one of the stars of the film: it is
through the watch face itself that Murph realizes how to save the human
race. Because the film is set at a time when humans are no longer able
to consume as much, the relatively light product placement (if, in fact,
it is product placement) makes sense and reinforces a post-brand, post-
capitalist world where what matters is family connections in the struggle
for survival.
Like many of the other films analyzed in this book, Interstellar
makes some claims to what is happening in the real world on several
fronts. In regards to food scarcity and soil fertility, an article in the UK’s
Independent newspaper (Bawden 2014) draws specific parallels between
the film and shrinking farmland around the world. Citing a United
Nations’ report, the article notes that
Although soil degradation is nothing new, Interstellar is proving strangely

prescient, as its release coincides with a new UN report showing the trend
has reached alarming levels, with 7.7 square miles of agricultural land
being lost every day because it has become too salty. Climate change is
making the situation worse because warmer temperatures require more
irrigation and increase the speed at which the water evaporates.
In addition to increasing salination of the soil is the trend of desertifi-

cation, which Badreldin and Goossens (2015, 264) define as “the pro-
cess whereby the productivity of land is reduced” in arid environments.
Desertification, they go on to note, is exacerbated by climate change,
and directly impacts at least one-fifth of the Earth’s population.
In addition to the impacts from a degraded natural environment,
the film also speaks directly about the relationship between overpopula-
tion and food scarcity. Lester Brown, author of the Full Planet, Empty
Plates (2012) sums up the relationship clearly as a problem of supply and
demand:
We are entering a new era of rising food prices and spreading hunger. On
the demand side of the food equation, population growth, rising affluence,
and the conversion of food into fuel for cars are combining to raise con-
sumption by record amounts. On the supply side, extreme soil erosion,
growing water shortages, and the earth’s rising temperature are making it
more difficult to expand production. Unless we can reverse such trends,
food prices will continue to rise and hunger will continue to spread, even-
tually bringing down our social system. (3–4)
In referencing drought, blight, the loss of soil fertility, and the result-
ant inability to grow crops, Interstellar taps into global concerns about
the drastic loss of resources that threaten human life. Although the film
engages with real-life issues in making these crucial connections, the
characters’ continual reference to increasing, not decreasing, the global
population, is an unusual narrative inclusion that merits a closer look.
In their seminal work titled Limits to Growth : The 30-Year Update,
Meadows et al. (2004) provide a follow-up to their earlier research that
put forth a fairly straightforward proposal: the Earth is a limited entity
that cannot sustain indefinitely the “exponential growth” of human popu-
lations, pollution, and production. Other scholars like Schultz (2002, 4)
agree. Referencing Limits to Growth , Schultz makes the crucial connec-
tion between consumption and population increases:
146 E.E. MOORE
More people means more consumption, greater demand for resources, and
more pollution and waste. Population growth over the past 100 years has
been staggering. For 99.9% of human existence on this planet, fewer than
10 million people inhabited the planet. In 1830, less than 200 years ago,
the human population reached 1 billion; in 1930 it reached 2 billion, and
the growth continued exponentially. As of 2000, there were approximately
6 billion people on the planet. Projections about the number of people
the earth can support vary, but it is clear that 6 billion people living the
consumptive lifestyle widespread in industrialized nations like the United
States, Western Europe, or Japan, is not sustainable.
Intriguingly, although Interstellar appears to recognize the inherent limi-

tations to growth when it comes to food production, it seems to have a
blind spot when it comes to human reproduction: despite global starva-
tion and continually dwindling crops, Donald exhorts Coop (a man with
two children already) to “pull his weight” and reproduce for the sake
of humanity. Later, Dr. Brand holds up the “diverse” set of 5000 ferti-
lized eggs as a sign of hope that humanity to thrive on another planet.
In addition, Murph has succeeded in reproducing many times over (her
third-generation family is a veritable throng of people), even though
Earth and its natural resources have become a distant memory. Her
fecundity alone begs a multitude of questions: if on a spaceship orbiting
Saturn, where do the colony inhabitants get food and medical resources
necessary to nourish and care for the increasing population, much less
entertain them with TV, museums, and sports? Thus, aside from the
one brief scene alluding to the conjoined dangers of overconsump-
tion and overpopulation, the overriding theme in the film is the neces-
sity of human reproduction (especially by white people) in order to save
humanity.
What makes this unswerving focus on the benefits of human popula-
tion growth so disturbing from an ecological standpoint (the connection
between overpopulation, consumption, and ecological destruction aside)
is that there is no indication that the humans in the film have learned
from their original mistakes. The presence of PVC pipe and plastic hous-
ing on the Dr. Brand’s new planet at the end of the film ignores the dev-
astating impact that plastic has had on the land and waterways of our
current habitat. All of this hints that humans likely have learned noth-
ing about the dangers of population growth and consumption. But, per-
haps, the message of Interstellar is that we don’t need to: the film defines
humans as “explorers” who need not be tied to Earth. When Coop

laments that “we used to look up at the sky and wonder at our place in
the stars; now we just look down and worry about our place in the dirt,”
it seems we are meant to share his desire to discover, explore, and colo-
nize—but without the imperative to be responsible caretakers of any bio-
sphere we inhabit. When he fights with Murph’s teacher (who wants to
teach children to love the place they live instead of wanting to leave it),
we are meant to empathize with his yearning for exploration, adventure,
scientific discovery, and technological innovation.
In her discussion of what she identifies as “traumatic landscapes” in
science fiction films, Natali (2006, 95) observes that “no matter where
the action takes place (or with whom), U.S. Manifest Destiny has
always been (and still is), a mission into new territories.” One can eas-
ily see Interstellar representing a new (but largely unchanged) version of
Manifest Destiny as enabled through intergalactic travel, where explora-
tion is intertwined with “aggressive fantasies of conquest” (Natali 2006,
101). Thus, the imperative in the film is to create new human colonies
through space travel: while Interstellar does not shirk from the idea that
humans have caused this eco-catastrophe, neither does it exhort us to
learn from what we have done. We will make the same mistakes, the film
intimates, but because of technological advances and our proven ability
to explore the far reaches of space we will simply move on to the next
planet. In this film as no other in this chapter, is heavy engagement with
Rutherford’s conception of technopia (discussed at length in Chap. 7 on
“Super Green” heroes) as a form of cautious optimism when it comes to
environmental damage, for science and technological advancement alone
will save us. As Gittell (2014) writes in his critique of Interstellar:
Nolan’s plea to the Western world [is] to invest more in research and tech-
nological invention—which means that after TV’s Cosmos and this year’s ter-
rific documentary Particle Fever, Interstellar is the latest attempt to arouse
interest in the sciences through pop culture. But by placing his plea in the
context of our climate change crisis, Nolan has set up a false choice: In the
world of Interstellar, [hu]mankind can either leave the planet behind, or it
can stay here and die. The choices that humans—here in the real world—
actually have to make regarding climate change and the future of the earth
are much more complicated, and are nowhere to be found onscreen.
This recognition of the rather unrealistic set of choices presented in

Interstellar is echoed in the online CinemaSins website, where famed
148 E.E. MOORE
astronomer Neil deGrasse Tyson jokingly critiques Interstellar’s logic:

“[I] can’t imagine a future where escaping Earth via a wormhole is a bet-
ter plan than just fixing Earth.”
Following Gittell’s critique of the film’s technopic focus, another
question can be added: are science and technology all we need to
develop, or do we require a shift in values as well? In his discussion of
environmental values, environmental psychologist Schultz (2002)
describes three perspectives, or attitudes, about the environment: ego-
istic, altruistic, and biospheric. Egoistic includes environmental concern
that is focused on the impact to the individual: “how will environmen-
tal degradation impact me”? Altruistic environmental concern focuses
on the impact of ecological destruction on those around us, including
family and friends but also future generations. A biospheric attitude is
one that defines the environment as having its own inherent worth inde-
pendent of human interaction or valuation. The prevailing environmental
attitudes of Interstellar are both egoistic and altruistic—that is, the pri-
mary problem with Earth’s eco-catastrophe is the negative consequences
for humans and their future generations. In keeping with this human-
centric focus is the fact that the film shows not a single other non-human
animal: presumably the animals have died from starvation or have been
eaten themselves. However, it is not their suffering that provides the
focal point for the film, but humans’ suffering alone, and the absence
of non-human animals serves to keep the focus solely on people. This
lack of representation of non-human animals, combined with the focus
on the need for human reproduction, reveals the underlying message of
the film: humans, not the environment, are what need to be saved. From
his research, Schultz found that the USA typically ranks higher on egois-
tic environmental concern, whereas many other countries rank higher in
biospheric concern. Thus, an egoistic/altruistic environmental attitude
from a Hollywood film is perhaps not a surprise: what is astonishing is
the sole focus on egoistic and altruistic concerns at the expense of any
other environmental perspective that would value the world for its own
sake outside of human interest.
In 2014, months before Interstellar opened in theatres, satirical news-
paper The Onion published an article titled “Distant Planet Terrified it
Might Be Able to Someday Support Human Life.” The article described
a mock interview with Planet WR-67C, which said it had nightmares
of one day forming water on its crust, which would enable humans
(referred to as “parasites”) to colonize it. The planet noted that because
humans were increasingly able to travel through space, the danger to it

was much greater. Through this humorous lens, The Onion speaks a cer-
tain truth: if humans have destroyed one planet, should we be trusted
with another?
The landscape of Interstellar represents a clear mixture of visual pes-
simism and optimism. The thundering, gargantuan dust clouds from
which Coop and his family must run are a stand-in for the sustained
drought (likely associated with climate change) that has damaged the
global food supply. Oddly, however, the multiple shots of green, tall, and
lush corn fields through which Coop drives seems to represent ecological
health, not how plants would look in a drought or suffering from dis-
ease—a criticism leveled in online discussions about the film. In addition,
the sky in many scenes is a beautiful blue that is tinged with some white
clouds. Aside from the ever-present dust, constant references to blight
and starvation by the characters, and the serving of corn-only dishes,
all looks fairly well with the world. In fact, visually, Earth looks like a
much more hospitable host for human life than the planet that Dr. Brand
eventually locates. The final scene showing her base camp (which may
have been filmed in the semi-desert Lucerne Valley, California) presents
a bleak, vegetation-free, waterless landscape that would not seem to sup-
port much life. This landscape is significant, for it deftly skirts the idea
that any other life exists in this locale with which humans would have
to compete. The movie thus ends on an optimistic yet slightly disso-
nant note: what will life be like for the new human colonies? Interstellar,
true to its science fiction generic form, thus holds on to dystopia, for it
looks to be a difficult life ahead for humans who attempt to live on a new
planet. However, this landscape depiction also serves to underscore the
ingenuity of humans: they will make life grow in this seemingly barren
landscape, and the human race will thrive again. Once again, the focal
point is on the resourcefulness of the human race, and not the biosphere
itself.
In other chapters, I have examined who is associated with environ-
mental renewal: in many other genres, including spy thrillers and super-
hero films, the process is linked with white male capitalists. In other films
in this chapter, however, it is the female body that has been associated
with environmental care and health. With Interstellar, it is a mixed bag,
because while Murph is set up to be the savior of the human race, we as
the audience know that Coop ultimately gave her the information she
needed to do so.
150 E.E. MOORE
Finally, a note about racial representations is in order here: although

there is a person of color (British actor Gyasi) who plays the keen scien-
tist Romilly, he is introduced well into the film and eventually dies well
before the end, which means that the end of the film is filled with a sea
of white faces at the exclusion of any other racial identity. Murph has
reproduced a great deal, and her large white family seems a clear stand-in
for the innumerable generations to follow. When Coop flies to see Dr.
Brand on the new planet, he finds her alone (for some reason), setting
up an elaborate settlement there. Because she is of reproductive age and
there is a romantic connection between them, we are led to surmise that
she and Coop will “pull their weight” and have more children. Despite
the film’s reassurance early on that “diversity” is important, it appears
only white people will continue on, instantiating freelance British jour-
nalist Eliza Anyangwe’s (2015) contention that, in sci-fi films, “there are
no Africans in the future.”
Considering allusions to real-world environmental troubles, then,
Interstellar makes clear allusions to environmental problems faced by the
world today, but then departs from that in the proposal that technologi-
cal and scientific advancement by white males and females will be what
saves us. In an interview with Hollywood Reporter, director Nolan stated
that some films (referring to 2001: A Space Odyssey as well as Interstellar)
don’t need to be understood: “they need to be felt.” The feeling, as this
analysis reveals, is very focused on the primacy of humans and the imper-
ative that we must survive no matter what—even if it means destruction
of our current planet or any other one we may inhabit.
Sci-Fi as Constrained Inclusivity and Ecological

Concern: Conclusion
In the majority of SF films analyzed in this chapter, females play impor-
tant roles: Tris is a strong, moral leader who will fix the problems created
by older generations; Kee provides hope for the future through her own
fertility; and Murph (and her dad Coop) saves the human race through
intelligence, ingenuity, bravery, and procreation. In all three films, then,
the women are associated with environmental repair and stability, which
is in marked contrast to other Hollywood genres like superhero films and
spy thrillers that attribute environmental health to white male capitalists.
All of the films in this chapter make claims to real-life environmen-

tal problems when it comes to environmental damage, which is not
uncommon for Hollywood, according to Ingram (2004). In fact, the
conventions of the science fiction generic form (with the heavy reliance
on CGIs) serve to place ecological degradation in sharp visual focus.
However, the causes of the damage are often obscured and the solutions
thus unclear. Power structures often are blamed (especially in Children of
Men and Allegiant), although Interstellar provides the briefest hint that
the cause may be due to the actions of the masses, and not just govern-
ments or corporations. Parenti (2010, xii) notes that “through its cin-
ematic alchemy, Hollywood produces films that might appear topical and
socially relevant, without having to deal with the actual dimensions of
social conflict … without getting too close to reality.” The reason for
the lack of clear cause for ecological destruction perhaps is due to the
economic logic of Hollywood blockbusters: if the films call too much
attention to the role of consumption in environmental disaster, it may
encourage deeper musings about the true environmental impact of con-
sumer culture. Writing on Interstellar, Gittell (2014, n.p.) notes that
Hollywood as a rule has difficulty portraying environmental problems:
Hollywood has yet to adequately address the issue of climate change. Of

course, neither has any government in the world, and maybe for the same
reason: When faced with unpleasant realities, we all prefer a fantasy.
Preferences for fantasy and escape aside, it may well be the case that
Hollywood texts avoid clear representations of environmental harm
because these may put audiences off what the industry calls “the buying
mood.” When Nolan was interviewed about the creation of Interstellar,
he noted that he was very cognizant of the depressing nature of his film,
thus perhaps explaining the utopian note at the end. It is for perhaps this
reason that all films included in this chapter engage with the twin themes
of utopia and dystopia when it comes to environmental degradation.
While it is true that these two perspectives are often found conjoined in
science fiction texts, it also is true that audiences are constantly provided
with “horizons of hope” when it comes to eco-catastrophe. The ori-
gin of utopia must be kept in mind here: it is a Greek word that means
“no place.” Without adequate responsibility taken and in the absence of
effective solutions to mitigate environmental problems, the utopian end-
ings may be just that: a pleasing fantasy.
152 E.E. MOORE
Notes
1. In fact, these films about depletion of Earth’s resources by outsiders are
unusual, because the underlying assumption is that someone would actu-
ally want our much-depleted and polluted resources. An ocean filled with
pollutants, including toxic plastics and chemical pollution? Mercury-laden
fish? Land contaminated with brominated flame retardants, heavy metals,
fracking waste, and toxic landfills? Far from covering environmental prob-
lems, the message from these films is that our resources are pristine and
bountiful: an unusual message given current knowledge of our degraded
environment.
2. Sanders (2009, 139) agrees, noting that most science fiction films are
“directly related” with action, referring to them as the “action/science
fiction films.”
3. In the discussion of the novum, Csicsery cites Marxist theorist Suvin in his
observations about science fiction.
4. Here, Slusser (2005) paraphrases Isaac Asimov’s assertions about the rela-
tionship between technology and the human race.
5. To be clear, both utopia and dystopia can be seen a two sides of the same
coin. Moylan (2000, 147) recognizes that SF texts often contain ele-
ments of both—that is, a dystopian view of the world that is softened
somewhat by the promise of improvement in the future. As he writes:
“Although all dystopian texts offer a detailed and pessimistic presentation
of the very worst of social alternatives, some affiliate with a utopian ten-
dency as they maintain a ‘horizon of hope.’”
6. Others like Murphy (2009) believe that ecofeminists may be drawn to sci-
ence fiction texts as well because of the connection (made originally by
John Stuart Mill) between environmental degradation and the oppression
of women.
7. Stableford (2008) notes that this may be due to the aesthetics and con-
ventions of the genre itself, where the plots and visuals are seen to be so
far-fetched and fantastical as to not be taken seriously in academia. For
ecocriticism of literary science fiction, see Baratta (2012)—or (even more
recently) LaFontaine (2016).
8. Stableford cites Asimov’s The Caves of Steel (1954) as a clear example in
sci-fi texts of this resurgence due to fears about resource scarcity.
9. Stableford (2008) cites War of the Worlds as a good example of this focus on
resources, since the plot revolves around an alien invasion of Earth largely
because the aliens were suffering from resource scarcity on their own planet.
10. Suppia’s (2010) work specifically addresses themes of “eco-dystopia” in
Brazilian science fiction films, although he also addresses general trends in
visual SF that parallel those of other scholars.
11. In particular, Hellekson (2010) considers non-print SF texts to be a very

“valuable and generative mode of storytelling” (101) due to the potential
for visual representation of pressing social and political issues.
12. Alford lists several films that champion US power uncritically, includ-
ing Independence Day, Transformers, Starship Troopers, and Total Recall.
Interestingly, Alford (2010, 111) identifies Iron Man as a sci-fi film.
13. The creation of a science fiction novel by P.D. James represents a depar-
ture for the British author, as she is well known for her mystery novels
featuring detective Adam Dalgliesh.
14. Interestingly, P.D. James herself did not set out to write a science fiction
novel and does not consider it to be one, although that is how both the
book and the film on which it is based have been marketed.
15. In James’ book, it is the men who have become infertile; in the movie, it
is the women who are unable to bear children.
16. Although noting that Children of Men does keep the cause of the apoca-
lypse broad, O’Donnell (2015) perceives a direct link between the film
and the post-9/11 world’s “social crisis.”
17. As I wrote this, in mid-2016, the World Health Organization advised
women in many countries hit by the Zika virus (in Latin America as well
as parts of the USA) to delay their pregnancies amid fears of microceph-
aly for the fetus as well as neurological damage to the mother. Thus the
drop in births in Children of Men seems to have a “ring of truth” that
hits, currently, a little too close to home.
18. Ascendant is set to be released in summer 2017, but as a television film
(followed by a spin-off TV series) due to low popularity for Allegiant.
19. The case was approved by an Oregon Federal District Court to go forward
in April 2016. Although this is the first time in the USA that a citizen
group has been allowed to sue the US government for inaction on climate
change, there are many other cases like this around the world, including
Dutch citizens who sued their government (and recently won, forcing a
reduction in greenhouse gas emissions of 25% by 2020), as well as similar
cases brought by Belgian and Norwegian citizens (Howard 2015).
20. In the film there are ancillary roles for African Americans that break free
of stereotypes. The first is Christina, played by Zoe Kravitz (daughter of
musician Lenny Kravitz). She is featured throughout the film as a strong,
intelligent, capable woman who is on Tris’s side. The other strong female
character of color is Johanna (played by Octavia Spencer, of The Help
fame). In her opposition to Evelyn’s brutality she is shown as a power-
ful character with strong morals and leadership qualities. Thus, although
Allegiant still fits with the long-running Hollywood practice of casting
no central roles for characters of color, the African American actors that
are cast fulfill very positive roles in the film.
154 E.E. MOORE
21. Interestingly, Wall-E was marketed as both a children’s film as well as sci-

ence fiction, which lends itself well to elements of both utopia for the
child audience and the dystopian perspective so often seen in sci-fi texts.
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CHAPTER 6
The Lone Danger: Resource Scarcity in the

Western
Shane rode into the small town just before sunset, the low sun dimly glint-
ing off his dusty cowboy hat and casting long shadows from his horse and
saddle. After tying Mercury to one of the hitching posts and taking his Colt
Peacemaker out of the saddle, Shane strode slowly into the local saloon, where
a young woman in a low-cut dress sitting on another man’s lap smiled las-
civiously. Shane walked to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey while several
local men gave him the eye.
One old timer finally asked “Son, you’re not from around here, are you?
What brings you to Paz Verde?”
Shane tiredly replied that he had just brought a thousand head of cattle
in from Mexico.
At this, the townsmen exchanged uneasy glances, with one angrily
exclaiming “Don’t you know this ain’t no place for them animals?”
Draining his shot quickly, Shane turned to them, his hand resting lightly
on his gun.
Breaking the silence, the old timer said, “There’s no need for violence,
son, we’re just concerned about the impact this will have on our local
environment.”
Another man agreed: “Do you have any idea of the water requirements
that one cow alone requires? Almost 30 gallons a day!”
The saloon keeper added under his breath that that number didn’t even
include the calves. The drunken man who had been sleeping at a table in
the back tried to be helpful, slurrily noting that townspeople had been con-
cerned about their declining aquifers as well as their struggles during the

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_6
158 E.E. MOORE
long-term drought that really just highlighted the foolhardiness in trying

to make a living in an already semi-desert environment. Everyone in the
saloon nodded solemnly in agreement.
The young woman, scowling, added “And don’t get us started on the
methane emissions from that amount of cattle!”
The man on whom she was sitting agreed, telling Shane that “that feller
who come from Science News told us that pound for pound, methane’s
impact on climate change is 25 times more than CO2!”
The town’s marshall, who had come through the swinging doors when he
heard the commotion, summed up the environmental cost, noting that rais-
ing cattle “leads to species extinction, dead zones in the ocean, significant
water pollution, and habitat destruction—I watched it on Cowspiracy last
week.”
People groaned in agreement. One man threw down his cards in
frustration.
Shane bowed his head: he knew he couldn’t win this one. Even if he made
his way out of this in a bloody final shootout scene on the dusty main street,
they were right: the West (and the world) was being devastated by cattle
ranching, and he wasn’t helping. He paid up, thanking the townspeople for
their perspicacity and their patience. Just then, his husband Jim poked his
head in the door to tell him they got a room for the night, but his words died
on his lips when Shane said “Sorry, pardner, not this town neither.”
After politely declining the townspeople’s kind offer to join their profit-
able community solar business, Jim and Shane rode off into the sunset
together.
*
This chapter focuses on two films within the Western genre that
revolve around conflicts related to natural resources, a not-uncom-
mon theme in one of the longest and best-known generic forms in
Hollywood. In 3:10 to Yuma (2007), one man withholds water from
another man’s land during an extended drought that has killed his cat-
tle; Open Range (2003) focuses on the battle between free-range ver-
sus fenced cattle grazing. In both films, certain environmental issues are
highlighted in the struggles of male protagonists. In what proved to be
a difficult decision, I opted not to analyze Verbinski’s The Lone Ranger
(2013) in this chapter: while the plot does center on who has access to
a natural resource (silver ore), the focus remains more on the conflict
between men (and the origin story of the well-known American hero)
than on environmental concerns related to the process of silver mining
6 THE LONE DANGER: RESOURCE SCARCITY IN THE WESTERN 159
itself. Thus, The Lone Ranger is considered and discussed briefly near the
end of the chapter in the context of findings from the other two films.
This chapter was challenging to write for a few reasons, not least of
which was that there has already been much scholarly attention given
to not only the Western genre itself but also to what Lawrence (2006)
refers to as a distinct sub-genre: the “Western ecological” movie. While
this chapter avoids films that have already been extensively analyzed for
environmental content (Shane and Sea of Grass have proven quite popu-
lar), many of the environmental themes and concerns remain constant.
Due to numerous historic conflicts over meager and hard-won
resources on the frontier, Sheridan (2007, 121) observes that the
“American West is one of the most contested landscapes in the world.”
But what is the Western genre in its current form, and has it (as has been
hinted by various scholars) become completely co-opted by the action-
adventure form? How have portrayals of the frontier and its resources
changed over the years in this generic form? Perhaps no other genre
besides science fiction contains such rich portrayals of landscape, and
thus analysis of the Western frontier becomes paramount in this chapter
for its messages about resource scarcity and sustainability.
A Popular and Evolving Genre, Defined

Tracing the contours of the “Western” is both straightforward (due to a
few enduring, consistent characteristics of the genre) as well as a decided
challenge, in part due to what many scholars refer to as the genre’s
“flexibility” as well as the sheer number and variety of films that claim
adherence to the generic form.1 In terms of its literary predecessor, Pye
(2012, 243) cites Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales (the five-
novel series) as “the first significant fiction of the West” that focused on
the progression of “civilization” on the Western wilderness. In its early
written form, Pye believes that the Western owes a debt to numerous
sources, including the romance and early, sentimentalized representa-
tions of the American West by US painters. Schatz (1981, 45) agrees on
the influence of the “pulp romances,” but provides a perhaps broader
set of earlier texts on which Hollywood Westerns grew, including “colo-
nial folk music” and “Indian captivity tales.” Others such as Carmichael
(2006) note that the genre’s former draw from the romance has given
way to the action—adventure mode in contemporary Westerns.
160 E.E. MOORE
Schatz (1981, 45) writes that “The Western is without question the
richest and most enduring genre of Hollywood’s repertoire. Its con-
cise heroic story and elemental visual appeal render it the most flex-
ible of narrative formulas, and its life span has been as long and varied
as Hollywood’s own”—a point made by numerous other scholars of
the genre.2 Several scholars note that The Great Train Robbery of 1901
marks the first Western film, although Langford (2005) (and others like
Schatz 1981) do recognize that Westerns were present in the silent-film
era as well as in “early sound.”3 Most of the filmic Westerns in the early
1900s were similar to early Western novels in that they were produced
for a largely European market (Gallagher 2012), although one can argue
that there was positive reception of the genre in the USA as well. In this
relatively early timeframe, many of the enduring traits of the genre were
introduced, including “Picturesque scenery, archetypal characters, dialec-
tical story construction, long shots, close-ups, parallel editing, confronta-
tional cross-cutting, montaged chases” (Gallagher 2012, 301).
Westerns seemed to die off in the late 1960s with Once Upon a
Time in the Old West and The Wild Bunch, only to be revived in a sig-
nificant way in the 1980s with “a Hollywood President who posed as a
cowboy hero and who had in fact starred in Westerns” (Dowell 1995,
6).4 Many scholars focusing on Westerns attempt to make a distinction
between newer and older films: while Dowell (1995) believes that newer
Westerns’ slavish and simplistic adherence to the conception of the ‘clas-
sic’ Western is precisely what serves to distinguish them, Schatz (1981)
(pulling from the work of Metz 1974) identifies the potential “evolu-
tion” of the Western from historical realism to parody, contestation, and
finally deconstruction/critique.5 The reason for this, Schatz contends, is
that while some of the earliest films (e.g., The Covered Wagon in 1923)
were based on recent historical reality, the development of any narrative
into a formula necessarily means that “its basis in experience gradually
gives way to its own internal narrative logic” that moves it away from
this realism and towards parody, even as early as John Ford’s My Darling
Clementine in the late 1940s (36).6
In addition to identifying temporal differences that may exist due to
the longevity of the Western, it also is important to recognize (as is true
for so many genres) its flexibility and variability. In The Film Genre Book,
Sanders (2009, 13) observes that
As I wrote this section (on Westerns) it became clear how flexible this
genre can actually be; the films here say so much about so many different
facets of life; it was Hollywood’s backbone for so many years, but it is tell-
ing that even though the genre is at its lowest ebb in terms of quantity, it
is still a force to be reckoned with … The Western is dead, long live the
Western.
Here, Sanders cautions against genre imperialism or immutabil-

ity because the Western is a fluid genre that has experienced both strict
adherence to its form as well as reflexivity that other scholars recognize.
Having noted the elasticity of the genre, it is important to note that a
“Western” (perhaps paradoxically) remains one of the most easily iden-
tifiable forms in Hollywood in terms of narrative and iconography, thus
demonstrating a clear “generic identity” (Schatz 1981). Langford (2005,
69) lists what he refers to as the “paradigmatic narrative and charactero-
logical norms” of the Western—the “silent revenger, ‘outlaw hero,’ Bad
Man, unscrupulous businessman, whore, etc.” He also identifies the
“classic iconography” of the Western, which includes “corrals, ten-gal-
lon hats, swinging saloon doors, and Colt revolvers, stage coaches and
cavalry charges, school marms, saloon girls, showdowns and shoot outs”
(54). With these elements found in so many Western texts, Langford rec-
ognizes that the genre can be particularly formulaic. An example of this
emerged as I was doing background research on Open Range: one online
critic, noting the mechanical, uniform reproduction of all of the com-
mon characters seen in the genre as well as the well-trod and predictable
narrative, asked: “Does Costner think that none of us have ever seen a
Western before?” And indeed, this is the point made about this genre
as a ubiquitous form: almost everyone is familiar with the plot and char-
acters of a “Western,” whether it be through novels, art, movies, comic
books, television, plays, music, musicals, or video games.7 Pye (2012,
251) provides an excellent example of this uniformity of Westerns, argu-
ing that although the Lone Ranger exists “at the pulp end of the west-
ern spectrum,” and The Searchers is “one of the greatest westerns ever
made,” they both contain strikingly common elements: romantic adven-
tures with a solitary hero in the frontier/wilderness with a great deal of
naturalistic detail in the setting.8
Regarding the setting for the genre, perhaps the most common—and
ideologically significant—feature of the Western is the frontier. Westerns
exhibit a primary visual and thematic focus on exteriors, which makes
162 E.E. MOORE
it “a genre where definitive experiences and understandings are usually

to be found out of doors, preferably in the unconfined spaces of prai-
rie, sierra, or desert” (Langford 2005, 64–65).9 For this reason, the
relationship of landscape to human life is perhaps best illuminated in
the Western (Lefebvre 2006), with its heavy reliance on the action and
meaning that takes place out of doors. This focus on exteriors is con-
nected to Westerns’ realism (the notion of a real inhabitable life and
world) through the setting of the frontier itself (Pye 2012). Speaking to
the ideological implications of the frontier, Carmichael (2006, 3) per-
ceives a multitude of meanings related to “notions of conquest, progress,
and individual achievement,” not the least of which is related to the idea
of westward expansion and the myths associated with that movement.
While early Westerns like The Iron Horse (1924) and The Covered Wagon
(1923) could really be considered historical dramas that attempted to
accurately depict expansion westward, the genre eventually succumbed
to the commercial “impulse to exploit the past as a means of examining
the values and attitudes of contemporary America” (Schatz 1981, 46).
Related to the frontier-as-myth recognition is the theme of conflict,
as struggles related to resource scarcity on the frontier are a not-uncom-
mon theme in Hollywood Westerns (Murray and Heumann 2012). As a
result, the focus in the Western is kept firmly on the distinction between
interior and exterior as well as the “civilized” town versus the “sav-
age/wild” Western frontier just outside: “The landscape with its broad
expanses and isolated communities was transformed on celluloid into a
familiar iconographic arena where civilized met savage in an interminable
mythic contest” for control (Schatz 1981, 48). Speaking to this, Murray
and Heumann (2012, 6) recognize that “definitions of the Western
genre, no matter what the approach, seem to rest on an examination of
contradictions or dichotomies and binary oppositions.” Of course, the
tension created in opposites that is present in Westerns does not stop
with interior/exterior and civilization/savagery distinctions; indeed, the
binary battles to which Carmichael (2006, 1) refers involve “good versus
evil, populists versus privateers, and man versus nature.” Schatz (1981,
48) identifies other tensions, including
East versus West, garden versus desert, America versus Europe, social order
versus anarchy, individual versus community, town versus wilderness, cow-
boy versus Indian, schoolmarm versus dancehall girl, and so on.
Importantly, none of the opposites present in the Western are mutually

exclusive; instead, they demonstrate a certain degree of interdependence
as they ultimately draw from and reinforce each other. Turning back to
the well-worn characters in Westerns (e.g., corporate “bad guys,” out-
laws, lawmen, prostitutes, school teachers, heroes, and saloon girls),
it perhaps comes as no surprise that the Western is a generic form that
focuses on the white male as the central protagonist—it is his efforts
to establish or re-establish his manhood that becomes the focus of the
story. Dowell (1995, 8) wryly observes that “dominant masculinity is
so important to the Western that nominal attempts to wrest the genre
from white men prove almost impossible.” Perhaps this is not surpris-
ing for a genre that seems almost solely focused on demonstrating “how
men could be men” in the dangerous frontier (Bapis 2006, 14). Aside
from notable exceptions like Tarantino’s remake of Django Unchained
in 2012, where the central character is played by African American Jamie
Foxx (as well as the 2016 remake of The Magnificent Seven, featur-
ing Denzel Washington), the “good guy” in Westerns is almost always
white.10 And where Django may have broken racial barriers (while
admittedly also reinforcing some racial stereotypes), its portrayal of gen-
der difference was strictly in line with the genre, which typically identi-
fies women as almost always (with the exception of Sharon Stone in The
Quick and the Dead) passive characters who either wait in the saloon,
or at home, or in the local school for their man to win the day. Native
Americans fare little better in the Western, as Sanders (2009, 244)
observes:
The Western presents the American Indian in a “dual vision”: both

a “child of nature,” primitive but innocent, and the naked savage. In
[Fenimore] Cooper, this dual vision of the Indian is a feature of most of
the tales— the virtuous tribe of the Mohicans set against the unredeema-
ble evil of the Mingoes. These very familiar oppositions of garden /desert,
civilization/savagery, which are at the heart of ideas about the West, were
bound up with the western from the earliest times.
The Native American as presented in 1990s Western cinema was portrayed as

having “Supportive family structures, ecological sensitivity, clan solidarity, per-
vasive spirituality, fundamental nonviolence (iconic compensation for all those
years depicted as terrorists)—and, above all, status as an endangered species”
(Dowell 1995, 9). Here, one can conjoin the treatment of Native Americans
164 E.E. MOORE
with the notion of the frontier because “unlike other genres, race was already
explicitly a core element of the Western, since dramatizing the settling of the
frontier necessitated depicting relations between white settles or soldiers and
the indigenous Native American population” (Langford 2005, 73).
The “Lone Danger”: Resource Scarcity, Landscape,

and Myth in the Western
With its tendency towards conflicts that take place on the Western fron-
tier, it is unsurprising to anyone even superficially acquainted with the
genre that environmental struggles are common in the type of Western
that Lawrence (2006) refers to as the “Western ecological film.”
Carmichael (2006) sees “land, landscape, and ecology as the central
motif shaping experience in Western film” precisely because “without a
natural world in the American West that can support cattle, sheep and
crops, there would be no conflict over land use—no opportunities for
the showdowns exciting film audiences over the decades” (4). Although
the previous descriptions of the genre from numerous scholars provides
a solid foundation for analysis, when it comes to the genre’s engagement
with environmental issues the terrain shifts somewhat.
Murray and Heumann (2012) believe that that the true battle in
many Westerns is not the more obvious one (the individual hero versus
corporate “baddie”) but instead is represented by “environmental bat-
tles” that have a basis in real-world struggles over resources. Because of
this, they argue that any critical reading of Westerns requires a consid-
eration of “ecological dichotomies that break down when considered in
relation to the historical and cultural contexts of the films and their set-
tings” (2012, 4). In their call for context, Murray and Huemann want to
focus on the history of environmental degradation, especially how real-
world conflicts over issues such as water rights, management of the com-
mons, and land destruction from mining are manifested in Hollywood
Westerns.11 As noted earlier, in this chapter, the films chosen address two
interrelated environmental concerns that resonate with contemporary
environmental struggles—in Open Range, the focus is on free-range cat-
tle ranching; in 3:10 to Yuma a man is denied access to water on his land
for his cattle during a drought. Given increasing concerns over water
rights as well as over the impact of the beef industry, it is clear that both
of these conflicts have their basis in “real-world” environmental issues
and conflicts.
As a genre, then, Westerns lend themselves readily to the examination

of environmental issues, largely due to their consistent “uses and abuses
of landscape” that Brereton (2005, 39) identifies. However, it is impor-
tant to note that it is not only environmental issues that are highlighted
in these films, as the study of the Western landscape contains deeper cul-
tural significance. When considering the relationship between Westerns,
landscape, and myth, there is no shortage of scholarly voices. In her
critical reading of Easy Rider, Bapis finds that in Westerns “mountains,
deserts, valleys, canyons, lakes, washes and rivers have hosted utopian
desires of untrammeled freedom and rugged individualism,” rendering
the landscape in these films an active and important “ideological terrain”
(2006, 157). Similarly, Carmichael (2006) contends that the landscapes
presented in the genre create the potential to not only define but also
to reinforce important cultural boundaries. Langford (2005, 54) states
that “The particular complex of history, fantasy, and ideology clustered
around the frontier myth codified in the Western has been assigned a
central, even defining, place in the formation of American national iden-
tity and national character.” Speaking to settlement and agriculture in
the West, Dowell (1995, 6) recognizes that
The Western served effortlessly for sixty-five years or so as a vehicle for

American self-definition. It was the cultural production that continu-
ously refurbished a national foundation myth of agrarian equality … On
the domestic front it defined the parameters and hierarchy of gender and
established the credentials of violent authority.
Seen from this perspective, struggles over natural resources become

a moral struggle concerning who has the right of access to them. The
theoretical conception of landscape comes to its fullest expression in this
chapter, for the Western landscape becomes a cultural site of self-defini-
tion that may reveal more about “who we were, who we are, and who we
hope to be” (Greider and Garkovich 1994, 2).
The question posed in this chapter about the portrayal of environmen-
tal issues in the Western stems directly from recognition of the conven-
tions of the genre, its presentation of landscape, and the portrayal of key
struggles over resources: how does a genre so focused on the construc-
tion and reinforcement of hegemonic masculinity, untrammeled individu-
alism, violence, conflict, and the Western frontier present environmental
issues, especially those related to resource scarcity? As has been noted,
166 E.E. MOORE
“the distinctive achievement of the Western lies not in action elements …

but in its articulation of myth” (Tasker 2015, 4). Thus, the analysis that
follows places focus on the interconnection of masculine identity, land-
scape, and resource scarcity, and also includes consideration of environ-
mental context for each of the resource conflicts represented.
Open Range
Directed in 2003 by Kevin Costner and starring Costner and Robert
Duvall, this film was based on the novel Open Range Men by Lauran
Paine (1990), author of numerous novels about the West, includ-
ing The Apache Kid and Bandoleros. The film received some positive
reviews from critics, but performed tepidly at the box office, according
to Variety, pulling in only $57 million from US theaters throughout
its theatrical run. Critics similarly found the film to be an “overlong,”
rather mechanical reproduction that fit almost too perfectly within the
conventions of the Western generic form. Distributed by Buena Vista
(Walt Disney), the film’s executive producers were Armyan Bernstein
(who also produced Children of Men) and Craig Storper. Paine’s original
novel places the men “on the range”; the movie was filmed in Alberta,
Canada, although rumor had it that the story was supposed to be based
in Montana (not specified in the book). Due to the multiple references
to too much rain, it is unlikely that the setting is the drought-ridden
semi-desert of the American Southwest.
Open Range Summary

The film begins with Boss Stearman (Robert Duvall) and Charley Waite
(Kevin Costner) on horseback watching an incoming storm while their
cattle contentedly graze. When they decide to bed down for the night
to ride out the storm, their bodies are framed in silhouette by the green,
grassy valley in front of them and a grey, cloudy sky above. While wait-
ing out the thunderous storm underneath a canvas tarp, where the water
runs in rivers around their encampment, Boss and Charley play cards
with Mose, a large white man, and “Button,” a Mexican youth. Button
cheats by glancing at Mose’s cards, which makes Boss and Charley end
the game early. Boss admonishes the youth that “a man’s trust is a valu-
able thing, Button. You don’t want to lose it for a handful of cards.”
Once the storm is over, the sky is blue once again, and green, lush
fields and mountains are visible in the background in almost every scene
as the men break camp and start moving the herd. Horses drinks from a
clear, sparkling river and an emerald hill gleams in the background while
Charley and Mose attempt to dig the wagon wheel out of the mud.
Button is on the horse tied to the wagon, but he is chastised by Charley
for playing with the dog instead of helping. Just then, their horses run
towards them in a nearby valley, being chased back to camp by Boss.
Mose says to Charley admiringly: “Boss sure can ‘cowboy,’ can’t he?”
The music swells.
Boss and Charley send Mose back to the last town they visited to get
supplies while they forge ahead to the next grazing spot. Charley rides
through the green hills with his cattle, and even fords a stream with a
baby calf on his horse. While the three men rest, with a river and green
banks in the background, Button picks at his bare, dirty feet. Boss snaps
with exasperation at him: “By God if you’re going to pick your feet like
a monkey, you do it downwind.” Charley takes this opportunity to kick
Button into the stream for cheating at cards earlier.
When they arrive at their next site, they brush their horses, verdant
hills in the background. Realizing Mose has not returned, Boss and
Charley double back to find him. They leave Button with the cattle and
wagon, fording the same broad, sparkling river together and then rid-
ing through green hills. Resting on their horses above the small town,
they pause to load their guns, and then head in. The town’s main street
is one giant mud puddle from the recent rain, but it also has new build-
ings going up, and plenty of store fronts and people. Boss and Charley
find a local stable and ask the owner, named Percy (played by Michael
Jeter), to care for their horses while they look for someone. The man
asks if he can help, noting that “I’ve been here since Harmonville was
Fort Harmon, and we still had soldiers chase off the Indians: I know eve-
rybody in town.” When they describe Mose, Percy says that he knows
him, and that he’s in jail for “getting’ into it with some cattlemen.”
Boss and Charley venture to the local jail to collect Mose, only to
be met by the local Marshall named Poole and a businessman named
Denton Baxter, who has the following exchange with Boss:
Baxter: You know, folks in Fort Harmon country don’t take to free

grazers, or free grazin’. They hate them more than they used to
hate the Indians.
168 E.E. MOORE
Boss: I suspect by ‘folks’ you mean ranchers like yourself.

Baxter: I got the biggest spread’round these parts … I built my ranch
with me own two hands, piece by piece, along with this town.
And no free-graze cattle going to take the feed off my cattle on
this range.
Boss: Free graze is legal.
Baxter: Times change, Mr. Spearman. Most folks change with them. A
few holdouts never do.
Baxter then tells them a story about a “free-graze outfit” where some
people died. He says that they can take their man with them, but warns
that they need to leave by sunrise the next day, yelling at them to “Get
your damn free-graze cattle movin’ and keep’em movin’ until you’re out
of Fort Harmon country!”
When they return to their wagon, Button urges them to move on, but
Boss crabbily answers they will not until they have “grazed off a place.”
Boss also recognizes that Baxter means to steal the herd or scatter it
whether they leave or not. As he and Charley discuss (the grass rippling
lushly in the wind in the foreground), Charley asks, “You reckon those
cows is worth getting’ killed over?” to which Boss replies, “Cows is one
thing. But one man telling another man where he can go in this country
is something else.”
The two men ultimately go to beat up Baxter’s men hiding in a
camp nearby, who they believe mean to scatter the herd. While Boss
and Charley beat them, the men tell them that they should be back
in their camp—the rest of Baxter’s men are burning it. They return
to find Mose killed, Button severely wounded, and the cattle gone.
They return to town to get Button medical care with Doc Barlow, in
the meantime saving a dog from a raging river running through town
(for it is raining again). In the bustling local café, the men run into
the marshall and swear vengeance. Boss tells the townspeople who
gather to watch the exchange: “You don’t like free grazers in this town;
we don’t much like being here. But a man’s got a right to protect his
property and his life. And we ain’t etting’ no rancher or no lawman
take either.”
The scene set for the final shootout in town, the film then slowly gives
way to a budding romance with Doc Barlow’s sister and ample character
development for an hour. Fast forwarding to the shootout scene, it is
revealed that Charley is a crack shot who decimates all of the Marshall’s
and Baxter’s men in town while himself remaining unscathed. After
he kills the men in an oddly anticlimactic scene, the movie continues:
Charley continues his courtship and, the woman secured, eventually
approaches Boss, smiling, to go “get our cattle.” Newly inspired, the
men spur their horses to ride in slow motion up a green, grassy hill.
Open Range Analysis: The Ecological Cost of “Free Grazing”

Open Range is a faithful (perhaps excessively so) example of a Western
that contains a common theme of conflict in the genre “between the side
of right (aligned with the hero in each movie) and that of a misguided
antagonist (American Indians and corporate ranchers, respectively)”
(Murray and Heumann 2012, 3). While there are no Native Americans
in the film, not even as set extras (!), there is indeed a corporate rancher
who has set his sights on killing the “unlawful” free grazers and destroy-
ing their livelihood due to his anger over the “old ways” that threaten
his profit margin. Boss and Charley, of course, have their own version of
their free-grazing practice, which is presented as being not only legal but
also representing a more traditional way of life that is slowly being elimi-
nated in the name of corporate greed. Interestingly, this exact theme is
seen in Shane (1953), where the key conflict is over “old timers” who
want to let their cattle feed and roam open-range. While the corporate
rancher claims his way (fencing in cattle who are fat, happy, and con-
tained) is better for the environment, Ryker the old timer believes the
old ways are better for both animal and environmental health (Murray
and Heumann 2012). In Open Range (as in Shane) the ultimate conflict
is really over “conflicting views of how best to manage the wilderness”
(Murray and Heumann 2012, 5).
Just as Bapis (2006) finds in films like Easy Rider, the limited dialogue
in Open Range forces attention on the landscape itself. The green, lush
pastures that stretch luxuriantly across the screen in most scenes belie
Baxter’s stated concern that somehow this is a case where the commons
are being degraded. For, it would seem, there is plenty to go around:
Boss and his men never come across other free-grazing cattle outfits,
and the sumptuous green grasses visually suggest that there is no need
to worry about overgrazing. By not creating any sense of “spatial lim-
its,” the film avoids creating what Mottet (2006, 63) refers to as a “sense
170 E.E. MOORE
of belonging to a place”—that is, the open range is for all to use, and
Charley and Boss are an integral part of this plentiful landscape.
Although the myriad narrative and visual clues are meant to lead the
viewer to the conclusion that the old ways are better, an understand-
ing of the environmental impact of any cattle ranching (fenced or free
ranged) repudiates this notion. In his discussion of The Lone Ranger,
Dorfman (2010) notes the ideological function of the portrayal of envi-
ronmental utopia in the Western, namely that it
revitalizes one of North America’s foundation myths, that of the frontier—

the push ever westward—which has been explored, populated, and rede-
fined now for over three hundred years. The New Frontier … about which
John F. Kennedy spoke, could supposedly be expanded infinitely, as long
as it simultaneously preserved its ties with the past as a source of inspira-
tion and security, and as long as no one questioned the spirit behind the
economic and geographic expansion of the Old Frontier. Nourishing this
myth is the job of places like Wild Horse Valley: recreating the conditions
of the nation’s beginnings so that every Bruno’s little boy can visit the past
and regain the clean perspective with which the first settlers viewed that
immaculate land. (67)
Seen from this perspective, the portrayal of lush, moist, and verdant
landscapes in Open Range serves to reassure viewers that the land has
been able to sustain cattle ranching and will be able to do so indefinitely.
Indeed, Paine’s original novel Open Range Men makes the same point,
especially well represented in the following passage:
The day was wearing along. For a change, it was neither muggy nor par-
ticularly hot. The sky was flawless. Because of the rainstorm followed by
several hot days, grass was growing faster than the cattle could eat it off.
The land was empty as far as a man could see, giving the natural splendor a
deceptive appearance of tranquility. (31)
By presenting the open range as a lush “horn of plenty,” Costner’s

film appears to provide an example of the critical concept of the prob-
lematic. In their critique of Marx’s Das Kapital, Althusser and Balibar
define what they term the problematic as “an answer given to its absent
question” (32). Storey (2012) notes that the problematic is directly
linked to silences in a text and recognizes that it often serves to silence
future questions by making them appear irrelevant.12 Seen from this
perspective, the fertile and luxuriant landscape in Open Range serves

to silence any questions about negative environmental consequences of
welfare ranching. If there is doubt regarding the role played by the lush
landscape in the key argument about the bounty of the environmental
commons, consider how we would feel about the corporate rancher’s
claims if the landscape were less bountiful, more sparse, where Boss and
Charley barely eke out small, hard-won profits in a hardscrabble free-
graze outfit, and where the cattle are lean and scraggly. If so, corporate
rancher Baxter’s claims might seem more sincere, and his needs more
valid. But the continuous open green expanses in almost every frame
completely undercuts the message that cattle (fenced or free) could harm
ecological stability, when the opposite is now known to be true. Here, it
is possible to compare the visual claims about the ability of the commons
to sustain cattle ranching with what is known about the true impact of
cattle and the beef industry.
In their picturesque and weighty tome Welfare Ranching: The
Subsidized Destruction of the American West, Wuerthner and Matteson
(2002, xv) make the compelling claim that tax-subsidized grazing on
public lands is responsible for a significant amount of environmental
destruction of water, wildlife, and land. They note that most of the envi-
ronmental externalities—including loss of Indigenous vegetation, water
pollution, decreasing biodiversity, and soil erosion—are not paid for by
livestock producers themselves, but instead are transferred to taxpayers
and, ultimately, to the land itself. They write that
given the small percentage of meat produced off the vast western range
and the tremendous costs to native ecosystems as well as to the taxpayers,
who indirectly and indirectly subsidize the western livestock industry, any
amount of commercial livestock production here is difficult to justify. (xv)
In addition to the negative environmental consequences of open-range

grazing is the wider impact from the business of cattle raising, including
rainforest destruction, water usage, soil loss, greenhouse gas emissions
like methane, carbon dioxide, and nitrous oxide, agricultural practices,
dead zones, climate change, and more.13 In Cowed, Hayes and Hayes
(2015, 33) note just how large of a portion of the nation’s resources
cows use in terms of water, soil, and climate change issues, recognizing
that livestock produce “14.5 percent of anthropogenic (human-caused)
greenhouse gas emissions. Beef cattle are responsible for 41 percent of
172 E.E. MOORE
livestock emissions, milk cows for another 19 percent.” Through their

research, Cowspiracy documentary producers Kip Andersen and Keegan
Kuhn claim that the contemporary cattle industry is “the most destruc-
tive industry facing the planet” in terms of greenhouse gases, water
pollution, land use, waste production, impact on the oceans, rainforest
destruction, and impact on biodiversity. The degradation of the West’s
environment has been long acknowledged: Sheridan (2007, 121) identi-
fies the West of old as an “overwhelmingly rural landscape dominated by
(numerous) extractive industries” at a time when settlers were attempt-
ing to make new lives and businesses in a new environment.
In their discussion of open-range versus fenced grazing in films like
Shane and Sea of Grass, Murray and Heumann (2012, 24) assert that
“no matter what the method, ranching and farming left an indelible and
destructive mark on the land.” They cite Open Range specifically, noting
that “years after research negated the ecology behind free-range ranch-
ing, the film argues vehemently for that method and against enclosed
farms and ranches, especially private-property rights” (25). But, of
course, the film is not making so much of a statement about ecological
concern (although it purports to) as much as it does about older tradi-
tions and the freedom of white men. It is true that the film “reinforces a
mythology resting on American ideals of the western frontier” (Murray
and Heumann 2012, 26), which ultimately is tied to the need to ensure
the unassailed freedom of the white male. Thus, the landscape itself
becomes intimately intertwined with the construction of white masculin-
ity for the central two characters in a way recognized by Mottet—namely
that “bucolic landscapes [become] tied up with a quest for identity”
(2006, 66). Here, endless green pastures serve as a necessary backdrop
for the actions and identity of the two white men.
One can see the inclusion of the Mexican-American character
“Button” as reinforcing hegemonic masculinity due to the contrast cre-
ated by his own lack of masculine traits. He is a callow youth who also is
depicted as dirty (openly picking at his bare, grubby feet) and a cheater
at cards. Much of this makes him untrustworthy as well, as he proves
he cannot protect the herd when Boss and Charley are absent. After
Baxter’s men hurt him, he spends the remainder of the film unconscious
and bandaged in a doctor’s waiting room. Even when he tries to help
out in the final shootout scene he is quickly dispatched and needs to be
protected by a woman.
Interestingly, Button’s character is a shift from Paine’s novel, which

also presents the boy as being young, but as having “straw-colored hair”
and being very capable, and a natural successor to Charley and Boss. The
Button from Costner’s film, however, shows none of these characteris-
tics. Instead, his suite of features means that he is not presented as reli-
ably connected to the cattle ranching industry—the same livelihood that
defines both Boss and Charley as “men.” As a result, the purpose of his
inclusion in the film appears to be only to highlight by contrast the mas-
culine identities of the two central white men.
As noted earlier, there are no Native Americans in the film, although
there are two references to them. Both Percy the stable owner and
Baxter the corporate rancher acknowledge their presence … or is it that
they acknowledge their absence? Both times, “Indians” are referred to in
the past tense: the people of Harmonville “used to” despise the Indians,
or had “chased” them off. Dowell (1995, 10) notes that “stories about
Native Americans always seem to be about the end of something, even
as the off-screen nations are experiencing renewed energy. No doubt a
bit of racial wishful thinking.” Native Americans’ nonappearance/disap-
pearance is also important when considering the potential environmen-
tal impact of free-grazing cattle, because their absence suggests even less
need or competition for the lands that Boss and Charley want to use.
In showing a pure, lush landscape that can sustain not only free graz-
ers but corporate ranchers alike, Open Range deftly avoids the central
critique of capitalism identified by Dorfman as it relates to environmen-
tal degradation. Although the film momentarily indulges potential cri-
tiques about the harm that can be caused by overgrazing of the frontier,
it ultimately negates this idea in three ways. First is the film’s unswerving
focus on individual freedom as tied to ideals of hegemonic masculinity.
Because their masculine identity is so closely tied to these men’s liveli-
hoods, we are to understand that, even if free grazing might injure the
commons, their needs as “men” come first. In addition, the unscrupu-
lous, volatile, unsavory (and rather two-dimensional) nature of the cor-
porate rancher means that one cannot side with him and his claims about
resource scarcity: he is not presented as someone trustworthy, and there-
fore his claims are left unheeded. Finally, one can consider the healthy,
green, grassy expanses that fill the screen as visually negating any hint of
disruption to the ecological commons.
Despite how damaging the cattle industry has been (and is) for
the environment of the American West, Open Range thus makes two
174 E.E. MOORE
inter-related claims: first, that the practice is not harmful to ecological

systems, but then, even if it is, the freedom of men to do as they choose
should be privileged over environmental concern. In these two implicit
claims is where the myth of the frontier and the cowboy meets the reality
of cattle ranching in the USA. Wuerthner (2002, 30) notes the powerful
connections that can be made with cattle ranching, ideas of male virility,
and environmental degradation in the American West:
The rancher-cowboy comes from a long tradition of power and status. As

a producer of beef, a food with considerable symbolic value to Americans,
as well as being the personification of American values of individualism,
personal integrity, strength, and male competency, the cowboy is firmly
ensconced in the nation’s iconography. Thus, attempts to eliminate or
merely reform livestock production will not be successful until the symbol-
ism of “meat” and “cowboy” is carefully deconstructed, and the premise
of controlling nature … is challenged. Ultimately, the public’s understand-
ing of and reverence for the American cowboy will need to shift … if real
change in public policy is to occur.
In order to mitigate environmental degradation from cattle ranching

in the West, then, one needs first to confront the vaunted, mythologi-
cal status of the frontier cowboy. However, in Open Range this does not
appear likely to happen; instead, there appears to be only an unwavering
idealization of traditional masculinity in a way that forces capitulation of
environmental concern to these conventional and anachronistic ideals of
manhood.
3:10 to Yuma
Based on Elmore Leonard’s short story titled “Three-Ten to Yuma”
that was published in a “pulp” magazine in 1953 and first made into a
movie starring Glenn Ford in 1957, the 2007 remake roughly follows
the plot of the original dime novel, although the film provides more of
a backstory before the characters enter the town of the final showdown:
Contention. In addition, many of the characters have changed, except
for Charlie Prince: in Leonard’s novel the rancher Dan Evans never
existed, and was instead a lawman from Bisbee.
Produced and distributed by Lionsgate with Relativity Media and
directed by James Mangold, 3:10 to Yuma performed well enough at the
box office to knock out other Hollywood blockbusters and to take the
top spot in its opening weekend. The film also enjoyed critical as well
as commercial success, with the majority of film critics agreeing that the
remake offered something unique for viewers, with quality acting and cin-
ematography. In terms of scholarly reception, Pye (2012, 252) notes that
“What is most frequently commented on in 3:10 to Yuma is its ‘realism,’
its evocation of an unusually barren and unromanticized West in which
environment dominates people, as well as its refusal of ‘romantic’ (in both
senses) characterization.” This is certainly true of the film, which portrays
the impact of drought conditions in the American West on individuals’
livelihoods and families. Where the Open Range frontier is lush, fertile,
and damp, the landscape of 3:10 to Yuma is dry, unforgiving, and barren.
3:10 to Yuma Summary

The film opens with a William Evans, a boy of 14 who is reading a “dime
novel” titled The Deadly Outlaw in the middle of the night. He gets
out of bed to battle a barn fire (with his father, Dan) that was set by
henchman of a local businessman named Hollander, who has lent Dan
money that has not yet been repaid. With the barn blazing in the back-
ground, Dan tells his son “I’ll make it right.” The boy just shakes his
head with disgust, telling him “No, you won’t.” The morning reveals
a dry expanse surrounding Dan’s cattle ranch and farm, with the still-
smoldering barn in the center. With a tan and brown landscape behind
him, Dan talks with his wife, Alice, about going into the nearby town
of Bisbee, Arizona, to convince Hollander to stop his attacks, telling her
that “We can’t make it rain together, [nor] turn the dust into grass.” It
turns out that Hollander has not only sabotaged Dan’s property, but also
has stopped water from flowing on Dan’s land, which is killing his cattle
(and thus his livelihood).
When Dan rides into town, he takes a family heirloom with him—a
gold pin—to try to sell it to Hollander to buy his family more time.
Holding it, he has the following exchange with the businessman:
Dan: You got no right, to do what you done. You

hear me? It’s my land.
Hollander: Come next week it’s not, Mr. Evans. You bor-
rowed a good deal of money, and I got rights
to recompense.
176 E.E. MOORE
Dan: But you dammed up my creek. You shut off

my water. How do you expect me to pay off
my debts?
Hollander: Before that water touches your land it resides
and flows on mine. And as such I can do with
it as I fucking please. Go home and pack up.
Dan
[holding out pendant]: Just let me get at that spring. I could turn the
corner.
Hollander: Sometimes a man has to be big enough to
know how small he is. The railroad’s coming,
Dan: your land’s worth more with you off it.
As the film reveals, Hollander has lent Dan money and then dammed
up a creek as part of a long con to force Dan and his family off their land
so he can sell it to the railroad. In desperation, Dan volunteers to help
escort convicted criminal (who has “robbed 22 coaches and will hang for
it”) Ben Wade from the local town of Bisbee, Arizona, to Contention,
where the 3:10 train will take Wade to the Yuma prison. Dan is offered
$200, which he eagerly takes. Alice tries to convince him not to go on the
dangerous mission, but Dan tells her “Six months from now, everything’s
gonna be green. Cows are gonna be fat. We might even see the steam
from the train coming over the ridge. But we won’t make it through the
next six days if I don’t do this. I’ve been standin’ on one leg for three
damn years, waiting for God to do me a favor, and he ain’t listenin’.”
After a ruse that is meant to confuse Wade’s violent and loyal gang to
look elsewhere for their captured leader, Dan and others take off on horse-
back to Contention. Along the way, the land through which they pass is
a golden hue with few trees, many dry creek beds, and continuous dust
kicked up by horses’ hooves. There are no rivers that flow, nor any rain
that falls on their several-day journey. The men take the pass as a shortcut
to avoid Wade’s murderous gang, even though Wade warns them that “the
Apaches that live in that pass are the ones that stayed to fight. They enjoy
killing. You ain’t gonna make it.” When the “Apaches” do attack, they are
shown only as dark figures in profile, with face paint and feathers visible.
The group survives the attack thanks to Wade, who also uses this
opportunity to steal their horses and escape. However, shortly thereafter,
he is captured again by others who want him dead, until Dan and others
save him. They continue on to Contention, eventually ending up in a
hotel half a mile from the train station. One by one, the men who were
hired to help take Wade to the station either die or quit in fear, leaving
only Dan and his son to deliver the convict to the authorities in Yuma.
Dan negotiates with the railroad official to pay him not $200 but $1000
if he can get Wade on the train. Wade has offered Dan the same amount,
which Dan refuses to accept because he wants to protect his own reputa-
tion. As he makes the deal with the official, Wade notes in the distance
the “rain clouds over Bisbee,” meaning that perhaps Dan needn’t take
this dangerous mission after all. Dan, however, remains undeterred.
Because Wade has grown rather fond of the cattle rancher and his
son, he implicitly agrees to let himself be led to the train station, but
he recognizes that first they must get through his own gang, which has
surrounded the town and threaten to kill Dan. Wade’s henchman is a
character named Charlie Prince (who is featured in Leonard’s original
fiction and also in the 1957 film), an intelligent and remorseless killer.
He is described early in the film as a “balled up whore named ‘Charlie
Princess,’” thus hinting that his loyalty to Wade goes deeper than simply
professional admiration.
Eventually, both Wade and Dan make it to the station, after killing
many men (and almost each other). Dan is shot by Charlie, and Wade (in
retaliation) kills not only Charlie but the rest of his own gang too. He
gets on the train while William holds Dan, admiration in his eyes for his
dying father.
3:10 to Yuma Analysis: Water Rights in Perpetual Western Drought

This film is as much about water rights in a time of drought in the West
as it is defining hegemonic masculinity—and these two themes become
inextricably conjoined. To begin, it is important to note that water is
never shown in the film: there are no rivers that flow through the land-
scape (as they do in many other Westerns), and no rain falls. In the
place of water are dry grasses, dust, and smoke that continually frames
the characters and their actions. The consequence of this is that there is
no visual respite from the drought and the dry, parched land that result
from it. The barren, dusty landscape continually reinforces not only
Dan’s predicament but also his need to take the significant risk of bat-
tling Wade’s violent gang: if he does not go with Wade, he and his family
will not survive the drought, as well as Hollander’s criminal manipula-
tion of the water supply.
178 E.E. MOORE
The constant threat posed to Dan’s family by the lack of water reso-
nates deeply with longstanding concerns over water conservation, manip-
ulation, and management in the West. As Pye (2012, 252) observes of
the film’s landscape: “from the outset, the barren landscape suggests the
bleakness of life in this West … The insistence on the harshness of the
environment is reinforced by discussion of the drought that dominates
the lives of the ranchers in the area.” In Cadillac Desert: The American
West and its Disappearing Water, Reisner (1987, 3) contends that the
history of populating the West really is a history of continual water pro-
jects: “everything depends on the manipulation of water … Were it not
for a century and a half of messianic effort toward that end, the West
as we know it would not exist.” Reisner speaks directly to water scar-
city in not only Arizona (in regards to its use of the Colorado River and
other sources as well as its battles with nearby states like California), but
in the West as a whole, including rapidly depleting aquifers in perpetually
arid areas. Many early settlers of the West struggled with the discrepancy
between the peddled fantasy regarding adequate water and the reality of
living in a desert/demi-desert environment.
Seen from the perspective of the longstanding and unending water
politics in the West, 3:10 to Yuma references the ever-present danger
of water scarcity and the resulting threat to Western expansion on the
frontier. It also speaks to contemporary concerns about increasing water
scarcity and drought in the West, especially as they relate to sustaining
increasingly large human populations. As noted above, the dearth of
water for Dan Evans and his family also underscores the need for Dan
to regain his masculinity through violent actions in order to recapture
resources. The wealthy and powerful businessman Hollander has emas-
culated him by removing his ability to provide for his family. His wife
cannot help: as Dan and his son battle the barn blaze, Alice stands there
watching, helpless. As Wade decides he must go on a violence-filled jour-
ney, she can only warn him not to go. The outlaw Wade even recognizes
Dan’s emasculation by telling him that a man would be buying his wife
finer dresses and putting more food on the table for his family. Thus, by
taking Wade to the train station, Dan may have a chance to regain both
his masculinity and resources needed for his land.
Counter to Dan’s own journey back to masculinity is the portrayal
of Charlie Prince who, as we earlier noted, is referred to as a “balled-
up whore” named “Charlie Princess.” It is against both the hegemonic
masculinity of both Dan and Wade that we are meant to gauge Charlie,
because it is suggested that he may be confused (“balled up”) about

his own sexuality. The presentation of Charlie as a ruthless and psycho-
pathic killer instantiates Ott and Mack’s (2014, 201) recognition that
“Hollywood has historically used homosexuality as a marker for deviance
or criminality. Older films often link homosexuality to abnormal or anti-
social behavior, in the process affirming heterosexuality as normal.” In
this case, Charlie’s abnormal fixation with his leader is the primary obsta-
cle to Dan’s re-acquaintance with his masculinity and concomitant relief
from the drought.
Native Americans fare little better, as they continuously are identified
as the “Other”—violent, primitive, and unknowable—in the film. They
may know and be able to survive the dry wilderness, but for some rea-
son they are no match for Wade’s superior killing skills and they are eas-
ily neutralized. Thus, the purpose of their inclusion seems to be only to
highlight the masculinity of both Wade (already a man) and Dan (on his
way back to being one).
As a result of the “subordinate” depictions of masculinity (which,
according to Katz (2011), is represented by homosexuality and non-
white ethnicity, among other traits), the audience is left with the privi-
leging of hegemonic masculinity—which highlights heterosexuality,
whiteness, violence, and upper-class status—as the proper end goal
for a “real” man. And, according to this film, one way to get there is
through not so much care for the environment as careful manipulation
of it to best exploit resources for oneself. Murray and Heumann (2012,
81) observe that because of the tropes of pastoralization (where the
Western desert transforms into a garden) “it comes as no surprise that
many [Westerns] foreground consequences of big guys controlling water
use so that little guys must either pay exorbitant prices or suffer drought
conditions and thirst.” Here, Hollander’s damming of the water as well
as the drought both threaten Dan’s identity as a man, which ultimately
propels him to accept a dangerous mission involving violent encounters
and deadly shootouts. If he does not fix the “water problem,” his sta-
tus as male head of the household is significantly threatened. In the end,
when he puts Wade on the train, his son’s admiration returns: Dan may
have had to die for it, but he has become a man again.
The scenes with the “rain clouds over Bisbee” is important because
here the film hints to the audience that Dan cannot rely upon the whims
of rain clouds; instead, his family’s survival is predicated on the violence
he can inflict as part of the deal he made with the railroad to get Wade
180 E.E. MOORE
on the train. Interestingly, because Dan (in the end) negotiated $1000
for his risky endeavor, the rain holds less significance for him, for he
now has enough money to move somewhere else, perhaps to start a new
business venture with his financial windfall. Thus, Dan has managed to
escape the longstanding concerns over resource scarcity (in this case, in
regards to drought in the West)—or at least this is true for the family
members who survive him.
In his discussion of the original (1957) 3:10 to Yuma, Pye has a dif-
ferent interpretation of the potential rain that will fall on Dan’s land near
the end of the film, arguing that the thunder promises:
the long-needed rain but also, it seems clear … confirmation of the right-
ness of his resolve. The simultaneity of moral climax and thunder signals
dramatically an other than contingent relationship between the human
and the natural worlds, the drought as expression of and punishment for
the spiritual state of the people. Their atrophy of will and resigned selfish-
ness stand in a necessary relationship to the blight on the land in a way
that clearly evokes the wasteland of Grail legends. Evans’s action ends the
drought as the quester’s can in legend … (252–253)
Regardless of how one can interpret the meaning of the rain that may
temporarily bring an end to the drought, analysis of 3:10 to Yuma
through the lens of environmental issues reveals that the masculinity
so central to the genre becomes intimately intertwined with the idea of
resource scarcity.
The Confluence of Masculinity, Natural Resources,

and Ranching in the USA
The first general note to make about both films analyzed in this chapter
is in regards to the visual importance of landscape. The omnipresence of
green, lush fields, rainstorms, and wide, crystalline rivers in Open Range
finds a direct contrast to the ubiquity of dry gullies, arid landscapes,
and dust in 3:10 to Yuma. Each distinct portrayal of landscape serves its
own function: either to highlight a specific environmental concern (like
drought and disappearing water in the American West) or to allay con-
cerns about the impact of the beef and cattle industry when it comes to
water and land. In either case, any environmental concern takes a distant
back seat to the need to assert the authority, freedom, and masculinity of
the white male protagonists. This is perhaps to be expected in a genre so

focused on reinforcing hegemonic masculinity, but it does mean that any
legitimate fears about the impact of humans on the environment are con-
sistently relegated as a third-tier issue: secure white masculinity, which is
tied to the ability to make a profitable living, comes first, and only then
can ecological stability be worried about.
Regarding capitalism in films set in the American West, Carmichael
(2006, 4) observes that “The impossibility of balancing or reconciling
the ‘green world’ with capitalist progress or community construction
always has been a major theme in Westerns …” When it comes to con-
flict over natural resources, analysis of the two films reveal a distinct ten-
sion: ecological (and social) stability and masculine identity is threatened
only when a person—or group of persons—gets too greedy. If everyone
stays within legal limits, environmental health and social order remains
untrammeled. The struggle in these films is thus over sanctioned-versus-
illicit use of limited resources, with the clear moral imperative in the film
favoring those who would use resources according to both social sanc-
tions as well as what the frontier ecology itself can sustain (Dorfman
2010). The point made by Open Range specifically is that the traditional
and legal free grazers don’t overgraze—the ever-present verdant land-
scape visually attests to that.
According to Dorfman (2010, 62), this type of message, however
“commonsense” it may seem, ultimately “eliminates a valid critique of
capitalism” by substituting for it another type of critique: “money’s bad
qualities do not stem from the social relations of production … but from
the abuses owners commit against nature, their attempts to extract goods
beyond decent boundaries.” The problem with this message, Dorfman
explains, is that audiences may equate
overexploitation with contamination of the atmosphere and the water,

ecological and climatological perturbations, the poisoning of the flora and
fauna, the systematic disappearance of age-old resources. What the public
and the magazine will not do is admit that such phenomena accompany
capitalism … The possibility that an affluent society may inevitably become
effluent … passes them by. (63, emphasis added)
Struggles over natural resources thus become a moral struggle concern-

ing who has the right of access to them while ignoring the expansionist,
exploitative, and environmentally destructive tendencies of capitalism.
182 E.E. MOORE
Similar themes of masculinity and conflict over resources are seen in

Gore Verbinski’s The Lone Ranger (2013). Exceedingly expensive (due
to the multiple explosions and train crash scenes) and maligned by crit-
ics, the film walks an uneasy line between a self-conscious, almost car-
toonish portrayal of the people and landscape of the Western frontier and
an overly serious, earnest portrayal of them and their struggles. Native
Americans (supposedly Comanche) are depicted as mystical, primitive,
violent, and anachronistic characters who speak only broken English.
The central “Native American” character of Tonto is played by white
actor Johnny Depp in red face. Depp’s version of the well-known char-
acter (a seeming reprisal of the Jack Sparrow character from Pirates of
the Caribbean) plays a Tonto who has become deranged after selling
his tribe out to white men who wanted the silver mines found on tribal
lands.
Murray and Heumann (2012, 56–57) argue that “mining Westerns”
center on a very specific conflict between individuals and corporations,
which “reveals two conflicting views of ecology: the fair-use methods of
corporations and the sustainable-development aspirations of individuals
wishing to maintain resources for future generations.” But because the
film never shows the silver mines (only chunks of silver scattered on the
ground), or even any miners, it is able to avoid a potential concern about
the environmental and cultural impacts of mining, which are substantial.
In his captivating history of silver mining in Peru, Robins (2011) rec-
ognizes that, just as the echoes of colonialism exist in South America,
so reverberates the environmental devastation from the use of mercury
in silver refinement. Robins also recognizes the impact of silver mining
on Andean native communities in terms of their displacement, economic
stability, and physical health. The Lone Ranger could have referenced the
impact of silver mining on the ecology on the Western frontier, but is so
focused on the power struggles over land and broken treaties between
the Comanche and white settlers that this potential critique is never
broached, even indirectly. Thus, even though Murray and Heumann
(2012) contend that “no matter how buried in the action-packed plot-
line,” mining Westerns “reveal environmental issues worth exploring,” it
is only the absence of environmental concern that is able to be assessed
in this film. In this, The Lone Ranger is somewhat similar to Frozen (see
Chap. 2) in the seeming desire to avoid even the barest acknowledg-
ment of environmental issues. It also is similar to Open Range in that
the film visually negates the idea that human activity in the search for
profits (like cattle ranching or precious metals) could ever be harmful to

the environment.
The two films analyzed in this chapter both follow fairly standard con-
ventions for the Western genre: they are focused on the construction and
reinforcement of hegemonic masculinity and the related desire to make
a living in the West, so the environment becomes a distant concern (if
at all). It speaks to ongoing issues regarding freedom and masculinity,
including the controversy surrounding the free-range cattle owner Cliven
Bundy, who let his cattle graze illegally on federal lands in Nevada in
2014. When Bundy’s sons let their cattle graze illegally in the delicate
Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in Oregon in 2016, it created a stand-
off that made clear that disputes over cattle, land rights, and environ-
mental concerns will continue. While Open Range and 3:10 to Yuma do
reference environmental problems, the white, masculinist, individualistic
lens through which they portray them serves to subordinate concern for
the environment. Ultimately, while both films criticize specific corporate
practices, they avoid broader critiques of capitalism and white masculinity
that would highlight the problem of environmental degradation in the
American West.
Notes
1. Carmichael (2006) refers to Westerns as perhaps the most “fluid” genre
whose texts paradoxically still adhere to recognizable genre conventions.
2. Many scholars agree on this issue: Gallagher (2012) echoes the rec-
ognition that the Western is the “richest” and longest enduring genre.
Langford (2005) contends that the Western is the “longest lived” as well
as the most fruitful genre in Hollywood (54), with more Westerns cre-
ated than any other generic form.
3. Schatz (1981) makes the same argument, although he attributes even
more significance to it by arguing that the film marked the start of the
“commercial narrative film in America” as well (45).
4. Schatz (1981) identifies the height of Westerns from the late 1930s
through the 1950s, when he perceives the values of the American West
were being threatened by “the Modern Age,” which he associates with
movement to urban areas, the Great Depression, World War II, and other
factors (46). Dowell does note that there were some Westerns produced
in the 1970s, the most noteworthy of which (she identifies) were pro-
duced by Clint Eastwood.
184 E.E. MOORE
5. Intriguingly, Metz (1974, in Schatz 1981) attributes the “classic–parody–

contestation–critique progression” to the self-consciousness of both the
audience and filmmakers “regarding the genre’s formal qualities and its
initial social function” (37). However, it is important to note that Metz
himself states that “The classic Western was already self parodying, like
all genres which are formulaic and which accept this without shame”
(152). Gallagher (2012) disagrees with a clear distinction between older
and more contemporary Westerns, noting that there are elements attrib-
uted to newer Westerns (including self consciousness) firmly established
in some of the earliest films in the genre. He vehemently contradicts the
notion of evolution or elevated consciousness by stating that “little evi-
dence has been brought forward to support the theory that there has
been growing “self-consciousness”—or any other sort of linear evolu-
tion—in and specific to the western. Indeed, the evidence has not even
been considered. So perhaps the opposite is true” (300). Additionally, he
even points to “hyperconsciousness” relatively early in the genre (1909–
1920). Intriguingly, Metz (1974, in Schatz 1981) attributes the “classic–
parody–contestation–critique progression” to the self-consciousness of
both the audience and filmmakers “regarding the genre’s formal qualities
and its initial social function” (37).
6. Even an early film like The Covered Wagon makes reference to the environ-
mental damage that can occur from agricultural expansion into Oregon
when one Native American group (referring to themselves as the Red
Man) notes that the new Western explorers bring “this monster weapon
(the plow) that will bury the buffalo—uproot the forest—and level the
mountain.” Even at this time, then, Indigenous groups (although heavily
stereotyped and simplified) are portrayed as the protectors of the environ-
ment and concerned about ecological stability.
7. As Carmichael (2006) notes, the Western has a special relationship with
the audience, for it is they who pay the most attention and provide the
most critique of texts that fall within the form.
8. Pye’s observation is echoed by Gallagher (2012), who discusses Westerns’
conventionality in similar terms.
9. Langford (2005, 65) makes a similar argument, noting that one can find
meaning in both “the depiction of these apparently dichotomous spaces,
interior and exterior, urban and wilderness” as well as “the ambivalent
relationship between and the values reposed in them.”
10. Dowell (1995) notes that other exceptions from the 1990s include
Ted Turner’s The Broken Chain (1993), a film entirely about Native
Americans, and Mario van Peebles’ film about African Americans venge-
ance riders set in the West: Posse (1993). There are, of course, others, and
I would add Buck and the Preacher (featuring Sidney Poitier and Harry
Belafonte, 1972) as well as Wild Wild West (1999) with megastar Will
Smith. Often these bodies of color are permitted into the film through
the marking of their bodies as different, or Other: in Posse, themes of rac-
ism are involved in the African American quest for vengeance; in Wild
Wild West, Will Smith’s character notes his difference by discussing slav-
ery with angry white townsfolk.
11. Murray and Huemann specifically call for an examination of contradic-
tions through an eco-critical lens that considers “historicized views of
environmental degradation” (6). Carmichael (2006, 4) agrees, recogniz-
ing that these films often “resonate with ecological and environmental
concerns still unresolved today.”
12. See Chap. 1: Cradle to Grave for a brief introduction and further descrip-
tion of the problematic.
13. Warren (1997) has an excellent treatment of the severe environmental
impact of gold mining and cattle on the Brazilian Atlantic forest, noting
that cattle disrupt the growth of natural grasses, creating the need for addi-
tional land on which to graze. Hayes and Hayes (2015) provide an in-depth
discussion of the myriad ways that the cattle ranching industry destroys the
environment, including the three types of gases that cows produce.
References
Bapis, Elaine. 2006. Easy Rider (1969): Landscaping the Modern Western. In
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and Other Innocent Heroes do to our Minds. Durham, NC: Duke University
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Washington, DC: Island Press.
CHAPTER 7
“Super” Green: Sustainable Superheroes

Tackle the Environment
The Hollywood “superhero” is upon us with a vengeance. And he (for

he is almost without exception male) is determined to bring concern
for the environment with him. Or is he? The three films included in this
chapter—Iron Man 2 (2010), Batman: The Dark Knight Rises (2012),
and The Avengers (2012)—all include broad references to the need for
clean energy and a sustainable future. But what does sustainability look
like in superhero cinema? To answer this question, this chapter exam-
ines from an environmental and political economic perspective the rise of
superhero films as well as their seeming preoccupation with a sustainable
future.
The superhero genre has taken Hollywood by economic and cultural
storm: Time movie critic Eric Dodds (2014, n.p.) notes that “five of the
eight biggest opening weekends of all time belong to superhero films.”
Tasker (2015, 179) similarly observes that “the most commercially suc-
cessful action films and franchises of the twenty-first century have been
fantasy, superhero and comic book adaptations.” This sort of sky-high
profit potential has fostered fierce competition between major studios
that produce various species of superhero, including Warner (featuring
DC Comics’ characters like Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and
the combination of them all in the “Justice League”); Marvel (Iron Man,
Thor, Captain America, Deadpool), and the astonishingly popular com-
bination of most of them (Avengers); Sony (Spider-Man); and twentieth
Century Fox (X-Men). The domination of Hollywood blockbusters by
superheroes prompted Dodds (2014) to observe that “Blockbusters of

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_7
188 E.E. MOORE
the future aren’t driven by actors or directors or stories—they’re driven

by universes … And though some have bemoaned this increasingly
homogenous approach to box office domination, there’s little arguing
with its effectiveness.”
“Action” as Broad, Diverse Generic Form

As our popular culture landscape shifts to accommodate the juggernaut
that is superhero cinema, it is important to understand what messages
these films contain regarding sustainability. Understanding the superhero
film as genre is at once both straightforward (due to its fairly formulaic
adherence to the genre and relatively consistent ideological underpin-
nings) as well as complex (due to its direct origin in comic books and
graphic novels, with their varied responses to shifting political, economic,
and cultural contexts). While superhero cinema is rapidly coming to be
seen as a burgeoning genre in its own right in Hollywood1 (Thompson
2015; Truitt 2013; Hughes 2013), this book makes the argument that
superhero films represent a sub-genre of “action” cinema—and, specifi-
cally, a distinct sub-set of what Langford (2005) refers to as the “action
blockbuster.”
As noted in the Introduction to this book, genres are not considered
immutable or inherently “pure”; instead, most generic forms demon-
strate intertextuality by consistently alluding to and containing elements
of other genres. Here, the action blockbuster is no exception, because
as a generic form it is particularly broad, inclusive, and hybrid. Tasker
(2015, 1) identifies action as a “significant” category of American cin-
ema, one whose significance is highlighted because it contains elements
of other genres due to its “diverse origins.” Making the case for genre
blending, Tasker notes that elements of “action” are present in already
established genres, including the Western, superhero films, war movies,
and thrillers,2 and as a result “pose something of a challenge to genre
theory” (2015, 1). In fact, “action” as a theme and organizer of multiple
generic forms of cinema is so prevalent in Hollywood cinema that other
scholars hint that “action cinema’s capacity for generic hybridity” might
even identify it in the broader category of “mode” instead of “genre”
(Purse 2011, 2).3
The diffuse nature and relative omnipresence of action in numerous
forms of American cinema means that any number of the films chosen
for analysis in this book (including science fiction films like Allegiant, spy
7 “SUPER” GREEN: SUSTAINABLE SUPERHEROES … 189
thrillers like Quantum of Solace, and Westerns like 3:10 to Yuma) easily
could fall under the larger category of “action” film. It is for this rea-
son that this chapter clearly delineates the characteristics of the “action
blockbuster,” or what Gross (2000, 3) has referred to as the “Big Loud
Action Movie” (BLAM!), the “movie-as-Giant-Comic-Book,” or what
Arroyo (2000) simply calls the “popcorn movie.”4 This is somewhat of
a challenge, because while Langford (2005, 233) identifies the action
blockbuster as the “most contemporary, the most visibly relevant to pre-
sent-day Hollywood film-making,” he also finds it “the least discussed
and least well-defined” of Hollywood cinematic forms. Having noted
this, Langford and others do find certain “constants” in Hollywood
action films, including (of course) a high degree of action by the cen-
tral characters, which tends to place primary focus on the body and its
abilities (Purse 2011), little meaningful dialogue with “witty one-liners”
(Tasker 2015), individualism, violence (Coogan 2012), lack of psycho-
logical complexity (Gross 2000), and (often) militaristic ideology.
In terms of the “action” itself, Langford (2005, 233) identifies “sky-
high orange fireballs,” “vehicles and bodies pitching,” “characters diving
and rolling across wrecked interiors,” “automatic pistols and large-caliber
portable weaponry,” and “death-defying stunts” as “immediately recog-
nizable attributes of the action blockbuster.” Action like this is so inte-
gral to this generic form, according to Tasker (2015), that “it is likely
the preponderance of action sequences … has come to define the genre
for contemporary audiences: as a result, when explosions and car chases
occur, they are “not an interruption of cinematic story-telling, but
part of it” (16–17, emphasis added). Purse agrees, adding that a defin-
ing characteristic of action films is the focus on action as it relates to the
body itself:
In documenting acts of physical exertion, action cinema does so specifi-

cally through a spectacular mode of presentation that calls attention to the
physiological attributes and corporeal attitudes of the body in action, as
well as to the exhilarating, risk-infused environment which that body is
moving through, the forces it is subjected to and the counterforces that it
directs outwards at that environment. (2011, 2–3)
Here, Purse identifies a major salient characteristic of action films, which

is the “fantasies of empowerment” that originate within the body of the
hero itself (3). This theme of empowerment through the corpus is a
190 E.E. MOORE
consistent and enduring trait of the genre, especially in that “the hero of
action cinema … is an individual of extraordinary capabilities” that make
him seem “god-like” (Tasker 2015, 180). As a result of these extraordi-
nary abilities, action film includes “the quest for freedom from oppres-
sion … or the hero’s ability to use his/her body in overcoming enemies
and obstacles” (Tasker 2015, 2). And here, it is clear where violence
plays a role in the action blockbuster, as Langford (2005, 234–235)
argues that the “bottom line” of this type of film is “the decisive (usually
violent) action taken against overwhelming odds by a ‘maverick’ individ-
ual, most often unsupported by or even in conflict with establishment
authority, to restore order threatened by a large-scale threat.” Because
the hero of these movies does not receive (and, really, is portrayed as not
needing) outside support from his community or government, he repre-
sents a heroic ideal very much related to the “American national mythol-
ogy highlighting the rights and power of the individual, where ‘the lone
hero’ needs to use violent force to fight for his family, community, or
nation” (Purse 2011, 5). It is this unwavering emphasis on individual
physical ability and perceived injustice that makes violence “both a cen-
tral theme and pleasure of action” cinema (Tasker 2015, 16).
A unifying theme running through most of the above-stated charac-
teristics of action film is hegemonic masculinity. Tasker (2015, 57) notes
that violent action film can be read as “conservative articulation of white
masculine strength” that “typically present violence as redemptive, forg-
ing and protecting society” (58). As a result, America is often presented
as a space where “the hero’s violence is required to preserve the law”
(58).
Related to the high degree of action as related to the body, the
action film also “downplays dialogue and complex character develop-
ment or interaction in favor of spectacular action set pieces” (Tasker
2015, 12). Purse (2011, 21) agrees, claiming that action films tend to
suffer from “narrative paucity” as a result of having minimal dialogue
for the purpose of emphasizing spectacle (4).5 To create an action film
requires both expensive sets and, these days, elaborate computer-gener-
ated imagery (CGI), all of which cost a great deal of money. Integral to
understanding the action film, then, is a comprehension of the extremely
large budgets required for the movies. Purse cogently speaks to political
economy of Hollywood when it comes to the action film:
[The] audio-visual spectacle is a commercially effective element in the

action blockbuster that has the potential to increase a film’s competitive-
ness in the global marketplace and travel well into ancillary product mar-
kets. Economic as well as artistic imperatives thus drive filmmakers’ desire
to generate a powerful “wow” factor with their action sequences, to see off
the competition and exceed previous films’ audio-visual spectacle in con-
temporary action cinema novel, unexpected and usually also technologi-
cally impressive ways. (2011, 27–28)
Although Tasker (2015, 4) agrees that action films contain “mega-

budget, effects-heavy filmmaking that has come to symbolize what [crit-
ics] regard as a loss of meaning and complexity,” it is clear that there is
fairly consistent underlying meaning in action films. In their “ideological
conservatism” (that is part of Hollywood action films in general), Tasker
notes that action movies are an “ideological sign of the times” when it
comes to considerations of power: “at its simplest level, we can ask, who
wields power and over whom in the action cinema world?” (57).
An important question posed in this chapter is how a highly profita-
ble genre that focuses predominantly on violent action by hegemonically
masculine white males treats an issue like sustainability. Before this ques-
tion can be answered, however, the specific form of superhero cinema as
a sub-set of the action blockbuster must be defined.
Superhero Cinema as a Subset of the

Action Blockbuster
Given the focus on “fantasies of empowerment” that come with action
film, including clear messages about who can wield power and who can
morally inflict harm, superhero cinema can be seen as one of the best
instantiations of the action blockbuster, where every convention of the
genre is both expanded and intensified (while still staying true to super-
hero comic books’ origins). Coogan (2012, 203) identifies the “primary
conventions” of the superhero film, which include “the selfless pro-social
mission, superpowers, the codename, the costume, the origin, science-
fictional science, and the urban setting.”
Like most faithfully reproduced action blockbusters, superhero films
contain “the theme of becoming-powerful” through the achievements of
the body; however, this theme is especially important to superheroes, for
whom authenticity is often equated with action (Tasker 2015, 180–181).
In addition, most action films include villains. But in superhero texts
192 E.E. MOORE
these are no ordinary villains, but instead “supervillains.” As Rosenberg

and Coogan (2013, 77) explain, superheroes “battle foes who challenge
the superheroes’ powers to the maximum and who force superheroes to
make tough choices …” According to Levitz (2013), the presence of
supervillains serves to highlight the moral character and extraordinary
abilities of the superhero, as well as provide more palpable tension for
the reader/audience. Verano (2013, 83) agrees, terming this the “symbi-
otic relationship” between superheroes and their arch-nemeses; however,
he also adds that the supervillain does more than just frame the super-
hero: he also “gives legitimacy to the superhero’s mission.”
Related to the “superhero-versus-supervillain” binary is the primary
focus on action as narrative itself: Tasker (2015, 189) believes there is
“narrative and thematic significance of action sequences within the larger
action cinema. Nowhere is this more evident than the twenty-first cen-
tury superhero action film.” Here, the focal point of action comprises
the (much-maligned) evil deeds perpetuated by supervillains who are
ultimately defeated by the (much-needed) force taken by the superhero.
Finally, superhero cinema fits perfectly in line with the drive for mega-
profits seen in the action blockbuster with CGI, expensive sets with mul-
tiple explosions, and other attention-grabbing, edge-of-your-seat visuals
and action sequences that mark the genre. Noting the sky-high profits
in foreign, domestic, and ancillary markets, Gross (2000, 3) refers to
the action blockbuster as a “central economic fact, structuring all life,
thought and practice in Hollywood at least since the late 1970s.” Tasker
(2015, 181) agrees, contending that “with their superheroic abilities,
moral legibility and pre-sold characters, superhero action movies are
clearly in line with the commercial logic of Hollywood production.”
Finally, the relative simplicity of the BLAM/superhero narrative means
that the story can be “imitated and reproduced over and over again with
variation, but which [holds] constant to certain elements” (Coogan
2012, 203) that ensure high profits for the cinematic form.
Hollywood Superheroes from the Pages of Comic Books

and Graphic Novels
As noted above, much of the superhero cinematic form adheres to and

is shaped by conventions of the action genre. However, superhero films
trace their direct origin to comic books, which adds another dimension
to the understanding and analysis of this Hollywood form. In order to

truly understand superhero cinema, it is essential to understand the shift-
ing origins, mindsets, conventions, and ideologies of comic books that
gave rise to the screen version. Like most action blockbusters, comic
books themselves are “centrally concerned with issues of power, author-
ity, and leadership” (La Touche 2014, 85). However, comic book super-
heroes that their own distinct “origin story” that shapes the genre in
ways distinct from action films. Coogan (2012, 205) points to the crea-
tion of Superman in the 1930s by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster, noting
that since the original comic, superhero fans have identified several dif-
ferent ages in superhero comics: Antediluvian Age (pre-genre); Golden
Age (experimental); Silver Age (classic); Bronze Age (refinement); Iron
Age (baroque); and Renaissance Age (reconstruction, 1995–present).
The “golden age” of comics was based on certain mindsets that privi-
leged the power of the individual and the free markets, seeing them as
the much-needed antidote to totalitarianism (Mills 2014, 97). By the
latter 1960s and early 1970s, the neoliberal mindset was on the wane,
and there was a concomitant increase in concern for social justice,
which showed up in the pages of increasingly progressive comic books.
This theme of social justice did not continue, however, and soon comic
books were shifting towards providing their audiences with entertain-
ment to help them escape from economic and political concerns with a
shift to finding what Mills (2014, 99) refers to as the “answers within.”
In the 1980s, comic books began to show more mistrust of govern-
ment and concerns about erosion of national identity—concerns that
comic books allayed with an increased focus on vigilantism and rescue/
revenge fantasies, especially after Vietnam (Mills 2014, 99). Mills (2014)
cites Batman’s Dark Knight Returns as a good example of the “violent,
ambiguous” hero that emerged from the pages of comic books during
this time (99).
Ideologically, superhero films contain several interrelated, common
conceptions regarding morality (who has it), violence (who is permit-
ted to use it), and power (who can wield it). Beaty and Weiner (2012,
xiii) observe that “early comic books were concerned with the battle of
good against evil … Superheroes also provided a vibrant metaphor dur-
ing World War II. While the United States was at war, superhero comics
were extremely popular.” With the ever-present good-versus-evil trope,
it is clear that superheroes are meant to “serve as a collective moral com-
pass” for their audiences (Beaty and Weiner 2012, xiii), one in which
violence is morally permissible if one is on the side of “right.”
194 E.E. MOORE
Given the characteristics and background of the superhero form,

the question addressed in this chapter is how films that applaud violent
action against arch-villains, highlight superhuman abilities, and employ
CGIs as an integral component of far-fetched plots (in a morally unam-
biguous world) treats a topic like sustainability. Analysis begins chrono-
logically with Iron Man 2 (2010), where energy sources introduced in
earlier superhero films (Captain America and the first Iron Man) pro-
vide the focal point for the plotline. Unlike other chapters, where the
films are described and then analyzed individually, this chapter describes
each film and then analyzes them as a whole—a structure enabled by the
fact that all three films focus on “clean energy” as a central component
of the plot. It is perhaps obvious but important to note that there are
no superhero action blockbusters that focus on environmental problems,
only solutions to those problems, a fact explained as ideologically rele-
vant during analysis.
Iron Man 2
The Iron Man franchise provides a significant portion of the contempo-
rary Hollywood superhero oeuvre, in terms of plot, characters, and, of
course, profit. When the first Iron Man film opened in theatres in 2008
(produced and distributed by Paramount, which later sold the rights to
Disney), it garnered a whopping $318 million in summer sales, eventu-
ally earning $585 million worldwide (Forbes 2011). The success of this
film quickly precipitated a sequel, Iron Man 2 (2010), which earned
$623 million internationally (Mendelson 2013). The latest in the fran-
chise—Iron Man 3—did better than the first two films combined, gar-
nering $1.2 billion worldwide (Mendelson 2013). In addition to the
Iron Man series itself, the dual character of Tony Stark/Iron Man stars in
other mega-blockbuster superhero films like The Avengers, The Avengers:
Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War. Jon Favreau, well
known for directing and producing a wide variety of Hollywood films
(including Chef, Cowboys and Aliens, Jungle Book, and Elf), has been the
director of all three Iron Man films.
The first Iron Man comic book was created by Stan Lee and Larry
Lieber6 in 1963, featured in Tales of Suspense #39, which shows Tony
Stark creating his Iron Man suit in response to his capture and impris-
onment by a character named “Wong-Chu” (as a clear proxy for
Communist China during the Cold War) (Patton 2015). Mills (2014,
175) describes the precursor of the screen version of Iron Man by

describing it as “largely an origin story that strays little from that in the
comics and echoes the conversion from ignorance and self-centeredness
to social awareness that characterizes many Marvel heroes.” In this sense,
Iron Man can be read as a story about “moral awakening” (Mills 2014,
175). However, Craig This (2015) notes that Tony Stark was always
meant to remain the “quintessential capitalist” underneath it all, an eco-
nomic mindset resistant to any shifts in personality or morals (17).7
In terms of narrative sequence, the first Iron Man (2008) lays the nar-
rative groundwork for the series, where weapons manufacturer, genius,
and industrial–capitalist Tony Stark almost loses his life to his very own
weapons, forcing him to create a device that he wears in his body to
stop bomb shrapnel fragments from entering his heart. It is this device,
powered by a renewable energy source—a smaller version of an “Arc
Reactor” that his father invented—that ultimately changes his personal-
ity, enables the creation of the Iron Man suit, and lays the foundation for
the theme of clean energy that runs through the Iron Man series (as well
as The Avengers and to some extent Captain America).
Iron Man 2 Summary

Iron Man 2 picks up where the first film left off: Stark’s Iron Man suit
has been perfected and is now used to mediate political strife across the
globe (in the film, Stark identifies this as having “privatized peace”). The
suit features weapons, connection to an intuitive and witty supercom-
puter named “Jarvis” (with “heads up” display and impressive diagnos-
tic capabilities), can now be carried in a briefcase, and assembles itself
quickly around Tony’s body when needed. The weapons, which Stark is
constantly improving, include power from the Arc Reactor that can blow
big holes in people and buildings. The suit can fly (and, as we see in The
Avengers, soon will be submersible as well).
As with all good superhero films, there are some significant prob-
lems that must be addressed by the Tony Stark/Iron Man dyad. The
Arc Reactor that powers both the superhero suit as well as Stark’s
heart shield uses the element palladium as its power source, and is rap-
idly killing Tony Stark by leaching its toxic corrosion into his body.
Stark is experiencing other troubles as well: the Senate Armed Services
Committee wants to classify his suit as a weapon so that they can con-
trol it and learn to make more of them, and a Russian physicist named
196 E.E. MOORE
Vanko who holds a grudge against Tony Stark has created a similar suit
and wants to kill him to avenge his father.
During all of this opening drama in the film, Stark meets with Nick
Fury, an official with Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement
and Logistics Division (S.H.I.E.L.D.), who tells him that the Arc
Reactor technology that Tony uses on a small scale was meant to be so
much more:
Fury: T he thing in your chest is based on unfinished technology.

Stark: No, it was finished: it was never particularly effective until I
miniaturized it and put it in my chest.
Fury: No, Howard [Tony’s father] said the Arc Reactor was a step-
ping stone to something greater. He was about to kick off an
energy race that was gonna dwarf the arms race. He was onto
something big: so big that it was going to make the nuclear reac-
tor look like a triple-A battery … He said you were the only one
with the means and knowledge to finish what he started.
As a result, of this conversation, Tony begins looking at old Arc

Reactor blueprints by his father but finds nothing of interest. His epiph-
any comes when he sees an old video of his father speaking, one that
seems to speak directly to him:
Howard Stark: Tony, this [Arc Reactor] is my life’s work. This is the key to
the future. I’m limited by the technology of my time. But one day you’ll
figure this out, and when you do, you will change the world.
Inspired, Tony begins to investigate an old mock-up created by his

father (which reads “The key to the future is here”), discovering that his
father had embedded a secret within it: an idea to create a new element,
one more powerful and much cleaner than palladium. Using elaborate,
expensive technology, which includes an atom splitter and a home super-
computer that functions as his digital home manager and research assis-
tant, Stark uses 3-D interactive digital displays to unlock the secrets his
father had hidden and create a new element.
Meanwhile, Vanko has created a remote-controlled drone army that
threatens thousands of people who have come to Stark’s EXPO to see the
latest in military war technology. When Stark realizes Vanko’s plan and
arrives at the EXPO suited up as Iron Man, the fireworks begin, and Tony
Stark must use all the weapons in his arsenal to fight Vanko and save inno-
cent people. In order to draw Vanko away from the crowd, Stark flies away
from the EXPO to an elaborate nature terrarium within a large glass dome
owned by Oracle (a US-based multinational computer technology com-
pany), landing in a meticulously landscaped Japanese garden with a pond
surrounded by a waterfall, grasses, trees, and a Shinto torii gate. In this final
battle scene, this small patch of human-made nature is utterly destroyed,
with large trees felled and the pond annihilated. Stark, however, prevails,
even as Vanko’s drones self-destruct in explosions that rock the area. In the
end, Iron Man vanquishes evil, and Tony’s path to providing clean energy
to the world begins—a theme that becomes central to The Avengers.
The Avengers
The Avengers (2012) follows the comic book of the same name that was
created by Stan Lee in 1963 and included The Hulk, Thor, and Iron
Man. While some characters were dropped for the screen version, oth-
ers were added, including Captain America and Black Widow. Writing on
the Avengers, Tasker (2015, 185) notes that the film “is the superhero
action film writ large,” especially visible in the “gleeful and spectacular
destruction of property that is so characteristic of action cinema,” as well
as the “exhilaration of agile and powerful human movement” (187). The
film was produced and distributed by Disney, although credit to distri-
bution was given to Paramount, who owned the original rights to the
series. The Avengers screenplay was written and directed by Joss Whedon,
known for creating the wildly popular television show Buffy the Vampire
Slayer and for writing Toy Story. The film grossed over $655 million
in ticket sales worldwide in only 12 days (Business Wire 2012) and $1
billion in 19 days, and was the highest grossing film for Walt Disney
Studios (which acquired Marvel Entertainment in 2009) until Star Wars:
The Force Awakens (Lang 2015).
The Avengers Summary

The Avengers film (and its successor Avengers: Age of Ultron) brings
together superheroes including Thor, Iron Man, Captain America, and
The Hulk, accompanied by Black Widow (who is not classified as hav-
ing superhero powers), many of whom have their own films, to fight
evil and protect the Tesseract—a cube holding an alien energy called an
Infinity Stone that is a source of unlimited power. The Tesseract, which
198 E.E. MOORE
is presented as a fluid, iridescent blue light, originated in earlier comic

books and is first presented on the big screen in Captain America: The
First Avenger (2010) as an object in which the Nazis were interested.
Ultimately, it is deposited into the ocean to keep it safe from those who
would try to use it to hurt the world, but is later recovered by Howard
Stark while looking for Captain America. The film begins at an iso-
lated location where S.H.I.E.L.D. is trying to unlock the secrets of the
Tesseract so they can (contrary to its stated goal of producing clean
energy) produce weapons to use against enemies. The Tesseract begins to
fluctuate in ways the scientists can’t understand, and then suddenly Thor’s
brother Loki arrives to steal it and generally cause mayhem. After this, the
facility collapses due to the enormous power of the unstable Tesseract.
After this incident, Commander Nick Fury, who is part of
S.H.I.E.L.D., goes to recruit Steve Rogers in his role as Captain America
to help stop Loki. Fury has the following conversation with Rogers:
Fury: oward Stark, he thought what we [at S.H.I.E.L.D.] think:

H
that the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable
energy. That’s something the world needs … Is there anything
about the Tesseract that we should know?
Rogers: Yeah: you should have left it in the ocean.
Meanwhile, Tony Stark as Iron Man is preparing to take his skyscraper

off New York City’s electrical grid, for he has increased the capability of
his Arc Reactor enough to power his own building. Stark talks to his girl-
friend, Pepper Potts, through his suit:
Potts: Y ou disconnected the transition lines—are we off the grid?

Stark: Stark Tower is about to become a beacon of self-sustaining
clean energy.
Potts: Well, assuming the Arc Reactor takes over and it actually works.
Stark: Why assume? Light her up.
[In the distance, Stark Tower, with the Stark name and logo, began to
gleam incandescently.]
As Stark lands walks into his penthouse on the top floor, the Iron
Man suit begins to take itself off his body seamlessly while Stark talks
with Jarvis, the intelligent computer system that functions as his personal
assistant. His own energy source that protects his heart gleams with the
same white-blue light once the suit is removed. Soon, Stark finds out
about Loki, and leaves to join the fight.
Meanwhile, Steve Rogers as Captain America is on the aircraft car-
rier/plane that provides the meeting point for all the Avengers. When
an agent by the name of Coulsen tells him they have his suit for him.
Captain America glances at it and asks “Aren’t Stars and Stripes a lit-
tle old-fashioned?” Coulsen reassures him that “with everything that’s
going on, people might just need a little old-fashioned.” A few minutes
later, when all Avengers are on board, the aircraft carrier turns into an
aircraft and begins to soar into the sky, an image of an eagle visible on
the screen.
Eventually, the Avengers discover Loki’s plan: to harness the Tesseract
to gain power for himself, threatening Earth in the process by using it
as a way to open a portal between Earth and an alien world. While he is
custody, they interrogate him, where he tauntingly states that “It burns
you to have come so close to power. To unlimited power. And for what?
A light for all mankind to share? And then to be reminded of what real
power is.” Bruce Banner/The Hulk correctly identifies that Loki’s state-
ment was about Stark’s Arc Reactor, and has the following conversation
with Stark:
Banner: A “warm light for all mankind”? That was meant for you. Stark
Tower: it’s powered by an Arc Reactor. Self-sustaining energy.
That building will run itself for, what, a year?
Stark:
It’s just a prototype. I’m kind of the only name in clean
energy right now.
Banner: [questioning the motives of S.H.I.E.L.D.]
So why didn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. bring [you] in on the Tesseract
project? Why are they in the energy business?
Once the superheroes understand Loki’s full plan (to let an alien
army destroy Earth through a portal opened using Stark Tower’s
clean energy source) they unite to stop Loki’s use of the Tesseract and
ensure the safety of humans. During all this, Stark notes to Loki that
“If we can’t protect the Earth you can be damned sure we’re going to
avenge it.” Eventually, after much struggle and teamwork, the Avengers
200 E.E. MOORE
prevail: the alien army is forced to withdraw and Loki is taken into cus-
tody by his brother Thor.
The Dark Knight Rises

The Dark Knight Rises (2012) is one in a long line of Hollywood pro-
ductions (this time from conglomerate Time Warner) about the Batman
character and forms the third and final installment of a trilogy, including
Batman Begins (2005) and Dark Knight (2008). The films in the trilogy
took the international box office by storm, Dark Knight Rises in particu-
lar, which had drawn in over $1 billion in ticket sales by the time the
dust had settled a few months after its opening weekend (Hughes 2012).
Because of the character’s strong box office draw, other Batman-themed
movies have been made, and more are doubtless to come: 2016 saw
Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, starring Ben Affleck and Henry
Cavill, and 2017 the LEGO® Batman Movie.
The Batman character was created in 1939 as part of National Comics
(which eventually turned into DC Comics) by Bob Kane. In original
comic book form, Beaty and Weiner (2012) note that
In a word, Miller depicts Batman as “large.” Batman’s shoulders are gigan-

tic, filling the panels. His pectorals are massive. His stomach and abdomi-
nals resemble the surface of an outsized pineapple grenade, and his biceps
and thighs are bloated with muscle. He is drawn out of proportion to the
other characters in the work. (79)
The Batman trilogy to which The Dark Knight Rises belongs is loosely
based on the plot of a four-part graphic novel entitled Dark Knight
Returns created in 1986 by Frank Miller (Beaty and Weiner 2012).
This included well-known arch-villains like the Joker and Two-Face.
Christopher Nolan (of Interstellar, Inception, and Man of Steel fame) is
largely responsible for both writing and directing the films in this series.
The Dark Knight Rises picks up where Dark Knight left off: Batman has
been charged with killing local public hero Harvey Dent and has gone into
hiding.
The Dark Knight Rises Summary

The film opens with the funeral of Harvey Dent in Gotham City. No
one but the police commissioner knows that Dent was really the villain
called “Two Face,” and so the public mourns and many blame Batman.
As a result, Batman (by day eccentric billionaire Bruce Wayne, head of
Wayne Enterprises) is in hiding. He is being sought (unsuccessfully)
by Miranda Tate, a wealthy philanthropist who has been working with
Bruce Wayne on a clean energy project that has the power to “save the
world.” Wayne avoids her until he learns that Wayne Enterprises is no
longer funding orphanages in Gotham because the company is no longer
making a profit: the audience learns that Wayne invested all of his com-
pany’s research and development funds into the clean energy project,
involving “fusion,” but now (for reasons as-yet unexplained) refuses to
do anything with what the project has produced. Tate tries to get him
to change his mind, telling Wayne “You have to invest if you want to
restore balance to the world.” She tries to appeal to Wayne’s desire to
help: “You have a practiced apathy Mr. Wayne. But a man who doesn’t
care about the world doesn’t spend half his fortune on a plan to save it.
And isn’t so wounded when it fails.”
Later, when it turns out that an evil man named Bane threatens not
only Wayne Enterprises but the city of Gotham himself, Wayne agrees to
show Tate the fusion reactor, which is hidden in a subterranean station
underneath the Gotham river. The following is a conversation between
Tate and Wayne:
Wayne: I thought you might like to see what your investment

built.
Tate (ecstatic): No fossil fuels. Free clean energy for an entire city.
Three years ago, a Russian scientist published a paper
on weaponized fusion reactions. One week later,
your reactor started developing problems. I think this
machine works.
Wayne: Miranda, if it were operational, the danger to Gotham
would be too great … Someone will work out … how
to make this power source into a nuclear weapon. I
need you to take control of Wayne Enterprises and this
reactor.
Tate: To do what with it?
Wayne: Nothing, until we can guarantee its safety.
Tate: And if we can’t?
Wayne: Decommission it. Flood it.
Tate: Destroy the world’s best chance for a sustainable future?
Wayne: I f the world’s not ready, yes.
202 E.E. MOORE
During this time, Wayne continues to fight with Bane by using all
the new technology that has been developed in the secret laboratory at
Wayne Enterprises: a motorcycle equipped with rocket launchers as well
as a futuristic small hovercraft that also is equipped with massive fire-
power. Eventually, the city is in chaos as Wayne’s “clean energy” device
threatens to explode as a converted atomic bomb. The following con-
versation ensues between Wayne’s representative Lucius Fox, the police
chief of Gotham, and Tate:
Tate: s CEO of Wayne Enterprises, I have to take full

A
responsibility for it.
Police Chief: Why?
Tate: W
e built it.
Police Chief: You built the bomb?
Fox: It was built as a fusion reactor. First of its kind. Bane
turned the core into a bomb and removed it from the
reactor. As the device’s fuel cells deteriorate, it becomes
increasingly unstable, to the point of detonation.
Detective: It is a time bomb.
Fox: A
nd it will go off.
Just as Batman seems to be beating Bane, Tate reveals that she has
been working with the villain: she has removed the core from Wayne’s
fusion reactor and plans to blow up Gotham with the resulting nuclear
bomb as the core melts down. Only Batman’s efforts (taking the clean
energy bomb to isolated waters in his hovercraft) saves Gotham from
certain destruction.
How Superheroes Tackle Environmental Problems

Of the many common themes relating to sustainability in all three of
the films described above, the concept of technopia is the most promi-
nent. Technopia is refered to be Rutherford (2000, 190) as a capitalist
perspective where domination of nature by scientific and technological
advancements is equated with a linear conception of progress—“the cor-
porate version of a technological utopia.” Technopia connects all three
films through their superficial nods to sustainability in the form of inno-
vative “clean energy” technologies that will save the world: in Dark
Knight Rises, Wayne Enterprises has created a nuclear “fusion reactor”
capable of powering Gotham from a renewable, non-polluting source; in

Iron Man 2, Tony Stark has created an “Arc Reactor” based on electro-
magnetic energy that could pave the way for a clean energy source for
the world; and The Avengers centers around the harness and use of two
energy sources—the “Tesseract” and Stark’s “Arc Reactor.” The promise
of clean energy that will save humanity plays such a strong role in the
plot of all of these films that it merits a deeper look. How is this technol-
ogy portrayed in relation to ecological issues?
To start, of note in the films is that “green” technology is por-
trayed as being extremely expensive, requiring the interest and backing
of wealthy billionaire entrepreneurs to develop: in Dark Knight Rises,
Wayne Enterprises has a multi-million-dollar research and development
sector; in Iron Man and The Avengers, Tony Stark is a billionaire who
has expendable income to fund costly research on both the Tesseract
and the Arc Reactor. The messages associated with this are twofold.
First, effective renewable energy is prohibitively expensive. This message
coheres clearly with the myth of unaffordable clean energy investments
as perpetuated in the popular press with titles like “Cost Works Against
Alternative and Renewable Energy Sources in Time of Recession” (New
York Times), “Renewable Energy Losing its Shine in Europe” (USA
Today), and “Why is Renewable Energy So Expensive?” (The Economist)
even while there are numerous indicators that the cost for renewables
like solar energy is falling and is now competitive with those for fossil
fuels sources.
Second, in addition to portraying clean energy as expensive, the
superhero films in question seem to make the case that renewable energy
sources are not only financially extravagant (in terms of innovation, infra-
structure development, and distribution) but also that they are risky in
a few ways. They are financially precarious: in The Dark Knight Rises,
the profit margin of the Wayne Enterprises colossus is destroyed due to
Wayne’s investment in the fusion reactor. This identification of renewa-
ble energy innovation as risky business venture also is visible in corporate
news media that expresses concern about “green energy” costing jobs
and profit margins.
In addition to presenting sustainable technology as economically risky,
the superhero films in this chapter also depict renewable energy technol-
ogy as dangerous in another way. In each film, the futuristic technology
in question can either provide clean, renewable energy that will “save
the world,” or it will annihilate large swathes of human population in a
204 E.E. MOORE
deadly fireball, making these new technologies seem highly unattractive

even to those committed to a more sustainable future. This presentation
of risky futuristic technology is very much in keeping with the generic
form of superhero cinema: Tasker (2015, 187) notes that, in these types
of films, the theme of “overreaching humans engulfed by the unforeseen
consequences of scientific experimentation” is common, and that “tam-
pering with technology is both dangerous and yet absolutely fundamen-
tal to superhero fictions.” And herein lies the ultimate message about
sustainability behind this plot device: although the promise of these tech-
nologies is alluring, they are presented as not being a realistic option yet,
which leaves only one other choice: continued reliance on fossil fuels.
However risky or unrealistic, the fictional technological advances por-
trayed in the films ultimately serve to reassure audience members that a
viable “fix” for environmental problems will come eventually when the
“world is ready,” as Bruce Wayne assures. The significance of this repre-
sentation is the message it sends about consumerism and the status quo:
the solution to serious environmental problems need not come from indi-
vidual or societal efforts to limit consumption of resources, but will come
from technological innovations that originate from within the capitalist
system. Ingram (2004) describes this type of perspective as “mainstream
environmentalism,” where environmental issues like climate change
and pollution are solved through technical solutions, forming a sort of
greenwashing. The idea of technical solutions is of course not original
to Hollywood, but instead pulls from wider scientific and political dis-
cussions, where the allure of technopic solutions is strong. One exam-
ple of this comes from the varied “solutions” to climate change provided
by environmental scientists, businesses, and governments, which have
included injecting titanium dioxide in the sky to block out the sun, hav-
ing businesses capture their own carbon to sequester it in the ocean, cov-
ering snowy mountaintops with reflective material, and creating satellites
with moveable reflectors to reflect solar rays away from Earth.
Ultimately, Rutherford’s technopia —the elision of the terms “tech-
nology” and “utopia”—seems incredibly apt for these films, because
utopia, derived from Greek, literally means “no place.” Green technolo-
gies built on what is called the “New Green Economy” (removing the
fossil fuel scaffolding of our economic system through the adoption of
renewable energy sources) thus seem much closer to a dream than reality.
However, the dream remains an alluring and significant potential, one
that is ready for use “when the world is ready.” And this is important,
because of the promise itself as well as who is promising it: in all three
films it is wealthy white males from the private sector who are associ-
ated with a more sustainable future. This portrayal is intriguing because
it directly links the white, patriarchal, capitalist structure to a sustain-
able global future, when the actual environmental record of large cor-
porations in the USA (which, according to recent reports are still run
almost exclusively by white males) is quite destructive.8 Industries like
General Electric, Union Carbide, Dow Chemical, Monsanto, and Koch
Enterprises (all run almost exclusively by white males) are infamous for
the environmental harm they have caused in the USA and on a global
scale. The Koch Brothers (both of whom are tied for the fifth-wealthi-
est individual in the USA) in particular, whose business is predicated on
transforming petroleum into consumer goods like carpets and clothing
fabrics, have been aggressively eliminating solar power prospects in the
USA, especially in the state of Florida (Dickinson 2016). In fact, just as
solar panels were at their least expensive, and when many states (Arizona,
Nevada, and Florida) could have been poised to become large renewable
energy producers, which would have bolstered their state revenues, Koch
Industries intervened to continue reliance on fossil fuels (Dickinson
2016).
In addition, it is important that the superheroes involved with a
potential sustainable future—Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne—are both
American. Superhero films (as has been noted by various scholars) are
unabashedly patriotic, and in The Avengers in particular the American
symbols (stars and stripes, eagles) are prominent. This association
between sustainability and the USA is a contradictory portrayal for a
couple of reasons. First, the USA is one of the highest carbon emitters in
the world, second only to China: associating it with sustainability makes
sense in terms of some of the technological innovations that have origi-
nated within US borders, but the USA’s less-than-sterling environmen-
tal track record also makes this an association replete with tension.9 In
addition, many large US companies have been identified as blocking the
developments of sustainable energy source alternatives. In her book This
Changes Everything, Naomi Klein (2015) notes that promising efforts
to develop wind and solar power through new corporations have been
largely underfunded and/or systematically undercut by conservative poli-
tics and inertia from existing fossil fuels infrastructure. This is an impor-
tant recognition when it comes to mediated portrayals of sustainability
because, as Coogan (2012) observes,
206 E.E. MOORE
One of the primary assumptions in genre criticism is that genre serves a func-
tion: the first is faithful reproduction of standards for industry/production
purposes; the second is “social function” that provides ideological normaliza-
tion—as a way of recruiting the mass audience to the goals and ideology of
the forces of industrial capitalism that run the culture industries. (207)
Continued reliance on fossil fuels for the time being (until cleaner
technologies are safer and cheaper) is thus an implicit theme running
through all three films, revealing the economic undergirding of not only
Hollywood studios but the larger financial structures and profit motives
behind them. While a specific generic form like superhero cinema does
seem to have an impact on the portrayal of renewable energy—it is futur-
istic and innovative yet expensive and dangerous—it also is clear that the
broader role of genre (promotion of the profit motive of industrial capi-
talism) plays a clear and significant role on a broader level.
Another important and common element between the three films in
this chapter is the focus placed on solutions to environmental woes, and
not on the problems themselves. In these films, environmental problems
are only indirectly identified through discussions of the need for “clean,”
renewable energy sources, implying that the fossil fuels we are using now
are dirty and ineffective. In each film, there are only allusions to the fact
that the world is set on a path of destruction unless a cleaner option is
identified. Thus, unlike other genres included in this book, which out-
line ecological concerns in elaborate detail, the problems associated with
existing energy sources in superhero cinema are only obliquely identified,
and thus remain tantalizingly obscure. The potential solutions to these
problems, however, are well identified in each film.
There appear to be two reasons why a clear description of environ-
mental problems is omitted from these films, and both relate to super-
hero cinema as a generic form. First, the emphasis on experimentation
and futuristic technologies coheres well with the “sci-fi” aspect so
well recognized in superhero cinema. The other reason focuses on the
importance of the supervillain to superhero films. Earlier in this chap-
ter I noted the central importance of not just villains but “arch-villains”
to superhero cinema, recognizing that the “bad guys” serve to highlight
the superheroes’ goodness as well as justify their use of force. But what
of the role of the “innocent bystander” and “ordinary citizen” in these
films? They are portrayed as largely helpless, blameless, and always in
need of a greater protection than can be provided by their government.
So, the superhero formula dyad is really a triad: the good citizens of the
world need protecting from arch-villains who would destroy them, and
superheroes heed the call to come save the day. However, this sacrosanct
triad would become violated if ecological devastation (of any type) was
described in depth. Why? Picture Iron Man trying to fish all the plas-
tics out of the ocean, put there by humans’ overuse and improper dis-
posal of the material, or Batman trying to stop deforestation in Brazil
by farmers who want land for cattle grazing. Or the Hulk could try his
hand at remediating dead zones caused by overuse of fertilizers from
farmers along the Mississippi delta. Not only are these not particularly
“sexy” crimes, but ordinary citizens would be held partly to blame, thus
breaking the formula of superhero cinema. Thus, the reason why these
films are so focused on environmental fixes rather than problems them-
selves seems to be because this would shift the identity of the villain to
the human population that the superhero is sworn to protect. The “eve-
ryday citizen” is a special entity in superhero film, almost always defined
as innocent of his or her role in the world’s problems. Place a clear and
well-defined focus on environmental problems themselves, and we all
become culpable. Keep the attention on solutions, and only the “bad
guys” need pay.
The final connection between the three films includes the way the nat-
ural landscape is portrayed, or, perhaps it is more accurate to note, not
portrayed. There are very few representations of nature in these films,
mostly because the majority are placed in an urban setting with very little
surrounding countryside or forests. Here, nature’s absence is informa-
tive—most superhero films focus on the urban landscape, which pro-
vides a backdrop to most of the superheroes’ fighting. When landscape
does appear, it (in these three films) is presented as being very pure: in
The Avengers, a fight takes place between Thor, Iron Man, and Captain
America in a forested mountain glade while Loki looks on. When Thor
ends the argument by putting his hammer down on Captain America’s
shield, trees are felled, and the forest destroyed in a large circumference
in a visually spectacular scene.
This destruction of nature is also seen in Iron Man 2, where the
final fight scene takes place in the aforementioned perfectly manicured
corporate park garden crafted with Japanese elements and structures.
Interestingly, nature here does not seem to be intended to look real,
but instead is portrayed as a corporate Eden that Iron Man destroys
in the fight. The fact that it is a Japanese garden invites additional
208 E.E. MOORE
exploration—there are many prominent Japanese symbols in the scene,

including a waterfall, cherry trees in full blossom, and the torii gate that
is destroyed when Vanko jettisons Iron Man into it, shattering it under
the light of a full moon. This torii gate (or “Shinto” gate), according to
Kasulis (2004, 18), is a sacred marker that
functions as a bookmark for connecting people to awe-inspiring power. It

marks where one left off and where one will want to return. It is a tangible
gateway to an intimacy with the world, one’s people, and oneself. When
people get lost in the details of everyday life, when they disconnect from
their capacity for awe, they often feel homeless. The torii shows the way
home.
Why the torii gate is so openly destroyed is somewhat of a mystery: does

it represent Vanko’s power, or perhaps Iron Man’s temporarily losing his
way? Perhaps it is a representation both of Iron Man’s power as well as
his transformation. Consideration of the cherry blossoms may help guide
interpretation: when the battle is done and Iron Man is triumphant, the
delicate blossoms gently float around him. Ohnuki-Tierney (2010) iden-
tifies the significance of cherry trees and blossoms in Japan as “a symbol
of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth” (38). In this sense, Iron Man is—
indirectly at least—associated with power and also with the more tradi-
tional Japanese samurai of old. The depiction of this particular natural
landscape—a traditional Japanese garden not only ties Iron Man to a key
icon in Japanese traditional identity, but then positions Iron Man as a
warrior of the future who has both honor and power. Here, the portrayal
of nature (however well cultivated) fits with the theme of nostalgia that
runs through the Iron Man series, perhaps as a way to anchor the audi-
ence in tradition while revealing all the ways in which technology will
take us into the future.
In The Dark Knight Rises, there are only two major natural elements
on display: the waterfall that obscures the bat cave and the ocean where
Batman takes the atomic bomb to destroy it. Thus, when nature is por-
trayed in the films, it often is destroyed by the superheroes themselves—a
provocative narrative element. In Iron Man 2 and The Avengers, nature
appears to be a device to demonstrate the tremendous power of super-
heroes—its very destruction reveals their awe-inspiring strength. In The
Dark Knight Rises its portrayal is somewhat different: as Batman takes
the atomic bomb over the ocean and the audience sees the mushroom
cloud, nature (the ocean) is portrayed as sufficiently remote as to seem

barren and/or insignificant. The audience need not be concerned with
what type of destruction has been wrought on the biota in that area: of
primary importance is that Gotham is saved. In both types of portrayals,
nature is employed primarily to highlight the power, strength, and ability
of the superheroes, revealing its function to the superhero generic form.
Rosenberg and Coogan (2013, xvii–xviii) note that “the question
of what a superhero is or has become is central to our culture’s under-
standing of itself and our future,” in part due to superheroes’ metaphoric
function when it comes to pressing political, cultural, and economic
issues, including ethnicity, gender, identity, individualism, capitalism, and
immigration. I would add to their observation that superhero cinema
plays a role in defining environmental issues as well, especially as they are
linked to capitalism and technological innovation. Futuristic technologies
are portrayed as promising, yet perhaps not safe or effective enough to
employ on a large scale, thus indirectly making a case for continued reli-
ance on the business-as-usual fossil fuel infrastructure. Ultimately, solu-
tions and not problems are in continual focus, in keeping with a genre
so focused on the regular citizen as innocent bystander, one or two really
“bad” guys on whom we may place all the blame, and the reliably moral
and powerful superhero who will save us all.
Notes
1. At least, this is the case in the popular press if not in much academic litera-
ture yet.
2. Making similar claims about “action” as genre, Langford (2005) notes that
elements of action films (or “action blockbusters,” as he refers to them)
can be found in many films, including spy thrillers. Recognizing the expan-
sive and generically inclusive nature of action cinema that remains, Purse
(2011) refers to the “action” genre as “resolutely hybrid”; however, she
finds distinct commonalities enough to make a clear case for the action
film as a distinct category of both marketing and study.
3. Purse notes that many writers have attempted to delineate and understand
the action film, and in so doing refer to it by many different names, includ-
ing “action–adventure” (Neale 2000), “action/spectacle,” and “action
blockbuster” (Langford 2005). This section is specifically on “action
blockbusters”—those tent-pole productions solely focused on action.
4. Gross (2000) dates the start of the Big Loud Action Movie to 1977, the
year of the release of two seminal science fiction films—Star Wars and
210 E.E. MOORE
Close Encounters of the Third Kind. However, he also subsumes a wide

range of other generic forms under BLAM!, including spy thrillers, identi-
fying Bond films in particular.
5. Interestingly, Purse (2011) counters the view that because action films
do not contain much meaningful dialogue that they do not in fact have a
clear or complex narrative; instead, she detects the potential for narrative
structure created by the visual aesthetic that creates narrative in place of
dialogue.
6. Darowski (2014) notes that many others worked on the visuals of Iron
Man, including Don Heck and Jack Kirby. He also notes that many have
worked on different iterations of Iron Man since that time, including those
depictions of the character during the Cold War in the twentieth Century
and those working on Iron Man in the post-9/11 world.
7. Darowski (2014) also notes that the Iron Man character has shifted some-
what, from the characterization in the twentieth century resulting from the
Cold War political context of anti-Communism to the post-9/11 (anti-
immigration and anti-terrorism) version.
8. Wallace (2015) at CNNMoney (Cable News Network) reports that
there are only two CEOs who are African–American in the elite Dow
30. Wallace also observes that there are only five CEOs in the largest
corporations in the USA who are not white. Disappointingly, the diver-
sity in large US corporations is declining, not rising. http://money.cnn.
com/2015/01/29/news/economy/mcdonalds-ceo-diversity/. In this
same year (2015), Egan (2015) laments that “only 14.2% of the top five
leadership positions at the companies in the S&P 500 are held by women,
according to a CNNMoney analysis. It’s even worse if you just consider
the very top. Out of 500 companies, there are only 24 female CEOs.”
9. Harris and Shui (2010) note that, due to “transferred emissions” (that
is, China’s carbon footprint is so high because it produces goods for the
USA and Europe), the USA really has the largest carbon footprint due to
consumption.
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Klein, Naomi. 2015. This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs the Climate. New
York: Simon & Schuster.
La Touche, Jason. 2014. Everything Old is New again: Figuring Out Who
the Enemy is in the 1980s. In The Ages of the Avengers: Essays on the Earth’s
Mightiest Heroes in Changing Times, ed. Joseph Darowski, 79–91. Jefferson,
NC: McFarland & Company, Inc.
Lang, Brent. 2015. ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’ Passes ‘the Avengers’ at the
Box Office. Variety, December 31.
Levitz, Paul. 2013. Why Supervillains? In What is a Superhero? ed. Robin
Rosenberg, and Peter Coogan, 79–81. New York: Oxford University Press.
Mendelson, Scott. 2013. Box Office Catch Up. Forbes, July 25.
Mills, Anthony R. 2014. American Theology, Superhero Comics, and Cinema:
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Taylor & Francis Group.
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Ohnuki-Tierney, Emiko. 2010. Kamikaze, Cherry Blossoms, and Nationalisms

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The Ages of Iron Man: Essays on the Armored Avenger in Changing Times, ed.
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CHAPTER 8
The World Slowly Dies for Profit:

The Portrayal of Environmental Issues
in Drama
Outlining specific contours of any generic form in mass media always is

a challenge, but perhaps even more so for the drama genre, partly due
to the “historically and typologically extremely diverse corpus” of texts
identified as drama that Pfister (1991, 1) recognizes, and partly due
to the genre’s rather “fluid delimitations” that Esslin (1976) suggests.
Given this, perhaps it is better to consider drama as more of a type than a
specific, distinct class, as Goldman (2000) suggests. This chapter analyzes
three films categorized as drama that have very different plots: The Road
depicts the consequences of environmental apocalypse for human sur-
vival, Promised Land focuses on one town’s difficult decision regarding
fracking, and The East portrays a dangerous and unstable “eco-terrorist”
group determined to avenge nature from human transgressions. Drama,
like science fiction and family films, is a capacious genre that contains
several environmentally themed films, including A Civil Action and Erin
Brockovich. The films included in this chapter were chosen due to their
fairly recent release and their clear focus on environmental degradation.
Although the origins of drama are most often attributed to Greek
texts, Watson (1983, 2) believes that “drama is rooted in its remote
origins, in primitive fertility rites and in religious observances.” Watson
(1983) stresses the theatricality, performance, and action elements of
drama, while noting that his definition is limited to “a representation of
carefully selected actions by living people on a stage in front of an audi-
ence.”1 However simple and clear a definition of drama this may be, it
does not take into account the myriad other traditions in (and platforms

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_8
214 E.E. MOORE
on) which those texts called “drama” are performed. Esslin (1976, 12)
recognizes the breadth of drama in this respect, making a case for a
broader inclusion:
There is, however, one basic point of fundamental importance which has
to be stressed because, although obvious, it continues to be persistently
overlooked, particularly by those who as critics and academic teachers of
drama are the guardians of its tradition and lore: and that is that thea-
tre—stage drama—is, in the second half of the twentieth century, only
one—and a relatively minor—form of dramatic expression and that the
mechanically reproduced drama of the mass media, the cinema, television
and radio … is also fundamentally drama and obeys the same basic princi-
ples of the psychology of perception and understanding from which all the
techniques of dramatic communications derive.
Esslin like others, fundamentally sees drama as mimetic action —that is,
taking a cue from and purporting to represent a reality that exists off
screen and off stage. In this sense, he contends, drama texts contain a
greater connection to reality than other generic forms: “Drama is not
only the most concrete—that is, the least abstract—artistic imitation of
real human behavior, it is also the most concrete form in which we can
think about human situations” (1976, 21). Related to the allusions to
reality, drama also contains what Sargent (1913, 110) refers to as a “seri-
ous aspect,” which she distinguishes clearly from comedy:
In drama the story is strong and absorbing. It starts from a definite point
and if properly written at once claims the interest of the spectator. Each
action advances the story toward the climax and so the suspense is main-
tained. In comedy the climax is merely a joke. It lacks the grip of the big
dramatic idea.
When it comes to distinguishing stage drama from that seen in cinema

specifically, Esslin contends that mass media may have one advantage
when it comes to the conveyance of meaning: because the camera is an
extension of the media producer’s gaze, film can place deliberate and
sustained focus on what the director wants in a way almost impossible in
live stage productions.
Letwin et al. (2008, xiii) suggests a weighty reason for the existence
and popularity of drama, suggesting that drama “conveys[s] a coherent
picture of life to an audience, and orchestrate[s] conflict in such a way
8 THE WORLD SLOWLY DIES FOR PROFIT: THE PORTRAYAL … 215
that those watching feel engaged and ultimately satisfied.” This occurs,
according to Letwin, through what he refers to as the architecture of
drama—that is, consistent organization, design, and method. This archi-
tecture reveals a certain type of beauty inherent in drama, expressed
through the inter-related elements of plot, character, theme, genre, and
style. Watson (1983, 12) provides a fairly common formula for action
sequences within drama: (1) an introduction/exposition that presents
background to the audience; (2) some complication which increases the
tempo of events; (3) a crisis or turning point; (4) falling action/slacken-
ing of the tension; and finally (5) the climax/catastrophe.2 One way to
understand this sequence of action is to see that drama presents prob-
lems—those caused by humans or other actors, those that have negative
consequences for those involved, and those that may be solved (or exac-
erbated) by the people/other actors involved. Of course, this focus on
problems is true for every other genre included in this book, from super-
hero films to spy thrillers to the family film: there always is a problem
that moves the plot along, and one that ultimately must be addressed in
some way. As Sargent (1913, 69) reminds us, “every story, whether it be
comedy or drama, farce or tragedy, deals with the encountering of some
obstacle.”
This chapter explores how a genre that engages closely with realism
through a “serious” perspective will portray pressing “real-life” environ-
mental problems. When analyzing these films, special attention is paid
to not only how the environmental destruction is portrayed, but who is
portrayed as being responsible and morally culpable. In The East (ini-
tially at least), the blame appears to fall squarely on wealthy white corpo-
rate elites; in Promised Land, the oil and gas industry is responsible for
environmental harm; and in The Road , there appears, even at a closer
look, to be no one responsible at all.
The Road
This 2009 film was directed by John Hillcoat (who also directed Lawless
and The Proposition) and produced by Dimension Films and 2929
Productions. It is based on Cormac McCarthy’s book of the same name,
for which McCarthy won a Pulitzer. Although it received very favorable
reviews from critics, the film performed only tepidly at the box office,
perhaps due to the realist portrayal of environmental and societal col-
lapse that audiences may have found difficult to experience. As Kaplan
216 E.E. MOORE
(2015, 56) observes, “The Road opens with the futurist environment
already devastated. Although it is still dimly recognizable as having been
… our contemporary world, the world is in shards—destroyed, depleted,
crushed, emptied out.” Brereton (2015) similarly notes that the film
paints a visual portrait of complete destruction of our planet.
The Road Summary

The film opens to soft music and sunlight on beautiful oak trees with
green leaves, a bush with yellow flowers, and pink and white foliage
swaying in the breeze. Multiple types of birds are heard in the back-
ground. A blonde woman (Charlize Theron) smiles, sunlight on her hair.
A man (Viggo Mortensen) hugs a horse in a green field. A door then
shuts on the flowers and the soothing music and gives way to a darker
scene: the man and woman are in bed, staring at something glowing
orange outside, accompanied by screams. The woman, pregnant, looks
worried. It is from this memory that the man awakes, and he is at the
base of a waterfall, with his son. He gazes at the landscape from their
mountainside perch: dead trees, with grey skies overhead. His son wakes
up, scared, and his father tells him “Don’t worry, son – it’s just another
earthquake.”
The father and son, both dirty and gaunt, travel on a crumbling
mountain while pushing a shopping cart on a road, amidst dead trees. A
layer of ash blankets the ground. As they travel, we hear the man tell the
story of what happened to them.
The clock stopped at 1:17. There was a long shear of bright light, then a
series of low concussions. Each day is more grey than the one before. It is
cold, and growing colder, as the world slowly dies. No animals survived,
and all the crops are long gone. Soon all the trees in the world will fall.
As he intones this, thousands of grey logs (fallen trees) are shown on still
grey water. The piano music is slow and mournful. The man then speaks
of the people who move in this landscape:
The roads are peopled by refugees towing carts, and roving gangs carry-
ing weapons, looking for fuel and food. In a year there were fires on the
ridges, and deranged chanting. There has been cannibalism—cannibalism is
the great fear. Mostly, I worry about food, always food, food and the cold.
During this description, the father and son walk over dollar bills and jew-
elry discarded on the ground next to an old cash register while the man
continues speaking.
Sometimes I tell the boy old stories of courage and justice, difficult as they
are to remember. All I know is the child is my warrant: if he is not the
word of God, then God never spoke.
At this juncture, the story enters the saga of the man and boy as they
try to reach the sea. They find various safe places to stay at night (an
abandoned barn where farmers hung themselves due to starvation; in
the woods; in broken-down cars and trucks), and during the day walk
the road to the ocean. Often, they are awoken in the middle of the
night, due to various impending disasters: a forest fire blazing from all
the dead wood; an intense earthquake; bandits. In one scene, gargan-
tuan grey clouds billow from a forest fire inferno while the man and boy
walk in dark silhouette in front of it. At multiple times during the film
the pair encounter cannibals who would like to kill the man and steal
the boy—only the father and his quick thinking stops this from happen-
ing. However, the fear of being taken by cannibals is so great that the
man teaches the boy how to shoot himself in the head in case of capture.
In one scene, a group of people imprison another group of people in
the basement of a house for food: when the man believes they will be
discovered, he puts the gun to his son’s forehead, finger on the trigger.
When the cannibals are distracted, they run into the woods, from where
they can hear (inside the house) a woman screaming amid wet chopping
sounds. The wooded landscape in which they hide is taupe, brown, and
grey.
At an abandoned grocery store the man finds a can of Coke from an
old vending machine for the boy, calling it “a treat.” His son sips it care-
fully at first, then ventures one of the rare smiles seen in the film: “It’s
really good,” the boy says, and insists on sharing it with his father during
a quiet moment of bonding.
Throughout their journey, ash falls quietly from a darkened sky.
Multiple times during the film, it rains, with accompanying thunder
and lightning. At one point, the man swims with the boy at the base of
a waterfall. Despite the ash that falls from the sky, water is, seemingly,
everywhere.
218 E.E. MOORE
The man and boy approach the remnants of a large city on the road,
where the buildings remain, but everything else is out of order: boats
litter the road, parts of the city are burning, and the ubiquitous grey
skies loom overhead. In one of the few moments of joy, father and son
also come across a home with what appears to be an intact survivalist
shelter nearby, where they find a cache of food. While the man and boy
restore their bodies, the man flashes back to scenes with his wife before
the apocalypse: going to a classical music concert, making love, lying in
the grass. They sky is blue and sunlight is visible. Once the man and boy
continue their journey to the sea, they run into an old man (Ely, played
by Robert Duvall) on the road. While they share their food with him, the
old man and the father have the following conversation:
Ely: I knew this was coming. This or something like it. There were
warnings. Some people thought it was a con: I always believed in
it
Man: You try to do anything for it?
Ely: What would you do? Even if you knew what to do you wouldn’t
know what to do. I suppose … [puts hands up in front of face as
denial] even if you were the last man left alive
Man: How would you know that? If you were the last man left alive?
Ely: I guess you don’t know it you just … feel it
Man: Maybe God would know
Ely: God would know what? If there is a God up there, He would
have turned his back on us by now. Whoever made humanity will
find no humanity here
They leave the old man and continue to the sea. While they walk, the
boy asks his father if there are any crows left, to which the man replies,
“only in books.” After more tense encounters with cannibals and earth-
quakes, they finally reach the sea: it is brown, not blue, with garbage lit-
tering its shore. The boy gets sick and the father puts him under a tarp
as another storm hits—lightning, thunder, and lots of rain. When a black
man steals their food, the father catches up to him, strips him naked, and
takes back his food. The father leaves him naked, crying, and shivering.
Near the end of the film, the boy discovers a beetle, and then they
look up to see a sea bird, but this moment passes without a comment
from either about the potential significance for life on Earth. Exhausted
and starving, the man dies on the beach, leaving the boy to fend for him-
self until a kind family approaches to take him in.
The Road Analysis: The Nature of the Ecological Catastrophe

One of the most striking aspects of The Road (cannibalism, collapse of
society, and starvation aside) is the presentation of contiguous deso-
late landscapes throughout the film. Kaplan (2015, 58) writes that
“Ultimately, because of the visuality of cinema, the depiction of nature
in Hillcoat’s adaptation of The Road is more graphic, overwhelming, and
physiological for viewers than what we get from words.” In other dys-
topian films focused on environmental apocalypse, bleak landscapes are
often interspersed with brief oases of green (e.g., Children of Men and
Allegiant), which serve as temporary visual respite for the audience. In
The Road, there is no such break, except for the father’s brief glimpses of
a seemingly idyllic past—and even then these scenes are inserted to evoke
a mournful longing for that which has passed and cannot be recov-
ered, what Kaplan (2015) calls a mournful “memory for the future.” As
Godfrey (2011, 165) observes about the film: “In The Road, memory of
greener landscapes and of once familiar topographies is thus experienced
only from the inside.”
Director John Hillcoat, selecting Pittsburgh in winter to shoot the
film, nonetheless had to deal with several sunny days during shooting:
these bright and sunny backdrops did not fit with the dark tone of the
film, and so many of these scenes were altered to present the sky as con-
tinuously muted and grey, and the land as sterile and dark (McGrath
2008). In her discussion of “green memories” in The Road, Godfrey
(2011) identifies a clear pattern in the way that allusions to pastoral land-
scapes (e.g., orchards, a thicket of trees) are used in order to highlight
the horror faced by father and son through contradicting our pleasant
cultural associations with these landscaped idylls with the horrors in an
apocalyptic world. The presentation of an apocalyptic landscape func-
tions to sever the idea of harmony between “gods, man, and nature”
that Ashford (2012, 16) recognizes in the depiction of the pastoral. And,
given the theme of Christianity that runs through The Road (there are
multiple references to the son as a creation of God, and the character
Ely—possibly a reference to the Prophet Elijah—expresses a religious
mindset), this severance is significant, for it seems God has abandoned
humans to a slow death in a devastated environment.
220 E.E. MOORE
Moving within these barren, uninhabitable lands are the ghost-like

figures of those who have survived … for now. As father and son travel
down the road to the sea, they encounter very few people. No cars pass
them (except one truck, driven by bandits); no airplanes fly overhead.
The absence of many living people speaks directly to the horrifying past
that we as the audience have bypassed to get to this point in the story:
mass starvation of humans and non-human animals has occurred after
an unspecified catastrophic event. The gaunt bodies of the man and boy
also speak of the situation faced by all survivors: slow starvation. More
than this, however, their sunken cheeks and protruding bones become
a stand-in for the sickness that has fallen over the planet. The message
from this is clear enough: despite all of our cultural advancements and
other “achievements” (including medicine, technology, infrastructure,
etc.) we are natural beings who need a healthy, functioning environment
to survive. Reinforcing this point is the way in which the people who
have survived this apocalyptic world are forced to behave—as scavengers.
The Road is replete with symbols of a scavenger lifestyle: the father and
son use a shopping cart to transport their worldly possessions, are highly
transitory, and their begrimed faces are a constant reminder that the
decline of the health of the environment in which they live has left them
(as a species) homeless.
The function of the “desolate landscape,” according to Gandy
(2006), is to provide a “deep unease,” and The Road deftly delivers
this. The Road could be about finding redemption and learning from
past mistakes, and thus could function as a critique of current human
behavior (not curbing overpopulation, increasing consumption, pollut-
ing land and waterways). With its unblinking portrayal of environmental
apocalypse, it sets itself up well to level this critique. Indeed, when father
and son walk over $20 bills and jewelry scattered on the ground with-
out stopping, it is clear that these items have no value in this new world.
This scene strongly suggests that these symbols of excess were never
truly important while at the same time highlighting what has become the
most important: sustaining family relationships. However, the critique
never comes, perhaps because the reason for the apocalypse is not placed
unequivocally on any human action. In a Wall Street Journal interview
(Jurgensen 2009), author McCarthy himself negates the idea that speci-
fying a cause for the environmental apocalypse is important to the story:
A lot of people ask me. I don’t have an opinion. At the Santa Fe Institute
I’m with scientists of all disciplines, and some of them in geology said it
looked like a meteor to them. But it could be anything—volcanic activity,
or it could be nuclear war. It is not really important. The whole thing now
is, what do you do?
McCarthy thus deflects attention away from any potential human

behavior that may have caused the planet’s ecosystem to deteriorate
and shifts it to potentially more random and unpredictable origins: it
may be humans waging war and blowing each other up, or it may be
Yellowstone’s “supervolcano” exploding. McCarthy cites this potential
catalyst directly, and the ubiquitous ash that blankets the landscape seems
to support this theory: McCarthy noted that he had learned that when
Yellowstone’s volcano blew 60,000 years ago North America was blan-
keted with volcanic debris. The father’s mention at the start of the film
that he saw a flash of light and a series of audible “concussions” would
be consistent with the explosion of a supervolcano. As beautifully chroni-
cled by Simon Winchester in his book Krakatoa: The Day the World
Exploded, the explosions from this supervolcano were heard thousands
of miles away. A column of ash and smoke rose miles into the air, and
the global temperature dropped by one degree Fahrenheit that year. All
such effects of an exploding supervolcano are seen in The Road. The sig-
nificance of this is that if this was a natural event (and therefore outside
of humans’ control) the text’s primary focus becomes not what we can
and should learn, but instead becomes a chronicling of a father’s love for
his son and how far he is willing to go to save him. Dana Phillips (2011)
also highlights this important absence of causation, noting that a critique
of human behavior never comes.3
Because The Road does not place culpability on human behavior, and
due to the fact that the love between father and son is the focal point,
there is little direct cultural critique discernible in the film. While the
characters are in fact very focused on the act of consumption, it is with
a specific goal in mind: to stay alive. There are no iPads, or Blackberries,
or any familiar modern consumer divertissements; instead, father and
son entertain themselves by reading print books at night. In this sense,
we could read The Road as indirectly suggesting the necessity of mov-
ing away from our consumerist addictions and towards the interpersonal
relationships that truly matter. The can of Coke that gets its very own
scene is worth exploring, in part because it is the only brand seen in the
222 E.E. MOORE
film but also because of the relationship the characters have with it. Of
this scene in particular, Donnelly (2009, 72) contends that there is in
fact a critique of consumption visible:
The novel describes the demise of humanity in the same terms as those
articulated in the Coke incident: a detrimentally excessive consumption
finds both its apotheosis and its apocalypse in cannibalism, the utter and
abject dissolution of recognizable society. The Coke scene registers this
excessive consumption through the implicit admission of the power of the
product and its advertising, with its now hollow promise of a community
of humankind, and its placement here acts as a warning against the possi-
ble future that the novel portrays.
However tempting it may be to read a critique of consumption in this

scene, it also is true that sharing the Coke provides the platform for father
and son to bond, something not lost on Donnelly, who recognizes that
the way the characters enjoy the soda is in line with Coke’s own adver-
tisements. When the son experiences Coke for the first time and mur-
murs “it’s good” with pleasure, it is difficult not to see this as a branded
moment because it seems so reductive. In Behind the Screens: Hollywood
Goes Hypercommercial, media critic Mark Crispin Miller refers to this type
of scene—where the product is used and enjoyed by the characters as
part of the storyline—as the “plug deluxe.”4 Even if the Coke is not an
embedded advertisement, its inclusion in The Road appears not to be a
critique of past consumerism, but instead to provide a powerful symbol
that encourages nostalgia for happier times in a now-shattered world.
Although the film shies away from a critique of human activity that
may have caused environmental apocalypse, it does provide an indirect cri-
tique of consumption on a broader level when it comes to the high prev-
alence of cannibalism. On three separate occasions cannibalism is shown
and it is discussed by father and son countless times, especially in refer-
ence to being “good” or “bad”: that is, you are “bad” if you choose to
let your own hunger overtake your humanity, and you are “good” if you
are willing to starve before hurting/consuming another person. In this
sense, the film supports humans’ quest for survival, but not at any cost:
that is, your drive to consume should have limits—you should not hurt
others, and should not degrade your sense of morality. The fact that can-
nibalism is such a common practice in this destroyed landscape speaks to
this link, because the consumption of other humans seems to suggest the
dire consequences of an ecosystem gone awry. Kaplan (2015, 57) appears
to agree, contending that The Road “suggests the tragic degradation of

humanity that works in tandem with the loss of harmony with nature.”
Another interesting point can be made regarding the practice of can-
nibalism. In positioning humans as those who need to consume (watch-
ing a starving father and son devour canned goods in one scene was a
particularly keen delight) but who now are also in danger of being con-
sumed, the film reverses the way in which humans have identified them-
selves: that is, at the top of the food chain. The fact that humans also
must now run and hide (typical prey behavior) topples the notion of
human supremacy in the natural world because humans are now just
as vulnerable as non-human animals. From this perspective, the scene
with the black man (played by Michael Kenneth Williams) is particularly
revealing, because the man was willing to steal a child’s food and shelter
in order to ensure his own survival. The fact that the movie contained
very few people of color, and that Williams’ character was the only speak-
ing role for a person of color, highlights the “goodness” of the white
father and son while underscoring the “badness” of the black character,
whose naked body is on display for us in a way that speaks to commodifi-
cation of the black body in Hollywood film.
Just as Esslin suggests about drama’s ties to realitsm, so director
Hillcoat speaks about making The Road real for audiences:
What’s moving and shocking about McCarthy’s book is that it’s
so believable. So what we wanted is a kind of heightened realism, as
opposed to the “Mad Max” thing, which is all about high concept and
spectacle. We’re trying to avoid the clichés of apocalypse and make this
more like a natural disaster. (In McGrath 2008)
With Hillcoat’s emphasis on “natural disaster,” once again the cul-
pability for the death of the planet does not rest with humans and their
actions, even though some scholars would like to make this connection.
Kaplan (2015), touching upon the realism apparent in the film, notes that
The Road features violent storms and falling trees, wrecked houses torn
apart by marauding, starving humans; remains of gas stations, where every
last drop of oil is a godsend; roads now covered in ash, burnt by raging fires;
the desolate ruins of a consumer society. Here the film touches on the near-
ness of its world to the contemporary world. For such “ruins” are already
visible in the United States if one cares to look. Wastelands offering the
remains of a consumer society—the detritus of prior wealth and fecundity—
can be found already as one travels around the United States today. (84–85)
224 E.E. MOORE
Although it is very true that consumer culture, neoliberal capitalist prac-

tices, and population growth (to name only a few) have created environ-
mental wastelands around the world, this is not the point made in The
Road, which studiously and consistently identifies humans as only the
victims of, not the catalyst for, environmental devastation.
This deflection of any responsibility on behalf of humans is not to say
that the apocalyptic vision created for us by both McCarthy and Hillcoat
does not reflect the environmental despair/anxiety that permeates con-
temporary human societies. As I wrote this, in 2016, California had
only contained 20% of the wildfires that had been blazing out of con-
trol (and continued to do so into the late Fall); a multitude of disturbing
lakes were forming in Arctic ice, signifying a faster melting than scientists
had predicted; and Hawaii was threatened by two contiguous hurricanes
(unprecedented in recorded history of Pacific storms). Speaking to the
realities of a changing natural world, Godfrey’s take is that “The Road …
almost seems to provide the fictional answer to a long-standing, anxious
question within American culture about what might happen if we ‘lose’
the beauty of the natural world to the carelessness and greed of humans”
(Godfrey 2011, 167). Although author McCarthy makes clear that
humans’ shortcomings are not necessarily (if at all) to blame, The Road
still represents what Kaplan (2015) refers to as pretrauma cinema, if only
because its narrative and filming style provide an unvarnished, terrifying
vision of what our future would look like if the Earth’s ecosystem failed.
Ultimately, the film seems meant to startle and horrify audiences while
reinforcing that family ties are paramount. Although The Road presents a
strikingly dystopian vision of what the natural (and cultural) world may
become, it ends on an almost jarringly optimistic note. The white family
that approaches the boy at the end, and want to care for him, is surpris-
ingly hale and hearty: they are thin, but not gaunt, and they even have a
dog. The significance of the dog is difficult to overestimate in the con-
text of this film in several respects. First, dogs are often stand-ins for fam-
ily and household: when paired with the white heterosexual couple with
two children, it reinforces the nuclear family’s bond and status as a unit.
Also, the presence of a pet of any kind in The Road is striking because it
means that the family has enough to feed not only themselves, but also
this animal. This is unusual: everyone has been killing each other and
stealing from each other for food, but somehow this dog has survived,
which also indicates a certain amount of security for the family. Thus,
this “suburbanesque” white family provides instant reassurance, not only
for the boy, but for the future of humans and the natural world: every-
thing will recover, The Road tells us, if family sticks together. Although
Phillips (2011) cautions us against discerning utopia in this text (she
claims McCarthy likes to take his dystopia “neat”), it is difficult to read
the ending in any other way than offering a sliver of hope for an environ-
mental future with healthy humans in it.
The East
The East is a 2013 Scott Free production that was distributed by Fox
Searchlight Pictures. Ridley Scott was the producer, the director was by
Zal Batmanglij (who also directed The Sound of My Voice), and the screen-
play was co-written by Batmanglij and Brit Marling. The film performed
only modestly, garnering $2 million during its theatre run. In an interview,
Batmanglij talked about his movie functioning as an “emotional culture
jamming,” noting that the opening scene showing an oil spill was meant
to frame the narrative within the film: “The East is about accountability,
more than anything else—it’s more about accountability than terror.”5
The East Summary

The scene opens with black-and-white, grainy footage of sea birds covered
in oil from a spill while we hear the slow sound of inhaling and exhaling.
The scene shifts to people in black approaching a gated home at night
to scale the fence and enter the house. A female voice speaks: “It’s easy
when it’s not your home, easy when it’s not your life, the place where you
sleep, your kids, your wife. But when it’s your fault, it shouldn’t be so easy
to sleep at night, especially when we know where you live.” The people
in black, carrying buckets of black, oily liquid, enter the East Hampton
home of Barry Redmond, a slightly chubby, middle-aged white man who
is CEO of Lorex Oil. The woman’s voice continues:
You dumped 15 million barrels of crude into the Atlantic. We don’t care
how rich you are: we want all those who are guilty to experience the terror
of their crimes, because it shouldn’t be so easy to get away with murder.
Lie to us? We’ll lie to you. Spy on us? We’ll spy on you. Poison our habi-
tat? We’ll poison yours. We are “The East,” and this is just the beginning.
We will counter attack three corporations in the next six months for their
worldwide terrorism.
226 E.E. MOORE
While she speaks, what looks to be security-camera footage of a bath-

room is shown, while oil pours through a heating vent over the sound of
a slow heartbeat.
The film shifts to the story of the central protagonist—Jane (played by
Brit Marling)—who is a new recruit at Hiller Brood Corporation (“The
top private intelligence firm in the world. Anti-corporate terrorism is
all about risk, and our job is to assess that risk for you … Gentlemen,
we are in 32 countries protecting your good names”). Jane listens to a
Christian radio station on her way to interview for a new assignment:
to infiltrate the “anarchist” and “eco-terrorist” group called “The East.”
She gets the job, along with a pair of Birkenstocks, which she “weath-
ers” while watching the news. A local Fox News station reports that “Oil
tycoon Barry Redmond is the latest high-profile CEO to be targeted
by the eco-terrorist group ‘The East.’” After, she studies news articles
with headlines like “The East: Terrorists or Pranksters?” “Anarchist Viral
Video Tanks Stock” “Surge in Eco-Terrorism,” “The Rhetoric of Eco-
Terrorism,” and “New Face of Domestic Terrorism: The East.”
After changing from brunette to a blonde with the help of Feria
hair dye, she prays to God to help her with her task. She travels to the
Delaware coast to blend in with the “drop outs,” “counter-culture
types,” and “freegans” (those who reject consumerism as a way to help
the environment) and is able to make her way into The East’s headquar-
ters, where a man named “Doc” tells her he was doing aid work in Africa
and took an antibiotic (“Denoxin”) for malaria prevention that perma-
nently damaged his central nervous system and killed his sister. The East
accepts Jane (who uses the undercover name “Sarah”) into their group. 
Later that night, Izzy (played by Ellen Page) makes Jane wear a
straightjacket for dinner: when Jane/Sarah arrives in the room, she
finds everyone in a straightjacket. She meets Benji (played by Alexander
Skarsgård), the group’s leader, for the first time: he is handsome and
thin, with brown hair, a bushy beard, and soulful, intense eyes. They
instruct Jane to eat without her hands to show her that the point is to
help others eat, not herself—this an exercise about being selfless, and
they indicate to her that she has failed in this.
The next day a member of the group finds a deer that was killed for
fun: the group calls this act a “thrill kill” and decide to honor the deer by
eating it. While they dress the deer, they have the following conversation:
Benji: very day our society abuses the environment.

E
What’s the easiest way to handle that pain?
Redheaded woman: Never talk about it
Benji: The only way to bury the horror is to pretend it’s
not real
Doc: I f it’s real you have to do something about it
Benji: You trusted the system, you trusted the govern-
ment, you trusted … the church
Jane joins The East as a participant in what the group refers to as their
“jams”—their violent plots against corporate America. They attend a
party hosted by pharmaceutical giant McCabe-Grey and put the com-
pany’s own drug (“Denoxin”) in the party’s champagne. When Jane
frantically calls her boss to tell her about the danger to the company’s
employees, Sharon—the head of Hiller Brood—tells her that that com-
pany is “not our client,” and so to do nothing. A McCabe-Grey spokes-
woman (played by Julia Ormond) becomes horribly sick after her
Denoxin exposure, and The East chalks this up as a win.
Jane becomes closer to Benji and they form a romance. She learns that
Benji came from money, but became uncomfortable with the corrupt-
ing influence of wealth, so he set his family house on fire while using his
remaining immense fortune to fund The East.
The East plans its next “jam” at a coal processing company named
Hawkstone, whose arsenic effluence in local waterways has been impact-
ing working-class families downstream, with some children even dying
of brain tumors. Izzy kidnaps her own father and an older woman who
is CEO of the company and takes them to the lake outside the factory.
While The East makes them strip down to get in the water at 3 a.m.
(when the factory dumps its arsenic in secret every night), Izzy says to
them:
You make your living by poisoning this creek and other rivers and lakes.
You separate yourselves in your gated communities with golf courses from
the world you’re destroying, from the families who cannot afford to get
away from this creek, or from the cancer the children are dying of. You
create—for a living—toxic chemicals that will outlive us all and feel noth-
ing. But tonight you will feel something. Strip.
228 E.E. MOORE
The CEO offers them money. They ignore her and begin to violently
strip off her clothes. Finally, she breaks under the pressure, scream-
ing: “Ok! Yes, we treat the coal! We treat it so that it burns more effi-
ciently! Yes we do, and we dump the slurry in the river because it has
to go someplace. People need power for their homes.” As they physi-
cally struggle with the woman, they suddenly hear a splash: Izzy’s father
has jumped in instead, exposing himself to the harmful chemicals. Izzy,
regretting what she has done, calls out to him, but is dragged away when
security shows up. Izzy gets shot and later dies.
In the final scenes, Benji tells Jane that he knows she is a Hiller Brood
operative and he asks for one last “jam”: collecting the true identities
of all Hiller Brood field operatives. She agrees and goes back to head-
quarters. Once Jane steals the information, Sharon suspects something
is awry, and tests her with a question, asking why The East ate all their
food out of the garbage. “Why all the dumpster diving? Why not grow
their own food?” Jane explodes. “They eat garbage on principle. It’s not
rotten food. It’s good food that has to be thrown away legally. The sys-
tem is broken and the evidence is the trash. [She goes through the gar-
bage can by the elevator and finds an apple with a few bites out of it, and
eats it.] It has value. I’ve been eating three square meals a day from it.”
Jane runs out to Benji’s car to get away after Hiller Brood attempt
to trap her inside. Benji angrily asks if she has the list of other Hiller-
Brood operatives, and she lies to him, telling him “no”. He tells her he
wanted to put all the identities online, and Jane finally understands that
Benji is dangerously violent and he wanted the operatives to be killed.
She leaves him as he crosses the border into Canada. At the end of the
film, she uses the list to convince the different operatives to get intelli-
gence on the companies’ environmental records instead of investigating
eco-terrorists. Some of the companies in question include a paper mill
that had been clearcutting and a logging company threatening the red-
woods. In the end, multiple newspaper headlines reveal that her strat-
egy—to leak documents—is succeeding, and the companies are being
stopped from illegal practices that cause environmental damage.
The East Analysis: Generational and Class Critique

This film is an unusual pastiche of (often) conflicting messages about envi-
ronmental degradation, environmental activism, and corporate culpabil-
ity. As director Batmanglij notes, the film’s central focus is on corporate
“accountability” for environmental crimes, and thus it serves as a kind of

revenge fantasy for those concerned with environmental issues like pol-
lution and deforestation. The corporations are personified in the form of
older, wealthy, white capitalist males and females who appear to care more
about making a profit than for the other living creatures (human and non-
human) on the planet. Their myopic focus is highlighted time and time
again in the film, identifying them as invidious, one-dimensional charac-
ters. The sustained critique stands in marked contrast to the more positive
portrayal of white male capitalists in other genres like superhero/action-
adventure and spy thrillers. But in The East the audience is invited to con-
demn these living instantiations of corporate greed.
The excoriation of white wealthy capitalists in this film reminded me
more than once of the American Koch brothers (Charles and David,
who are each worth $43 billion per Forbes) who run Koch Industries,
a corporation that turns petroleum products into everyday items like
Stainmaster carpets and Lycra clothing fabric. Koch industries practice
what is known as their trademarked (and now much-maligned) Market-
Based Management (MBM) business philosophy. An article in Rolling
Stone (Dickinson 2014) explains that MBM:
was an attempt to distill the business practices that had grown Koch into
one of the largest oil businesses in the world. To incentivize workers,
Koch gives employees bonuses that correlate to the value they create for
the company … Under MBM, Koch Industries books opportunity costs—
“profits foregone from a missed opportunity” – as though they were actual
losses on the balance sheet. Koch employees who play it safe, in other
words, can’t strike it rich. On paper, MBM sounds innovative and exciting.
But in Koch’s hyperaggressive corporate culture, it contributed to a series
of environmental disasters. Applying MBM to pipeline maintenance, Koch
employees calculated that the opportunity cost of shutting down equip-
ment to ensure its safety was greater than the profit potential of pushing
aging pipe to its limits.
The Koch brothers, who advocate extreme neoliberalist beliefs (including

either abolishing or privatizing the Environmental Protection Agency,
the Department of Energy, and the Department of Education, among
others), fit the profile of the execrable corporate shills presented in The
East in the sense that they are white, older, extremely wealthy, and focus
on profit.
230 E.E. MOORE
The East portrays myriad environmental issues that exist in the real
world, including oil spills, clear cutting/deforestation, and coal burning
for energy. As such, it consistently bids us to make connections between
the film and problems (including corporate corruption) that exist in the
world off-screen. Regarding the hazards associated with burning coal for
fuel in China, Dasheng et al. (2006, 273) note that “Inorganic arsenic
is one of the most significant hazards to the world’s population, par-
ticularly in the developing countries of Asia. Environmental exposure
to arsenic mainly occurs through drinking-water contaminated with
inorganic arsenic.” In India, thousands of residents (mostly children) in
villages southeast of New Delhi have died as a result of mercury from
coal-fired plants poisoning the Govind Ballabh Pant Sagar reservoir
upstream. The Bloomberg article that chronicled these mass deaths noted
that corporate development, especially in the form of extractive indus-
tries like coal, come first, well ahead of concern for Indian villagers’
safety (Katakey and Singh 2014). The film thus deftly picks up on the
growing mistrust by citizens worldwide of corporate leaders: the PR firm
Edelman’s survey revealed that less than 20% of people trust corporate
leaders to make ethical business decisions (Adams 2013). And, as The
East makes clear, no corporate leader is worthy of trust.
Sharon, the head of the private intelligence firm Hiller Brood, is also
portrayed in a negative light. She doesn’t care about the people who may
be hurt from The East’s “jams”; instead, she only wants to protect her
existing clients. She is insensitive, unlikeable, and does not give a lick
about the health of the environment: for her, it is all about protecting
her wealthy corporate clients, and thus maintaining the capitalist status
quo. She thus appears to be placed in the same light as the other corpo-
rate hacks in the film: as blindly practicing what Vos (2009, 683) terms
the “classical model” of business. Vos cites Milton Friedman’s treatise
Capitalism and Freedom to explicate this model, which advocates “one
and only one social responsibility of business—to use its resources and
engaged in activities to increase its profits so long as it stays within the
rules of the game, which is to say, engages in open and free competi-
tion …” Vos notes that “under the classical model, environmental ethics
don’t even enter the picture … It also means that when it comes to a
showdown between what is good for business and what is good for the
environment, the environment always loses (2009, 683). 
The film’s invitation to condemn older white wealthy industrialists
is clear. But what is the alternative? In whom should we place trust for
responsible care of our society and environment? It cannot be mem-

bers of the “anarchist” group, for several reasons. First, The East is pre-
sented as being too much like a cult: they dance around fires at night,
wear creepy masks with cut-out eyes, live in an abandoned building, and
eat roadkill. Their leader, Benji, is presented from the start as a charis-
matic leader who draws vulnerable people to him so that he can commit
numerous violent acts. In the scene when we first encounter Benji. his
long brown beard and hair, slender frame, and exhortations to be self-
less present him unambiguously as a Jesus-like figure. Later, when we
learn that he eschewed a comfortable, wealthy lifestyle to live simply,
the similarity seems even more marked. The significance of this portrayal
(aside from appealing to Jane’s Christian sensitivities) is that it identi-
fies Benji as a charismatic cult leader who wants his followers to adore
him. Because of this, the film throws some doubt on his motives: does he
want to save the environment, or does he need an excuse to hurt people?
In the final scenes of the film, we have our answer: driven by rage (per-
haps due to the loss of his family when he was young), he wants to hurt
people in the name of helping the environment.
The other members of the group are also suspect: when Izzy wants to
make her father jump into an arsenic-filled industrial lake, it is unclear if
she truly wants to help the working-class families downstream who suf-
fer from the industry’s illegal practices, or if she has “daddy” issues and
desires personal retribution. One young woman who is deaf (and who
leaves the group early on in the film) is portrayed as needing The East in
order to feel loved. Even the complex and multi-layered character “Doc”
seems to have personal reasons to attack the pharmaceutical giant—
McCabe-Grey—since its antibiotics killed his sister and injured him.
The film thus criticizes (albeit more subtly) the “eco-terrorist,” “anar-
chist” group as angry, spoiled, adult children of wealthy white families
who just want to avenge personal grievances. The effect of this is that it
reduces their anti-corporate, pro-environmental “jams” with a more pro-
gressive message to unresolved interpersonal struggles. Framed as such,
their violent acts seem cruel and pointless: their violence may make the
“guilty” sick, or even kill them, but it is not changing policy or having
any positive impact in the world aside from the schadenfreude of seeing
revenge enacted for environmental crimes. Thus, it is not the “eco-ter-
rorists” who can be trusted with environmental protection and avenging
environmental crimes. This only leaves one character.
232 E.E. MOORE
Jane cares about protecting the environment, but is not willing to

harm people to create change. She is the moral compass in the film and
understands that responding to unlawful, harmful corporate acts with
violence is not the answer. In the end, she works from inside the sys-
tem to create accountability and protect the environment. The film ends
rather quickly on this note (only a montage shows her success against
polluting corporations), but the film assures us that care for the environ-
ment is now in good hands.
Given that Jane is the proverbial “last man standing” in the film,
as well as the film’s conscience, it is important to explore her charac-
ter. She is a God-fearing white Christian woman from a wealthy back-
ground. The recurring theme of Christianity appears to reinforce the
moral imperative of non-violence as well as the Christian belief regard-
ing humans as stewards of the environment. The film makes it clear
early on (she listens to a Christian radio station) that Jane’s religion is
what guides her. However “good” her character is, the film still leaves
us, uneasily, with a group (The East included) of white, wealthy young
people who want to protect the environment. The environmental
movement in the USA has long been painted as a white, middle-class
endeavor (Jarrell 2007), when this is a mischaracterization: as Bullard
(2000) notes, the modern environmental movement has more ties to
civil rights movements, and is driven at least in part by smaller commu-
nities of color. Having an almost all-white cast (aside from a memora-
ble cameo from African-American actor Aldis Hodge) is not unusual for
a Hollywood movie, but it does distort the message. That is, although
wealthy white capitalists may be blamed for environmental ills, the solu-
tion also comes from wealthy white individuals, especially a young,
white, middle-class Christian woman. As a result, any class critique ceases
to be fully developed.
Ultimately, the film spares almost no one: environmentalists appear to
be (at best) personally motivated and (at worst) homicidal cult follow-
ers; white, affluent, older businesspeople are universally reviled as one-
dimensional corporate power players; and the general populace seems to
lack any agency and/or is too apathetic to stand up against corporate
corruption. But, I would argue, the young people in the movie receive
less criticism because, although misguided, they are still trying to change
the system. All of the older people are solely concerned with profit
regardless of consequence.
Promised Land
Promised Land (2012) is a story created by Dave Eggers (of The Circle
fame) and Jon Krasinski that was adapted into a screenplay by Matt
Damon and Krasinski and directed by Gus van Sant (Good Will Hunting
and Milk). Focus Features eventually picked it up for distribution. In an
interview, Damon noted that he took a year out from his busy filming
schedule, eschewing other acting work, because this movie was impor-
tant to him. Krasinski also cited his personal motivations, stating that
“My dad grew up in a steel mill town just outside of Pittsburgh, and
all his stories of growing up seemed so incredibly inspiring. I wanted to
write a movie where these people were in a situation that was represent-
ative as a whole of everything that we’re going through as a country”
(Baron 2012). The film was released in a small number of theatres in late
2012, and had wider release in early 2013. Damon as producer created a
relatively modest budget for the film—only $15 million—and the profits
were modest as well, only approximately $8 million during its run.
Promised Land Summary

Promised Land opens with Steve Butler at a fancy restaurant sipping
Chateau Margaux wine while explaining to an executive in his company
(Global Cross Power Solutions) how he manages to “close” so many
land deals for fracking and at such low prices. He explains that he comes
from a family of farmers in the heartland, and he knows what it is like to
have industry leave a small town with nothing. They decide to send him
and another employee to a small town in Pennsylvania to get the towns-
people to agree to open their agricultural land up for fracking.
Both Steve and Sue Thomason (Frances McDormand) mark their
arrival into the town by going to Rob's “Guns, Groceries, Guitars, and
Gas” store to purchase flannel shirts so that they can fit in: they have
done this before, it is clear. They begin to get to know the townspeople
and try to integrate themselves in their lives by singing karaoke at the
local bar, befriending key locals, sponsoring baseball teams, and visiting
various farms. Steve wants to get the locals a fair deal, but at the same
time wants to get a good deal for his company: this inner conflict is evi-
dent multiple times during the film as his conscience tugs at him. Sue
also reveals inner conflict, but not due to the shenanigans and manipula-
tions of her business: she is a single mom who wants to be at home with
234 E.E. MOORE
her son. It seems her dogged pursuit to “close” the town at any cost is so
that she can provide for him.
During a town hall meeting held at the high school, one farmer—
Frank Yates—turns others against Global and the townspeople agree
that they must all vote on whether to allow fracking in their town. Steve
does his best to calm them: as he clumsily and uneasily fields their ques-
tions, he is framed by a large American flag behind him that takes up
the screen. It looks like the tide is turning against Global when Dustin
Noble (played by Jon Krasinski), a young man from the Athena envi-
ronmental group, comes into town and begins telling the townspeople
about his family’s farm in Nebraska that was ruined by fracking—and
he has the pictures of dead cows to prove it. He talks to the schoolchil-
dren; he makes friends with the farmers. He even takes the money Sue
offers him as a bribe to make flyers of his devastated family farm to put
up around town.
Steve has multiple conversations with Frank Yates, where the old
man tries to convince him that even though the townspeople could use
the money they do not need it as badly as they need their pride and, he
implies, a clean environment: “Where would we go?” he asks Steve rhe-
torically. Yates has a beautiful farm, with miniature ponies, rolling hills,
and a restored farmhouse. In fact, many of the locals do: even Steve’s
potential love interest, Alice, moved from the city back to her fam-
ily farm, with its sparkling pond and lush pastures. Much of the movie
focuses on these pastoral scenes, and in many instances water is the focus:
it is through the lens of water that we first meet Steve, and also through
which we say goodbye him.
Steve and Sue’s attempted manipulation of the townspeople is con-
stantly contrasted with the plain-speaking, tell-it-like-it-is citizens. Where
Global’s employees are wealthy elites who try to wrap themselves in
markers of working-class people, the farmers and other workers in this
town speak without artifice. But Global has the money, and the town
wants it: Steve even spends thousands of dollars on an outdoor fair (to
show the people what they could have with more money), which is
rained out.
Just as it seems clear that the town will vote against Global, Steve
receives a package in the mail, which reveals to him that Noble is a fake:
the photos of his alleged farm in Nebraska show a lighthouse in the
background. As it turns out, he was lying about where he came from.
When he confronts Noble, he realizes that the “environmentalist” is
really a fellow employee from Global: the company wanted to be able

to show that this environmentalist was untrustworthy and corrupt in the
hopes of swaying people over to Steve, Sue, and Global. The next day,
Steve demonstrates that he can’t take it any more: he confesses Global’s
shenanigans to the people, and then walks away. Global fires him, while
Sue, who never seemed to suffer from this inner conflict, keeps her job
and drives away to work on getting other working-class towns to sign
away their lands to the fracking industry.
Promised Land Analysis: Small-Town America Meets Big Oil

Hydraulic fracturing, or “fracking,” continues to be a controversial prac-
tice in the USA and worldwide: numerous protests over this new fossil
fuel extraction method have occurred in the USA and UK, where oil and
gas deposits are substantial. Fracking is problematic for the environment
on many fronts. First, it requires use of a substantial amount of water
during the process: a Scientific American article, citing the results from
a US Geological Survey report, notes that “Oil and natural gas frack-
ing, on average, uses more than 28 times the water it did 15 years ago,
gulping up to 9.6 million gallons of water per well and putting farm-
ing and drinking sources at risk in arid states, especially during drought”
(Magill 2015). The chemicals (many of which are unidentified due to
the “proprietary formula” used by many companies) have also come
under fire: the documentary GasLand estimates that every “frack”
uses between 80–300 tons of chemicals that are mixed with the water
and sand in order to break the rock apart and free the fossil fuels. In
a Cornell Chronicle report, professors Robert Oswald and Michelle
Bamberger found multiple instances of myriad health problems in farm
animals and pets in areas where fracking has taken place (Ramanujan
2012). The US Geological Survey also reports that fracking may be
responsible for the sharp uptick in earthquakes in many American states,
including Oklahoma, Texas, and Ohio, in the last 8 years. Referring to
these as “induced earthquakes” (i.e. human-made), they have forced
fracking to stop in certain areas, including outside the USA: a Canadian
Broadcasting Company article notes that “fracking triggers 90% of large
quakes” in British Columbia. During the afternoon of my writing this
very section, a 5.6 magnitude earthquake struck Oklahoma, and was felt
as far away as Arizona, Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Tennessee, and Arkansas.
The US Geological Survey attributes higher-intensity earthquakes in this
236 E.E. MOORE
region to the disposal of wastewater underground from producing oil

and gas.
Promised Land references many of these issues, especially fracking’s
gargantuan water requirements in already dry areas, the chemical pol-
lution of existing fresh water, and the attendant danger to animals. As
such, it engages directly with events (and problems) in the “real” world
off-screen. The film is not ambiguous when it comes to fracking: it is a
dirty business run by ruthless corporate hacks that destroys not only the
natural environment but also the American way of life. This unequivocal
critique is revealed through an understanding of different types of land-
scapes represented in the film.
The film is set in a small town in Pennsylvania, and a few different
types of landscapes are instantly apparent, including “Main Street, USA”
and pastoral, agrarian landscape. Regarding the former, Meinig (1979,
176) writes that what he terms “Main Street of Middle America” is
“middle” in many connotations: in location—between the frontier to the

west and the cosmopolitan seaports to the east; in economy—a commercial
center surrounded by agriculture and augmented by local industry … in
social class and structure—with no great extremes of wealth or poverty …
a genuine community … in size—not so small to be stultifying nor so large
as to forfeit friendship and familiarity.
Multiple scenes in Promised Land represent the small town just as Meinig
describes: the people are honest, straight-talking, and have no problem
saying what they feel; much of the “action” occurs in the small-town
stores, bars, and a school; there are no social class distinctions (every-
one is trying hard to make a living); and the people form a close-knit,
familiar community. Meinig (1979, 167) observes that his “Main Street
of Middle America” represents “the seat of a business culture of prop-
erty-minded, law-abiding citizens devoted to ‘free enterprise’ and ‘social
morality,’ a community of sober, sensible, practical people.” When Steve
attempts to talk to the locals about using their land for fracking, he gets
a mixed reception: some, who are struggling to get by, sign an agree-
ment with Global immediately and gratefully; many others, however,
demonstrate the cohesion of the community by withholding their sup-
port and their land until the community as a whole decides what is best.
The significance of this type of portrayal only is fully revealed when
paired with the agrarian landscape that surrounds this Middle America
small town. Barillas (2006, 4) observes that “Not only books but paint-
ings, films, and other media have reinforced this image of farms, bucolic
woods and streams, and small towns populated by plain-speaking,
upright citizens.” The pastoral landscape permeates the film: the lush
green fields, the rolling hills, the contended domesticated animals, and
the farmers who work the fields are prevalent in Promised Land. But
what is the pastoral landscape, and what significance is attached to it?
Barillas (2006, 12) provides an excellent delineation of pastoral when it
comes to the literary tradition:
Ancient poets, among them the Greek Theocritus and the Roman Virgil,
established many of the conventions still associated with pastoral, which
first implies the characterization of intelligent and resourceful farmers,
shepherds, and other country people, and description of landscapes, plants,
animals, and natural phenomena such as weather and seasonal changes.
Pastoral often entails a contrast between urban and rural life, usually but
not exclusively in favor of rurality, to which special virtue is attributed; and
a tone of nostalgia … While this nostalgic tendency can lend itself to senti-
mentality and a false idealization of life in nature, the best pastoral writing
acknowledges social complexities and conflicts inherent in the individual’s
striving for a meaningful life.
Ashford (2012, 16) provides for us another potential significance

of the pastoral, which relates to harmony: although her focus is eco-
critical theology (and thus ties the pastoral to religion), she recognizes
that “what centrally defines the pastoral is the concept that humankind
accepts without question: inner peace, a relationship with the environ-
ment, and a serene relationship with the gods.” Thus, pastoral scenes
may visually suggest a harmonious connection between humans and
nature.
Just why this type of location (small-town, agrarian America) was cho-
sen by Damon and van Sant for a cautionary tale about fracking becomes
clear when one links Middle America and pastoral landscapes to two ele-
ments: the nostalgia for an idealized American past and anxiety about
changing national identity. In her discussion of the representation of the
idyllic agrarian community in film, Mottet (2006, 67) contends that its
enduring popularity should come as no surprise, noting that
the pastoral takes on a significance that far exceeds the slightly static
notion of a paradise lost … Leaving behind the general feeling of nostalgia
238 E.E. MOORE
… Americans introduced the pastoral theme into a new set of concerns,

namely how a nation provides for itself new images, new concepts at the
moment of a grant new beginning.
Mottet ultimately ascribes the nostalgia for American agrarian life to a

country–urban migration: modern children have left their parents’ farms
for livelihoods in the city. The film taps into this sentiment to directly
address the slow but inexorable death of American farming and the
“old ways.” When Steve tells three farmers in the local bar that govern-
ment farming subsidies means they aren’t self-sufficient, it is his way of
encouraging them to take the “easy” way out by accepting his company’s
money so it can frack on their land.6 He is so certain of this inevitability
that he believes money should come first for these working-class people.
However, when one of the men, not convinced by his uncomplimentary
speech, punches him, the audience is reminded that these hard-working
Americans cannot be bought so easily and will not give up their way of
life, no matter how flawed, for a bad cause. In this sense, then, the pas-
toral scenery and “bucolic landscapes [become] tied up with a quest for
identity” (Mottet 2006, 66) that is largely based on a nostalgic pining
for an America that has ceased to be. Tellingly, the American flags that
frame much of the scenery serve as a constant reminder that although
this particular story is fictional this is an American struggle with signifi-
cant environmental consequences for Americans and their land in the
“real” world. It also reinforces that the agrarian way of life is positioned
as the stronghold for American identity. It also, intriguingly, positions
farmers as a group that wants to protect the natural environment.
The townspeople’s fight is portrayed as a David-versus-Goliath strug-
gle, where individual farmers go up against a heartless, cynical, and
powerful “global” corporation. Because their fight is against the envi-
ronmentally devastating practice of hydraulic fracturing, American farm-
ing is directly associated with protection of the environment, which is
an unusual message, given what is known about conventional farming
practices. Nicely chronicled by Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma, the run-off
from chemical fertilizer (that became so popular after World War II) used
on agricultural fields into rivers and streams causes massive dead zones in
the Gulf of Mexico and other major waterways. Soil erosion is a grow-
ing problem due to unsustainable farming practices. In addition, due
to the increasing presence of monocrops like corn and soybeans, many
more pesticides are needed, which also make their way into the water
and soil. Agriculture is also very dependent on fossil fuels. Wes Jackson,
author of Consulting the Genius of the Place, sums up the impact of mod-
ern agriculture on our ecosystem: “Countless specialists tell us that the
disruption to biodiversity and ecosystems is mostly due to agriculture.
And these specialists conclude that the degradation of ecosystems could
grow significantly worse during the first half of this century” (2010, 7).
As a result of farming’s impact on the ecosystem, the positioning of the
farmers in Promised Land as protective of the environment is somewhat
surprising. It isn't that some farmers try to adopt sustainable practices—
they do—but that the majority of commercial and family-owned farms
use chemical pesticides and fertilizers that have had a significant impact
on American land and waterways.  
Identifying individual farming practices as sustainable is notable for
another reason: all of the townspeople are depicted as honest, working-
class individuals who are not tied to large corporations. They may strug-
gle to make a living, but they come by it honestly. However, individual
farmers who own land are becoming increasingly rare. As just one exam-
ple, within the last 5 years, the corporate ownership of farmland in Iowa,
an American “Heartland” state, shot up by 11% (Eller 2014). So while
Promised Lane positions white wealthy capitalists as corrupt and untrust-
worthy due to their singular goal of profitmaking, its nostalgic portrayal
of farmers ignores how white wealthy capitalists have infiltrated the
American farming system as well.
The film was partly funded by Image Nation Abu Dhabi, which itself
is partly funded by the United Arab Emirates government. Controversy
erupted early on in relation to the film: conservative organizations
noticed the funding, and questioned if the UAE had funded this film
because they wanted to stop Americans from becoming self-sufficient
through producing their own oil and gas. The film is anti-fracking: that
much is clear. But why it takes such a strong stance is another question.
Does it represent an ulterior motive—to keep Americans reliant on for-
eign fossil fuels—or is it an environmental critique of a new technology
that keeps us reliant on fossil fuels at all? It is clear that Matt Damon has
taken a personal stand on environmental issues: he co-founded Water.org
to bring clean water to those in need and created the organization H2O
Africa. The focus on water in the film (the beginning and closing scenes
both show Damon’s visage through the filter of water, and the characters
are shown to have an abnormal fixation with staying hydrated) suggests
Damon’s environmental influence.
240 E.E. MOORE
One final note about the film: while it functions as a plea to

Americans to stop fracking on their land, the film (2013) was released
after the state of Pennsylvania enacted a law (Act 13) in 2012 permit-
ting oil and gas companies to get around local zoning rules in order to
make it easier to frack in the state. However, since then, the Pennsylvania
Supreme Court has struck down some of the more controversial provi-
sions of the Act in a notable statement (Cusick 2013):
In the majority opinion, the justices say both those provisions violate the
Environmental Rights Amendment of the state constitution which guar-
antees “clean air, pure water, and to the preservation of the natural, scenic,
historic and esthetic values of the environment.” They cite Pennsylvania’s
history with coal and timber as lessons which lead to the amendment:
“Pennsylvania has a notable history of what appears, retrospectively, to
have been a shortsighted exploitation of its bounteous environment,
affecting its minerals, its water, its air, its flora and fauna and its people.”
The court’s language in its decision reflects the ideals of long-term envi-
ronmental protection over short-term profit. As such, it echoes the sen-
timent of Promised Land—to avoid myopic, profit-at-any-cost business
practices that will cause environmental devastation.
The Link Between White Male Capitalism

and Ecological Destruction in Drama
As Esslin (1976, 29) observes, all drama is “a political event: it either

reasserts or undermines the code of conduct of a given society.” With
its serious perspective and descriptions of contemporary environmental
struggles that exist in the “real” world, drama presents a unique per-
spective on environmental degradation, especially in relation to codes
per what constitutes “moral”-versus-“immoral” behavior. While The
Road largely avoids cultural critique by refusing to name the cause of
the environmental apocalypse (or ascribing it to a natural event), it still
provides a judgment about how humans should behave in the face of a
degraded planet. In contrast, Promised Land and The East contain clear
moral judgments when it comes to humans’ role in damaging the natural
environment. For these films, the cause of environmental degradation is
made clear: it is the White capitalist patriarchal structure that is respon-
sible for the unchecked drive to develop and make a profit that has led
to oil spills, climate change, deforestation, and degraded land and water
quality. In fact, it is clear that we are meant to (along with the films)
condemn white wealthy men (and women) in suits for whom profit is the
only goal. As such, the “classical” model of business, where there are few
rules except to make profit for shareholders, is deeply criticized by both
films. In this sense, the films categorized as drama are very different from
spy thrillers and superhero films, where white industrialist males are held
up as the solution to the problem rather than the cause. The same trend
can be seen in two other, earlier, drama films: A Civil Action (1998, star-
ring John Travolta) and Erin Brockovich (2000, with Julia Roberts). In
these films, too, working-class people need to fight against wealthy elites
to protect their environment.
As noted earlier, texts categorized as drama often make certain claims
about their ties to the “real world” off-screen, and these films are no
exception. Promised Land jumps directly into the ongoing controversy
about fracking in America (while the company’s name—Global Cross
Power Solutions—itself implies that this problem extends outside the
USA), and The East directly references oil spills, deforestation, and chem-
ical pollution. In fact, The East contains even more realism due to its
mode of filming, as it uses actual footage from oil spills as well as security
camera footage to create a sense of real-world events. “The drama we see
in the theatre and for that matter on the television screen or in the cin-
ema is an elaborately manufactured illusion. And yet, compared to other
illusion-producing arts, drama … contains a far greater element of real-
ity” (Esslin 1976, 86).
Intriguingly, once again (as in spy thrillers), “environmentalists” are
depicted as being misguided or even duplicitous and self-serving. The
East is not kind to its eponymous group of “eco-terrorists” “anarchists,”
and “home-grown terrorists,” and its members are largely disillusioned,
angry white kids from wealthy families. In Promised Land, the only
“environmentalist,” Noble, turns out to be a corporate wolf in sheep’s
clothing who is even worse than Steve and Sue. This character is par-
ticularly sinister: he pretends to be an environmentalist so that his cor-
poration can dupe working-class families and frack on their land. Thus,
environmentalists in both Promised Land and The East use the façade of
environmentalism in order to get what they want, but they can’t be said
to truly care about environmental protection. In this sense, both films
end up condemning environmentalists, even if they ultimately reaffirm
the need to protect natural resources from exploitation. As a result,
242 E.E. MOORE
environmental protection as a value is upheld, but the people in charge

of it are identified as untrustworthy.
Esslin (1976, 20) speaks to the ideological function of drama broadly
speaking, noting that “Drama is one of the most potent instruments of
this process of instruction … sociologists would call it the process by
which individuals internalize their social roles [and how] society commu-
nicates its codes of behavior to its members.” The films in this chapter
clearly demarcate “good” behavior from that which is undesirable. When
it comes to environmental issues, it is clear that, for Promised Land and
The East, we should not look to ourselves (and our own consumption
habits) for blame, but instead to corporations who are willing to trample
on the environment for profit.
Notes
1. This rather simple definition is not unusual: as Sargent (1913, 162) sees it,
drama is “any form of stage play.”
2. Letwin et al. (2008) perceives seven architectural components of dramas,
which are: (1) presentation of the leading character; (2) the “inciting inci-
dent” that throws the character off balance; (3) objective—the goal of the
character to correct the imbalance; (4) obstacle—that which prevents the
character from attaining his/her goal; (5) crisis: decision made by the char-
acter to overcome the obstacles; (6) climax: final showdown: the character
either gains or loses the objective; (7) resolution: the new situation/bal-
ance following the climax (2–3).
3. Note that a few scholars have interpreted the desolate, suffering natural
world in The Road as a critique of consumer culture.
4. As part of an interview in the documentary Behind the Screens: Hollywood
Goes Hypercommercial (2000).
5. Interview with movie reviews blog Jake’s Takes, 2013 (www.jakestakes.
com).
6. American farm subsidies continue to be a controversial practice: an article
in The Economist in 2015 cites the cost to US taxpayers to fund American
farmers is $20 billion, and that while there have been murmurings of
reducing or cutting these subsidies, no US lawmaker wants to be known
as the one who cut money to American farmers. http://www.economist.
com/news/united-states/21643191-crop-prices-fall-farmers-grow-subsi-
dies-instead-milking-taxpayers.
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CHAPTER 9
Conclusion
This book has dutifully attempted to provide a comparison across many

of Hollywood’s popular genres of the portrayal of different environ-
mental problems in order to draw out layers of influence. How are the
issues themselves depicted and through what perspectives? Are solutions
offered, and who—if anyone or anything—is held responsible? What role
does the portrayal of landscape play in the films’ messages about nature
and environmental issues? How do these trends relate to ongoing cul-
tural studies concerns? In the pages that follow, I briefly summarize the
findings of this research on several broad levels, while considering the
role between audience, text, and ideology.
First, it is true that genre does seem to exert some influence over the
portrayal of environmental problems. Generic forms with the most real-
istic portrayal of contemporary environmental issues like climate change
and pollution include drama as well as eco-thrillers: the films within these
categories with perhaps the clearest, unvarnished view of environmental
issues were The Bay (an eco-thriller that director Barry Levinson claimed
was 80% based on fact), The East (a drama that used actual news foot-
age of various environmental disasters), and Promised Land (a drama
that contained rather chilling scenes in a grade-school classroom of the
process and impact of hydraulic fracturing). The genre with the bleak-
est, if not particularly realistic, portrayal of environmental problems was
science fiction. Here, the dystopia and heavy reliance on CGI that char-
acterizes sci-fi laid the foundation for consistently desolate natural land-
scapes, including the limitless toxic expanse in Allegiant, the lifeless earth

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1_9
246 E.E. MOORE
forcing an interplanetary land grab in Interstellar, and the many color-

less, burned-out landscapes in Children of Men. Superhero films only
indirectly and briefly alluded to environmental problems and never rep-
resented them visually: “dirty” fossil fuels were a problem the characters
would only discuss, not something the films would show. Instead, the
focus on myriad details of the cityscape seemed to stand in for the envi-
ronmental progress that would be made in the future by the “heroes”
themselves. Somewhat similarly, spy thrillers did not depict environmen-
tal degradation directly, and also defined environmental problems as
either inherently fixable or as ersatz (and thus not requiring a solution):
Kingsman portrays climate change as something akin to a myth, while
Quantum of Solace seems to suggest that drought can be easily reme-
died with the help of a white male savior. Westerns reveal a bifurcated
perspective on environmental issues, and on resource scarcity specifically,
preferring to localize the issues of drought and degradation of the com-
mons while ignoring the larger environmental issues associated with the
cattle/beef industry. Family films overall created visually striking por-
trayals of environmental problems: The Lorax depicted a decimated and
bleak landscape around the Onceler’s house, while WALL-E provided
audiences with an apocalyptic vision of a battered, abused, and barren
earth.
Landscape plays a significant role, because it can either make envi-
ronmental problems seem urgent and thus worthy of our attention and
mitigation through the presentation of “desolate” landscapes, or it can
attempt to soothe the viewer by visually and rhetorically asking “What
problem?” Representing the latter would be the spy thriller Kingsman:
when arch-villain Valentine warns the world about climate change, the
backdrop for his words is a pristine, snow-laden landscape that visually
suggests to us that both he and his environmentalist claims stem from
insanity and megalomania, and not any true environmental emergency.
The Western Open Range offers audiences multiple scenes of a fertile
horn of plenty: its lush, abundant, green landscape suggests every cattle
rancher can have a piece of the commons without degrading the natural
environment. Regarding the former (the function of bleak landscapes), the
red toxic wasteland in the sci-fi Allegiant is meant to stir deep unease as
well as function as a critique of the status quo. More subtle, perhaps, is
the ubiquitous brackish grey–brown water in the eco-thriller The Bay : it is
almost impossible to envision a healthy ecosystem within the Chesapeake
waterway. Partnered with the ubiquitous American flag, the dirty and
9 CONCLUSION 247
uninviting waters in this film serve to condemn American factory farms

and neoliberal corporate practices that have devastated our environment.
Environmental Problems: Solutions, Responsibility,

and Utopian Visions
Just as with the presentation of environmental problems, some patterns

can be identified in the solutions provided by films in each genre. The
solutions they present to pressing environmental problems provide much
potential for ideologist grist, because a solution also implies a responsible
party: from whom should the solution come, and in what form? Eco-
thrillers, drama, science fiction, and family films came the closest to criti-
quing the capitalist, consumerist status quo that has led to the inclusion
of various environmental issues in movies. The Bay (eco-thriller) places
blame on industry and government, especially in relation to industrial
agricultural practices associated with large-scale poultry farming. It also
references doing the “American thing,” which it seems to vaguely iden-
tify as the practice of looking out for ourselves first before taking action
on the environment. The sci-fi Interstellar shows promise in critiquing
the environmentally harmful practices associated with a consumer soci-
ety when one character laments that “every day was Christmas.” Family
films WALL-E and The Lorax directly associate a degraded earth with
consumerism as well as corrupt, profit-driven corporations. The cen-
tral message of The Promised Land appears to be that fracking is directly
responsible for polluted and degraded waterways in the USA. Spy films
prefer to place blame on elite, ersatz “environmentalists” who either
exaggerate the problem (Kingsman mocks heightened concern over cli-
mate change) or singlehandedly create it (Quantum of Solace condemns
Mr. Greene’s water grabbing). And because the problems themselves are
either nonexistent or caused by one greedy individual, there either need
not be a solution at all, or one “bad” person simply needs to be neutral-
ized. Superhero films offer only technopic solutions to problems—that
is, the audience understands that there are environmental problems asso-
ciated with fossil fuels only because of the characters’ numerous discus-
sions over the need for technologically advanced, renewable energy that
will “save the world.” Western films circumscribe the potential solutions
to environmental problems closely, keeping them relegated to a single
homestead that needs water for cattle (3:10 to Yuma), or a single town
248 E.E. MOORE
that wants to prevent degradation of the commons through “free graz-

ing” (Open Range).
Although some genres (especially superhero and spy thrillers) appear
to studiously avoid identifying clearly identifiable causes to environmen-
tal problems, it is important to examine those films and genres that do
seem to place blame for environmental degradation. The two biggest cul-
prits for a wide range of problems, including deforestation, loss of bio-
diversity, climate change, drought, and pollution, are government and
large corporations. It is significant that no film provided an overt, direct
critique of individual practices that have led to so many of the environ-
mental woes we face. While an eco-thriller like The Bay intriguingly cites
“the American thing” as a cause for environmental disaster, it never quite
identifies what that “thing” is, exactly. Eating chicken and thus contrib-
uting to factory farm runoff? Not taking an interest in our environment,
or not taking public action on a problem? Because it is never made clear,
we are more likely to blame industrial factory farms and the govern-
ment that refuses to adequately regulate them instead of examining our
own behavior. Another eco-thriller, The Happening , studiously avoids
direct critique, leaving the trees’ homicidal impulses a bit of a mystery.
And while WALL-E initially provides the clearest and most direct link
between individual consumption and degradation of Earth (the planet is
trashed and we have done it), the sleight of hand it performs by mak-
ing the characters WALL-E and Eve represent Apple computers means
that the critique dies on the vine before coming to fruition: instead, we
are to blame big corporations like Buy N Large as encouraging middle-
America gluttony and the “wrong” type of consumption for the prob-
lems we face. And while Interstellar tantalizes by offering that not every
day should in fact be “Christmas” (that is, we all need to cut back on
consumption significantly and live more simply), the end of the film is
all about consumption on a different, as-yet-un-degraded planet. Thus,
no film directly advocated for significant change on an individual level,
but instead responsibility is shifted to government and corporations.
Although the beginning of many films may present a sobering view of
environmental disaster, the audience never receives the important clarion
call that might spur it to action: the simplistic blame on corporations,
government, or on no one at all means that we are not encouraged to
examine our own individual potential contribution to contemporary
environmental problems.
9 CONCLUSION 249
Instead, what most films provide is an unswervingly optimistic view

of the future. In superhero films, we need do nothing: wealthy indus-
trial capitalists like Tony Stark/Iron Man or Batman/Bruce Wayne will
provide clean, renewable energy that will save us from the destructive
impact of fossil fuels. Spy thrillers reassure us that one strong White man
will remedy the problems we face (if in fact they are defined as prob-
lems). In family films, which distinguish themselves by their exceed-
ingly utopian endings, the environment will be saved by Apple products
(WALL-E), one boy deposing an evil CEO (The Lorax), or … by doing
nothing because climate change turns out to be a positive development
(Ice Age: The Meltdown). Again, this is perhaps fairly predictable due to
the intended audience: families with young children.
Science fiction films, although heavily dystopic in nature, all end with
glimmers of hope: the pregnancy of a West African refugee signals envi-
ronmental renewal (Children of Men); a fresh new planet is discovered
that can be colonized with an all-white crew (Interstellar); or promise
for the future emerges with a new, enlightened generation (Allegiant).
Even the drama The Road (by far the bleakest portrayal of a dying envi-
ronment I saw in this filmic cohort) ends on a jarringly optimistic note:
amidst massive global starvation, a surprisingly healthy, non-cannibalis-
tic, white suburban nuclear family with a dog adopts the young boy. In
The East, the young white protagonist singlehandedly disrupts corrupt
corporate practices that are injuring the environment. The only film that
does not provide a kernel of optimism for its audience is The Bay, where
almost everyone dies and nothing is changed.
Weaving landscape into these often utopian endings, it is true that
depictions of nature in Hollywood, especially in the age of technologi-
cally advanced CGI, can encourage a multitude of reactions: a barren,
bleak, toxic wasteland may shock us, dismay us, perhaps spur us to
action. On the obverse, however, an impossibly pure, pristine landscape
can also soothe our fears and perhaps provide visual “proof” that per-
haps we need do nothing, because maybe the problem doesn’t actually
exist. Intriguingly, however, almost all of the films (The Bay as excep-
tion) analyzed in this book don’t let the unease over the blighted land-
scapes remain. Eventually, they give way to either metaphorically greener
pastures, or the hint of them: maybe we are able to leave Earth to find
another planet; human fertility and a healthy environment may rebound;
an effective solution comes in the form of a well-meaning individual,
and so on. Utopian notes in all the films analyzed in this book serve the
250 E.E. MOORE
purpose of genre noted by Wood (1975)—to introduce anxiety only to

end up soothing us into a stupor.
The function of this soothing is perhaps evident, but it is worth not-
ing: if we can see a light at the end of the tunnel, if somehow it looks as
though environmental disaster can be avoided (or is not somehow already
upon us), the message is loud and clear: we need do nothing. The films,
as they stand, encourage no action to be taken in regards to existing envi-
ronmental problems because they are either overly simplified or individu-
alized to the point where only one “bad guy” or corporation needs to be
neutralized. In a film like The Road, it is suggested that we cannot even
try, because the cause of the disaster is out of our control. With the family
films analyzed in this book, young audiences especially are then left with
a false impression that someone will inevitably fix the problem, so they
need not address it themselves. This consistent shifting of responsibility
is seen in its fullest expression when it comes to films that allude to envi-
ronmental disaster not of our making, including those where it is aliens,
not us, who threaten to destroy Earth: Oblivion, starring Tom Cruise,
portrays Earth as devastated from a war with aliens; Independence Day is
about an alien attack to exploit Earth’s natural resources; The Fifth Wave
centers on the human fight against aliens who want to take over Earth.
Not only might these types of films instantiate Kaplan’s pre-trauma cin-
ema (representing the fear of a future marked by significantly reduced
natural resources), but almost all of them deflect blame and responsibil-
ity away from existing structures and patterns. Ingram (2004) addresses
this directly, arguing that Hollywood film provides a bifurcated view of
nature—a romanticized idyll alongside the “justified” need to exploit
it—that satisfy the interrelated ideals of capitalism, consumerism, and
consumption. But if this is the function of genre—that is, if all films mar-
keted as any generic form do this—is it really a function of genre, or do
we attribute this pattern to something bigger?
Environmental Issues: Intersection with Ethnicity,

Nationality, and Gender
As this book has made clear in various chapters, ethnicity, nationality,
class, and gender are closely intertwined with depictions of environmental
degradation and the natural landscape. Some genres—especially spy thrill-
ers and superhero films—firmly source the solutions for environmental
9 CONCLUSION 251
problems in wealthy white capitalists and industrial entrepreneurs. This

is an unusual message, since it is capitalist expansion as part of the white
patriarchal corporate system that has led us to the brink of environmen-
tal disaster while many Indigenous groups fight to protect our remain-
ing natural resources. In This Changes Everything, Naomi Klein makes
this point well, noting that many Indigenous groups are at the forefront
of the struggle against all types of environmental degradation, including
extractive industries like fossil fuels and mining. As I wrote this conclu-
sion, Native American tribes were gaining traction in the fight against
the Dakota Access Pipeline even as President Trump took office in early
2017. Closer to my home in the Pacific Northwest, the Puyallup Tribe
of Washington State threw its significant weight and influence behind
the fight against a methanol storage facility in Tacoma, Washington,
that would have ensured the continuance of reliance on fossil fuels but
also endangered the local community. These two examples represent the
forefront of the most contemporary environmental struggle in the USA:
moving fossil fuels through the system, including to other countries like
China. Seen from this perspective, depicting those who are an active part
of the corporate patriarchal system as the primary drivers of environmen-
tal solutions seems anachronistic and uninformed at best.
Other genres, especially science fiction, opened the doors more to
both women and people of color as part of the solution to addressing
environmental problems. Although in Children of Men, the West African
refugee Kee seems almost a victim/benefactor of circumstance in becom-
ing unexpectedly pregnant, her condition does ensure the survival of the
human race: it is to her that we can look for environmental renewal as
well. In Interstellar and Allegiant, it is strong, intelligent women who
participate in addressing environmental problems. A similar trend is seen
in the drama The East, where a woman fights the corporate system to
address deforestation and pollution.
Genre and Media Ownership

The influence of genre when it comes to the portrayal of gender, eth-
nicity, sexuality, and environmental issues is intimately tied to, and
also subordinated by, the profit-driven nature of the culture indus-
try. McChesney (2008) identifies what he terms the “Hollywood
Juggernaut” as a way to underscore the importance of concentration
within the media industry when it comes to what the audience gets from
252 E.E. MOORE
the media. Although McChesney’s focus is the political economy of

journalism, his arguments clearly extend to Hollywood, and he noted as
much in an interview for the documentary Behind the Screens: Hollywood
Goes Hypercommercial in 2002:
There has never been a moment when Hollywood was not tied up with
commerce. From the very moment that Thomas Edison invented the tech-
nology, the movies have always been organized as a profit-making ven-
ture. So we shouldn’t be idealizing any sort of golden age of film with
some pure untainted art form. But having said that, nonetheless, in the last
thirty years there’s really been an institutional shift …
The “shift” that McChesney references is the drive for profit that super-
sedes any other concern—including creativity, artistry, or social cri-
tique—and that can be placed in the context of increasing concentration
within the media industry as a whole. He reminds us that we need not
romanticize Hollywood, as it has always contained some profit motive,
but now revenue is the overriding concern. And just why this matters he
also makes clear:
the question we have to ask is that just enough for a movie culture, is that
enough for the society? If we want to get more out of entertainment than
that, more out of films than that, then we’ve got to ask tough questions
about making room for other kinds of films, other kinds of movies, that
aren’t based on this hyper-commercial logic … This country is brimming
with talented people. The problem is we have a system doesn’t allow this
talent to really develop and fulfill what it is capable of doing. To the extent
we get great movies or original movies out of Hollywood, it is usually
because some very talented and creative people have marshaled all of their
capital together from all of their commercial successes to push something
through that the studios would never do otherwise.
From this perspective, a film like The Bay, which appears to be the most
critical of contemporary US consumer society and neoliberal corporate
practices, or Promised Land, which presents a stark perspective on the
environmental harms of fracking, had to be pushed through the studio
system by well-known Hollywood players like Barry Levinson and Matt
Damon in order to get made. And it is not only critical, environmen-
tally themed films that are difficult to fund, promote, and distribute
in Hollywood; instead, there are numerous parallels that can be made
9 CONCLUSION 253
with other types of movies. George Lucas went from studio to studio
to see who would pick up his film Red Tails, about the highly decorated
Tuskegee Airmen who flew in World War II, but Hollywood executives
told him that his film was too “risky”: they were worried that having an
all-black cast would not make them enough profit. Even with his impres-
sive filmic pedigree, Lucas lost much of what McChesney terms “promo-
tional muscle” to market the film so that it would be a success at the box
office.
Being Critical in Hollywood: The Polysemous Text

and the Audience
So why is it so difficult to get a complex, critical film about environmen-

tal problems made in Hollywood? The answer might be too obvious,
but it is a question worth in-depth consideration, because other sensi-
tive issues have been addressed by Hollywood, especially in the recent
past. For example, there has been some success with other topics such
as racial inequality, including Selma, The Help, 12 Years a Slave, and The
Butler. In addition, the Hollywood Academy awarded Moonlight—the
coming-of-age story of a gay black man—its top award as Best Picture
in 2017, breaking records for the amount of Oscars given to African
American actors and directors in 1 year.1 If racial tensions in the USA
can be addressed by Hollywood in a way that begins to encourage criti-
cal awareness, why not environmental issues? There appear to be a few
key reasons. The first, as suggested above, rests with the major studios
themselves: more concerned with profit than creative art, they search for
films that will make the most money. Turning the focus on individual
consumption patterns would prove a difficult maneuver, in part because
it might put the audience off what the industry refers to as the “buying
mood.” The point for many films, especially “family” ones, is to sell as
much merchandise as possible—The Lorax, for all its focus on the ridic-
ulous “thneeds,” still managed to garner more than 70 product tie-ins
to sell the same category of unnecessary goods to children once they
left the theatre. The Iron Man/Avengers/Captain America franchise is
focused on selling video games, toys, Halloween costumes, and more, in
addition to theatre tickets. The movie industry thus finds itself in a simi-
lar predicament as commercial journalism in the USA, which is that the
moment one starts identifying the harm of consumption on the natural
254 E.E. MOORE
environment, one starts to run the risk of losing key revenue sources.
Thus, one also must consider not only the studios themselves, but also
must turn attention to the audience, which is the viewing and consuming
public.
In order to understand why the movies analyzed in this book pre-
sent relatively facile and misleading depictions of environmental prob-
lems and their solutions, it is critical to return to the audience. Althusser
(2006) recognizes a key element of ideology to be that it is created and
functions as a connection between the audience for a given text and its
producer. The idea that ideology entails both subject and text helps to
understand why we get what we get in Hollywood film, especially when
it comes to environmental issues. In the introduction of this book I
made note of the need for what Douglas Kellner (1995) refers to as the
“dual optic,” where one recognizes both “ideological” and “utopian”
perspectives in media culture formations. Although it is possible to per-
ceive that I have condemned the vast majority of films analyzed in this
book as misleading, incomplete, and/or driven by corporate motives, to
judge the films as starkly one-dimensional leaves little room for analytical
complexity or nuanced comprehension. Towards this end, my attempt
to incorporate elements of manipulation and populist theories (and thus
avoid slavish adherence to either) is aided by a few recognitions about
the relationship between texts and audiences. First, although we know
that Hollywood films largely are shaped by the profit motive of a few
large conglomerates, they do not have to be defined as one-dimensional
texts with facile, inherently predictable messages. Instead, they remain
“polysemous texts” to at least some degree. I say “some degree” in line
with a key distinction that Roland Barthes made between readerly and
writerly texts. To take the latter first: a writerly text is that which allows
itself to be rewritten, one that is inherently plural: as Barthes notes, “the
more plural a text, the less it is written before I read it” (1974, 10). The
readerly (or “classic”) text, on the other hand, is a product that can be
consumed, but not written upon: “the (classic) text inscribes within its
system of signs the signature of its plenitude: the text becomes expressive
… endowed with an interiority whose supposed depth compensates for
the parsimony of its plural …” (217). Umberto Eco (1981) expanded
upon Barthes’ terms to identify “open” and “closed” texts: an open
text is “productively ambiguous”—it contains “maze-like structures”
that invite interpretation—while a closed text is an “inflexible project”
that attempts to elicit a planned, particular response from the audience.
9 CONCLUSION 255
Douglas Kellner’s (1995) work identifies Top Gun as a closed text in that
it contains “carefully constructed ideological machines that celebrate
and reproduce hegemonic political positions and attitudes” (80). Eco’s
description of a closed text is particularly illustrative as it relates to this
research on Hollywood movies because closed texts “aim at pulling the
reader along a predetermined path, carefully displaying their effects so as
to arouse pity or fear, excitement or depression, at the due place and at
the right moment” (8).2
Integral to the distinctions of different forms of texts is recognition of
a variable and heterogeneous audience with a complex and dynamic rela-
tionship with media formations. Ideology requires both text and subject,
and the distinction between different types of texts highlights this rela-
tionship in different ways. Barthes directs our attention to the fact that
while writerly texts invite the audience to draw multiple meanings from
them, thus actively engaging the spectator/reader, readerly texts do not
invite such engagement and attempt to limit the potential for polysemy.
In addition, closed texts, as Eco envisions them, presuppose (or perhaps
hope for) an “average reader.” But, of course, the idea of an “average”
reader of media who constitutes part of a homogenous mass audience
is an ersatz conception, as innumerable scholars have recognized. “I is
not an innocent subject, anterior to the text … this ‘I’ which approaches
the text is already a plurality of other texts” (Barthes 1974, 10). Eco
himself acknowledges this, writing that “the only one not to have been
‘inflexibly’ planned is the reader” (8). Thus, although Eco recognizes
the production of closed texts, there is no one typical addressee who will
interpret a text exactly as producers intend: “for the saga of Superman
and for the acta sanctorum of James Bond … it is clear that they can give
rise to the most unforeseeable interpretations, at least at the ideological
level” (8).
Recognizing that the Hollywood blockbusters considered in this book
are defined more accurately as “closed” or “readerly” texts is relevant
when it comes to genre, which tends to simultaneously streamline, sim-
plify, and flatten content to make it palatable for wide audiences. This
recognition also is useful when we attempt to elucidate how the cul-
ture industries attempt to position the audience in very specific ways.
Although this book conceives of commercial film as a closed type of text,
even closed texts can have plural meanings. Indeed, Kellner notes that
media culture produces “ambiguous texts,” and he also provides the rea-
sons for their ambiguity:
256 E.E. MOORE
While media culture largely advances the interests of the class that owns
and controls the large media conglomerates, its products are also involved
in social conflict between competing groups and articulate conflict-
ing positions, sometimes advancing forces of resistance and progress.
Consequently, media culture cannot be simply dismissed as a banal instru-
ment of the dominant ideology but must be differentially interpreted and
contextualized within the matrix of the competing social discourses and
forces which constitute it. (17)
Seeing commercial media products in this way does not mean that
they exert a predictable, calculable, or direct influence on the audience.
Instead, this perspective sees power as Grossberg (2009, 34) does: “as
complex and contradictory, as organized in multiple ways, along multi-
ple axes and dimensions.” By necessity, then, my study has not sought
facile explanations, as economics alone cannot directly and easily explain
Hollywood’s portrayal of environmental issues. With this, then, one can
turn to the audience.
It is well known in the industry that focus groups (often referred to as
“test audiences”) are used to vet most if not all major films. Babe: Pig in
the City (the follow-up to the resounding hit Babe) was condemned by
the test audience, which claimed the numerous scenes showing animals
almost being killed were not family friendly (Fleeman 1998). As a result
of audience reaction, Universal shortened some scenes and changed the
soundtrack, but not before word leaked out, damaging sales and result-
ing in Universal Studios’ executive Casey Silvers being fired. Little Shop
of Horrors (1986) was changed to have a happy ending (originally, both
leads were eaten by the carnivorous plant at the end, consistent with the
screenplay and earlier film). After the test screening, they both lived.
Vince Vaughn’s initial iteration of the movie The Break-Up fared horribly
with test audiences, who wanted the two characters with the acrimoni-
ous relationship to stay together. Although Vaughn wanted the ending
to be realistic, he altered the ending so the film would do well at the box
office.
As these few examples make clear, movie studios are keen to listen to
their audiences to find out what they would like. If one pictures an alter-
nate ending to any of the films included in the “Cradle to Crave” chapter,
for example, this desire becomes even clearer. Take Ice Age: The Meltdown
as one case: when the flood from “global warming” finally hit the animals,
let’s say they don’t escape the flood, but instead drown. As their bloated,
9 CONCLUSION 257
battered bodies are shown floating face down in the water, the credits roll.
Or consider if WALL-E had somehow ended with WALL-E and EVE
being decommissioned due to their progressive leanings, leaving behind
a barren Earth that would never recover enough to host life. Perhaps the
young Ted in The Lorax does not defeat the evil Mr. O’Hare but instead
is murdered by one of O’Hare’s henchmen, leaving his town in unhealthy
plastic paradise limbo. These endings would undoubtedly be altered after
test audiences revolted against such dark messages, which might stir unease
amongst young audience members, and likely evoke protest from parents.
I provide these examples to elucidate how audiences of all ages are
identified and positioned by the Hollywood culture industry as subjects.
Regardless of the impact of genre—which becomes more of a symptom
of the economic logic of the culture industry than the problem itself—
audience members are constantly positioned as consumers rather than
citizens. The consumer/citizen distinction is highly significant when it
comes to environmental issues, because we need to encourage young
people to “learn and think deeply about the effects of their actions
within the complex network of human and animal life on this planet,”
especially when it comes to considering their role in environmental
destruction (Giroux and Pollock 2010, 88). In a consumer world, the
audience gets to choose what it likes best, especially in the age of test
screenings as an indicator of popularity and profit. Citizens, conversely,
get called upon to change in order to benefit the whole. Consumers
get fairly simplistic approaches to environmental problems that do not
encourage deeper contemplation of the issues; citizens get complex
information that enables and encourages critical thought.
Thus, while one certainly can find Hollywood somewhat culpable for
simplistic stories about complex environmental issues—ones that typi-
cally deflect responsibility away from consumption and towards blaming
an evil individual or corporation—it misses the point often made about
ideology and hegemony: it requires agreement. Lull (2011, 34) reminds
us that “hegemony implies a willing agreement by people to be governed
by principles, rules, and laws they believe operate in their best interests,
even though in actual practice they may not.” Lull adds that what he
refers to as “dominant ideological streams” must be reproduced in inti-
mate and personal structures for any kind of dominance to be reinforced.
When films with a fairly realistic and depressing message do poorly at
the box office and then peter away unnoticed, is it because major stu-
dios refused to pick it up and promote it widely, or is it due to audi-
ence disinterest? Both? Take the films with the most realistic portrayals
258 E.E. MOORE
of contemporary environmental issues, The Bay, The East, and Promised

Land. Every one of these did poorly at the box office despite having
either a big-name director (Academy Award-winning Barry Levinson,
Gus van Sant) or a big-name actor (Matt Damon, Alexander Skarsgård).
The Bay, which depicted environmental degradation of Chesapeake Bay
clearly, earned the least amount of any film included in this book and
(relatedly) opened in the fewest movie theatres. Not only did it not have
much of what McChesney calls “promotional muscle,” but it also did
not seem to garner much audience interest.
Creating critical films, then, is not enough. In the current concen-
trated Hollywood landscape, to be successful, films must be picked up
by major studios that will promote them, and the audience must want to
pay money to see them. Thus, it is a mutually reinforcing system where
movies are created and consumed for escape and distraction, not for real-
ity checks. However, here, I would point out McChesney’s provocative
question: if commercial media tend censor themselves due to profit moti-
vations, how do audiences know what they’re missing? Thus, while genre
does indeed exert an influence in the portrayal of environmental issues,
it must be understood in a broader context of the culture industry as a
whole—one that includes the audience as a significant actor.
This is where genre enters the space between text and audience: “It
is this high degree of audience familiarity with the Hollywood generic
product, and thus the audience’s active but indirect participation in that
product’s creation, that provides the basis for whatever claims might be
made for the genre film as a form of cultural ritual and for its status as a
contemporary myth” (Schatz 1977, 304). Of course, this important rela-
tionship between text, audience, and ideology is recognized elsewhere
in critical scholarship (e.g., Althusser 2006, Barthes 1972, Hall 1981,
among many others). When conjoined with genre theory, this collusion
between the audience and producer of Hollywood film relates directly
to ideological considerations, in part because we (as audience) are con-
stantly invited to accept the flattened and constricted “terms and hori-
zons” of the stories (Wood 1975, 190).
At this juncture, we near the end with a return to E. Ann Kaplan’s
notion of Pretraumatic Stress when it comes to cinema that engages with
environmental dystopia. Pretrauma cinema, Kaplan contends, serves to
both engage with and heighten existing audience fears (“eco-anxieties”)
about impending environmental disaster. Engagement with individu-
als’ growing alarm over the environment may serve corporate causes by
9 CONCLUSION 259
stimulating fear, as Kaplan suggests. While I agree with the idea that envi-
ronmentally dystopian cinema engages with audiences’ concerns, I believe
that the utopian endings in almost all of the films I analyzed in this book
(The Bay being the sole exception) are not meant to rouse additional con-
cern, but instead to provide a salve for it. Instead of pretrauma cinema
serving corporate causes through inculcating fear, then, I would argue that
it serves corporate causes by soothing the audience or distracting them.
Studios can claim they have raised audience consciousness about the
issues, and the artists and industrialists involved in production may actu-
ally care about the issues and think them worthwhile to bring to public
attention on the screen. However, the end result still achieves a sleight of
hand where the films either bring environmental issues/sustainability back
to consumption, make it appear that someone (or some technology) will
take care of the problem, or present the problem as having resolved itself
(as a “non-problem” to begin with). This is what I mean when I write
that I believe these texts are polysemous: they contain multiple, often con-
tradictory, meanings within them about nature and environmental prob-
lems. Paradoxically, both the encouragement of fear and the soothing of
it lead to the same practice: more of the status quo. News media corpora-
tions know that stimulating fear is a way to make profit: people read more
news and consume more to keep themselves safe (or to create the feeling
of safety). In this case, however, if the audience is soothed, then this leads
to consumption as an ongoing practice, such as “buying green” and other
behavior that continues to devastate the environment.
In this book, when I have referenced the need for critical thought, it
is because I believe that, even if a text purports to be nothing more than
mindless entertainment, when it incorporates themes of environmental
destruction, the audience is paying attention. Perhaps we have tuned
into one of the many documentaries that now exist about the changes
humans have wrought on our planet; perhaps we have read news or sci-
entific reports about what has happened and what is to come. In our
current age it is almost impossible not to encounter some negative news
about the environment: in the past 10 years that I have guiltily enjoyed
Facebook, despair about the environment has increased visibly: friends
and colleagues will now post about the state of emergency in our oceans,
or certain environmental disasters linked to climate change. This may be
the “echo chamber” of social media, but it also may reveal that people
are becoming more aware of the urgent environmental problems we face.
In this sense, Kaplan is right: pretrauma cinema engages with us on a
260 E.E. MOORE
deeper, psychological level as we try to make sense of real-world changes

to our environment. Perhaps we should be more lenient with Hollywood
films, for while they may have political agendas, they rarely purport to
be anything more than an enjoyable two hours of escapism. But, I agree
with Tim Clark (2015) and others that we have reached a point of eco-
logical crisis with which we must engage directly as scholars. Grossberg
(2009, 31) speaks to the “interventionist” potential of cultural studies,
arguing that “it attempts to use the best intellectual resources available
to gain a better understanding of the relations of power in a particular
context,” with the idea being that this understanding will lead to pro-
ductive interrogations of power structures that may lead to change.
An article by Raymond De Young (2013) brings our current way
of thinking into full focus in a way never addressed in any of the many
Hollywood films on the environment. I reproduce some of his com-
ments here, because it seems fitting that, if Hollywood omits it, at least
the logic can be stated here:
However vast were the resources used to create industrial civilization,

they were never limitless. Biophysical constraints, always a part of human
existence, could be ignored for these past few centuries, a one-time era of
resource abundance. This is no longer possible. Many of the challenges
we face can be traced to our centuries long consumption and construction
binge and, soon, to its abrupt culmination. Climate disruption, a conse-
quence of our rapacious use of fossil fuels, is intensifying. The amount of
available net energy (the energy available to society after deducting energy
used during extraction and production) was massive at first, misleading us
with the false prospect of endless growth. False because, easily unnoticed,
net energy has been on a relentless decline. We are approaching the day
when net energy becomes insufficient for maintaining, let alone building
out, modern society. Technological innovation, to which we attribute much
of our success, cannot create energy or natural resources, and our indus-
trial prowess cannot negate the laws of thermodynamics. Thus, while our
ingenuity can slow the approach of a resource-limited future, it will not fun-
damentally change that outcome. Soon we will leave behind the infantile
techno-fantasy of a world without limits giving us a life without want. (237)
If Hollywood films simultaneously heighten concern while sooth-

ing legitimate fears about environmental destruction and our role in it,
then they can be said to function as a commercial “green machine,” one
where myriad environmental issues are superficially addressed, but only
9 CONCLUSION 261
through the lens of profit and consumption—what Ingram (2004) iden-

tifies as mainstream environmentalism. The profit motive that under-
girds Hollywood blockbusters subordinates the effect of genre: although
important differences can be discerned between generic forms when it
comes to the portrayal of environmental issues, many of these are sub-
sumed, and/or intimately connected to, the larger drive for profit that
is the hallmark of a concentrated culture industry. In this sense, under-
standing how environmental issues are portrayed helps to elucidate the
economic undergirding of Hollywood even more clearly because of the
significant contortions the industry undergoes in the making of “envi-
ronmental” films that almost invariably contain two messages: the first,
usually at the start of the film, is that the environment is in serious trou-
ble (“we should take action!”), but the second message, which com-
pletely undercuts the first, is a reassurance that the environment will be
fine, someone else will fix it neatly and easily, or we should “buy green.”
The one message the audience could receive to help the environment
is to consume less, not more, but here is the one message it does not
receive. In this sense, traditional cultural studies concerns (if anything
about contemporary cultural studies can be said to be “traditional”) are
intimately intertwined with environmental concern because of the profit
motive that undergirds both representations of ethnicity, sexuality, gen-
der, and class. That is, evaluating particular portrayals of the environment
by the culture industry leads to identification of the same power struc-
tures that have a hand in producing media texts that foster myriad forms
of social and cultural inequality as well. The culture industry is concen-
trated and commercial—this is no surprise. But the impact of both the
concentration and the commercialism resounds on myriad levels and
impedes the presentation of environmental issues through a critical lens.
Notes
1. The Help included the stories of two African American maids in the
American South—played by Octavia Spencer and Viola Davis—but was
also criticized because their stories were told through the lens of a white
woman (Emma Stone).
2. Eco himself changed his mind a few times about the nature of closed texts
and to what degree they can be written upon, or understood.
262 E.E. MOORE
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Index
0-9 Hollywood; political economy, 190

3:10 to Yuma, 24, 174 “ideological conservatism”, 191
analysis, 177 individualism, 189
box office, 175 militarism, 189
drought, 158, 164, 177 myth, 190
homosexuality, 179 superhero movies; “origin story”,
landscape, 175, 178 193
masculinity, 178, 179; resource violence, 190
scarcity, 180 Agricultural runoff, 114
Native Americans, 179; “Other”, Allegiant, 24, 121, 134, 245
179 analysis, 137, 139
resource scarcity, 180 box office, 135
summary, 175, 176 “desolate spaces”, 137
environment; dystopia, 138; land-
scape, 137
A environmental devastation, 137
Academic work, 20 film’s portrayal of gender and eth-
advocacy, 20 nicity, 139
environment, 20 landscape, 137, 138
Action blockbuster, 188 radiation, 138
corpus, 189, 190 summary, 135, 136
“fantasies of empowerment”, 189 The Avengers, 24, 197
genre, 189 Arc Reactor, 198
hegemonic masculinity, 190, 191 box office, 197
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017 267

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56411-1
268 Index
summary, 197, 198 box office, 127

sustainability; Arc Reactor, 199 dystopia, 130
Tesseract, 199, 203 ecofeminism, 131; Mill, John Stuart,
131
environment, 130–132
B James, P.D., 127, 134
Batman: The Dark Knight Rises, 24 population decline, 132
The Bay, 97, 107, 245, 246 summary, 41, 128
American flag, 107, 108, 110, 116, utopia, 130, 132
246 world politics in relation to, 132;
analysis, 111, 112 Syrian refugees, 132
Barry Levinson, 107 Climate change, 67, 86
box office, 107 Consumer culture, 52
consumption, 114 Cultural studies, 8–11, 19
contamination, 116 capitalism, 10
critical perspective, 111 consumption, 9, 19
“eco-horror”, 97 context, 11
Gaia hypothesis, 116 ecological focus, 8
isopods, 107, 116 ecological issues, 9
landscape; “Main Street of Middle environment, 11
America”, 115 environmental concern, 9, 10, 19
Poisoned Waters, 107, 112 Culture industry, 60
pollution; agricultural runoff, 113 consumption, 60
pollution levels in Chesapeake Bay,
108; “chicken run off”, 109
realism, 111 D
summary, 107–109 The Dark Knight Rises, 200
“violation of nature”, 116 Batman character, 200
water, 107–109, 113; chemical pol- box office, 200
lution, 111 summary, 200, 201
water pollution, 109 sustainability, 201; fusion reactor,
“Big Loud Action Movie”, 189 201, 202
The “Bondian”, 69 trilogy, 200
Diagnostic critique, 4, 6, 7, 9
context, 4, 6
C environment, 4
Children, 57 environmental context, 4
commodified subjects, 57; environ- myth, 4
ment, 57 Digital Dumping Ground, 50
Children of Men, 24, 127, 129, 246 Disney, 56
analysis, 129, 131–133 consumption, 56
anti-immigration theme, 133, 134 Drama, 25, 213
Index 269
capitalism, 240 deforestation, 2

environmentalism, 241 ethnicity, 251
environmental issues, 25 gender, 250, 251
fluid delimitations, 213 genre, 250
Greek texts, 213 Keystone XL pipeline, 2
mass media, 214 media attention, 3; culture industry,
performance, 213 3; Hollywood, 3
realism, 25 pollution, 2
“Dual optic”, 254 protest, 2
Environmental Media Association, 41
Environmental Protection Agency, 104
E
The East, 25, 215, 225, 245
analysis, 228 F
box office, 225 Family film, 33
Christianity, 232 animation, 34, 35
class critique, 232 cartoons, 33
“classical model” of business, 230 children, 37, 39; consumerist identi-
corporate corruption, 230 ties, 37; lucrative market, 39
corporate greed, 229 consumer culture, 35; corporate
Eco-Terrorism, 226, 231 synergy, 38; corporate tie-
mistrust by citizens worldwide of ins, 38; Finding Dory, 38;
corporate leaders, 230 Kinderculture, 37; toyetic, 38
summary, 225–227 culture industry, 34
Ecocriticism, 9 Donald Duck, 36; consumption, 36
Ecological imperialism, 50 ecological issues, 35
Eco-thrillers, 98, 100 The Emperor’s New Groove, 36
ecological dystopia, 99 environmental issues, 36
“elasticity”, 98 Finding Dory, 33
“environmental bete noire”, 100 genre, 35
environmental consciousness, 99 genre hybridity, 33
environmental destruction, 100 Hollywood market share, 33
pastiche, 98 key demographic, 34
pollution; disequilibrium, 117 “kidult” media, 34
print and cinematic form, 99 political economy, 36; consumer
revenge fantasies, 117 culture, 37; hypercommercial-
Environment, 60 ism, 37
ethnicity, 250 symptomatic reading, 39
nationality, 250 universalism, 33
Environmental issues Fast and Furious, 4
class, 250 car culture, 4
climate change, 2 consumption, 4
270 Index
environmental degradation, 4 pretrauma cinema, 17; environmen-

Finding Dory, 22, 32 tal degradation, 17
Fracking, 235 science fiction, 4
Frozen, 22, 23, 31, 58, 59 social function, 206
climate change, 59, 60 spy thrillers, 4
environmental concern, 23 subgenre, 18
problematic, 60 superhero movies, 4
the thriller, 97
Westerns, 4
G
Gaia theory, 116, 117
Genre, 4, 7, 11, 14–17, 20, 22, 97, H
98, 188, 213, 245 The Happening, 97, 248
anxieties, 20 analysis, 103–105
capitalism, 206 avoidance of any meaningful critique
critical theoretical lens, 16 of consumerism, 106
cross-comparison, 14 box office, 100
culture industry, 16 climate change, 101
drama, 4, 213, 214; action deforestation, 105
sequences within, 215; ideolog- “eco-thriller”, 97
ical function of, 242; mimetic environmental degradation, 104;
action, 214; popularity, 214; overconsumption, 105
realism, 215 environmental harm, 105
ecological issues, 16 love story, 106
ecological perspective, 14 nuclear power plants, 104
eco-thrillers, 4 product placement, 106
environment, 14–17; consumption, Shyamalan, 101, 104–106
16 summary, 101–103
family films, 4 Hollywood, 19, 20, 25, 35, 56, 151
fluidity, 21 audience, 257; positioned as con-
genre criticism, 206 sumers, 257
genre hybridity, 17 bifurcated view of nature, 250
genre imperialism, 18 "buying mood", 151
hybridity, 21 commodified environmentalism, 20
influence over the portrayal of envi- consumer culture, 20, 35, 56; envi-
ronmental problems, 245 ronment, 56
mass audience, 16, 206 consumption, 20; ecological degra-
media monopolies, 20 dation, 19
myth, 15; Wright, Judith, 15 economic logic, 35
mythic function, 15 environment, 25
environmentalism, 20
Index 271
environmental issues; polysemy, 254 technopia, 148

genre; soothing, 250 Tesseract, 143
product placement, 37 “traumatic landscapes”, 147
Hypercommercialism, 6, 37, 40, 52 Iron Man 2, 24
consumer culture, 6, 37, 40 “Arc Reactor”, 195, 196
culture, 6 Japanese samurai, 208
focus on children, 37 “moral awakening”, 195
summary, 195, 196
sustainability; Arc Reactor, 203
I torii gate, 208
Ice Age: The Meltdown, 22, 31, 41, 42
analysis, 42, 44
box office, 41 K
global warming, 42, 43 Kingsman: The Secret Service, 23
Identity, 57 analysis, 83–89
children, 57; consumer, 57 Arab “Others”, 84
Individualization, 53, 55 box office, 81
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate climate change, 82–85, 88; conserv-
Change, 44, 85 ative perspective, 89; ethnicity,
Interstellar, 24, 140, 247 83, 84; landscape, 88; Obama,
analysis, 144 Barack, 86
box office, 140 conservative, 88
consumption, 144, 146, 248 conservative politics, 83, 88
critique of, 147 ethnicity, 83; Richmond Valentine,
deGrasse Tyson, Neil, 148 87
desertification, 145 facile portrayals of people of color,
Dust Bowl, 141 84
environmental attitudes, 148 first-person shooter game, 90
environmental degradation, 141, James Bond, 89
144 landscape, 88
food scarcity, 145 media ownership, 83, 88
Hamilton watch, 143, 144 millennials, 67, 90
human population, 141 Obama, Barack, 82, 84, 85;
landscape, 149 “Other”, 86
Limits to Growth, 145 parody, 89, 90
NASA, 142, 143 politically conservative, 81
The Onion, 148 Reagan’s Star Wars program, 83
product placement, 144 Richmond Valentine, 82; climate
racial representations, 150 change, 84; “Othered” depic-
soil degradation, 145 tion, 87
summary, 141 spy thriller genre, 82
272 Index
summary, 82 analysis, 169

box office, 166
cattle ranching, 158, 164, 170; envi-
L ronmental destruction, 171;
Landscape, 4, 11–13, 53, 76, 103, impact on biodiversity, 172
104, 115, 245, 246, 249, 250 environmental commons, 171
bucolic, 104 free-range ranching, 172
critical cultural studies, 12 landscape, 169–171, 173; masculin-
cultural studies, 13 ity, 173
culture, 12 Native Americans, 169, 173
ecological concern, 13 problematic; landscape, 170
environmental degradation, 13 summary, 166–168
environmental issues, 12 white masculinity, 173
genres, 13 Overconsumption, 52
ideology, 13
Meinig, D.W., 13
setting, 13 P
Limits to Growth, 145 Political economy, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 20
The Lone Ranger, 24, 182 context, 4
masculinity, 182 environment, 4
mining, 182 environmental context, 20
Native Americans, 182 media concentration, 5, 6
The Lorax, 31, 51, 246, 247 Polysemous texts, 18
consumption; environmental culture industries, 18
destruction, 52 dual optic, 18
environmental degradation, 53 genre, 19
environmental harm, 31 passive audience, 19
Environmental Media Association, popular culture, 18, 19
51 power, 19
individualization, 55 Polysemy, 20
overconsumption, 31 resistance, 20
problematic, 54; environment, 54 Popular culture, 5
product placement, 31, 53 conglomerates, 5
Dr. Seuss, 31 drive for profit, 5
Hollywood, 5
product placement, 5
M Promised Land, 25, 215, 245
Mainstream environmentalism, 20 analysis, 235
capitalist, 20 box office, 233
corporate ownership of farmland,
239
O David-versus-Goliath struggle, 238
Open Range, 22, 24, 166, 246 environmentalist, 235
Index 273
fracking, 233, 234, 240; Radical environmentalist, 20

Pennsylvania Supreme Court, capitalist system, 20
240 Realism, 175
Image Nation Abu Dhabi, 239 The Road, 25, 215
landscape; agrarian landscape, 236; analysis, 219
pastoral scenes, 234 apocalypse, 220, 224
pastoral landscape, 237, 238 box office, 215
summary, 233 consumption, 220, 221; cannibal-
water, 234 ism, 222, 223
“desolate landscape”, 220
dystopia, 219
Q “green memories”, 219
Quantum of Solace, 22, 23, 67, 70 landscape, 216, 219; apocalypse,
analysis, 74 219; pastoral landscapes, 219
arid landscapes, 76 natural disaster, 223
Bond, 71 summary, 216, 217
box office, 71
Casino Royale, 71
Dakota Access Pipeline, 77; oil, 77; S
water, 77, 78 Science fiction, 24, 121, 123–125,
drought, 72, 73, 76 127, 134
environment, 80; commodity, 80; as “action blockbuster”, 122
postcolonial fantasies, 81 computer-generated imagery, 122
environmentalism, 79, 80 consumption, 151
environmentalists, 79 critical elements, 124
environmental justice, 78 cultural parable, 124
environmental technology, 80 dystopia, 24, 123, 129; social com-
global water justice, 77 mentary, 124
nonwhite characters, 79; “imperialist dystopian perspectives, 122; envi-
nostalgia”, 79; “racist colonial- ronment, 122
ism”, 79; “white savior”, 79 dystopian/utopian dyad, 123
oil, 75 ecocriticism, 125
politics of water, 76 “eco-SF”, 125
summary, 71–73 environment, 121, 122, 125, 129;
water, 74, 75, 77 “ecocatastrophe”, 123; “eco-
water grabbing, 76, 77 catastrophe stories”, 125
water scarcity, 76 environmental degradation; dysto-
pia, 124
Frankenstein, 122
R gender, 150
Radical environmentalism, 55 genre, 121–125
274 Index
Hollywood, 127 genre, 187, 188

landscape, 121, 130 Hollywood blockbusters, 187
nostalgia, 126 landscape, 207
origins, 122 mainstream environmentalism, 204
social critique, 124 morality, 193
social parable, 126 nature, destroyed, 208
summary, 129 political economy, 187
technophilia, 123; novum, 123 profitability, 192
“visual SF”, 121 sustainability, 187, 188, 202; capi-
Spy thriller, 67 talism, 205; clean energy, 203;
Bond; militaristic and nationalistic cost, 203; dangerous, 203; risk,
ideology, 74 203; technopia, 202, 204
Bond films, 69 technopia; New Green Economy,
British spy fiction, 67 204
capitalism, 68 war, 193
climate change, 68, 70 Superhero movies, 24
conservatism, 68 environmental problems, 25
consumption, 68 technopia, 24
diagnostic critique, 70 Tesseract, 25
drought, 70 Symptomatic reading, 32, 39, 40, 55
ecological issues, 68 environment, 55
landscape, 91 environmental issues, 32
masculinity, 68 problematic, 39, 40, 44; environ-
“narratives of intrigue”, 67 ment, 40; global warming, 44
narrative structures, 69
nationalism, 68
national security, 67 T
political identity, 68 Technopia, 202, 204
spy narratives, 67, 68; “pastiche”, Thriller, 23
69 “chameleon” nature, 98
subversion, 68 eco-thriller, 23; “environmental”
the thriller, 70 disaster films, 23
White Male Saviors, 90 horror, 70
Superhero films, 191 sexual intrigue, 98
box office, 194 villains, 23
comic books, 192
corpus, 191
description of environmental prob- W
lems, 206 WALL-E, 45–47
environmental problems; arch- analysis, 47, 48
villains, 206 Apple, 48
Index 275
box office, 45 generic “flexibility”, 159

consumption, 49 genre, 158–160, 164, 165, 183
Dust Bowl, 48 landscape, 159, 164; frontier, 161,
environment, 48; silences, 48 162; rugged individualism,
landscape, 48 165; Western frontier, 159
overconsumption, 48, 49 Leatherstocking Tales, 159
Pixar, 48 The Lone Ranger, 158
problematic, 48; environment, 49 longevity, 160
product placement, 49; Apple, 49, masculinity, 174; cattle ranching,
50 174
summary, 46 Mexican-Americans, 172
Water, 113, 158, 164, 166, 171, 175, “mining Westerns”, 182
177–181 myth, 164–166
Westerns, 24 myth of the frontier, 174
American self-definition, 165 Native Americans, 163; “dual
binary battles, 162 vision”, 163
capitalism, 181 resources, 24
cattle ranching; water pollution, 171 resource scarcity, 158, 159
chronology, 160 the romance novel, 159
“classic iconography”, 161 “uses and abuses of landscape”, 165
cowboy, 174 “Western ecological” movie, 159
cultural boundaries, 165 White savior, 79
Django Unchained, 163 environment, 79
drought, 178
“environmental battles”, 164
ethnicity, 163
frontier, 161; Native Americans, 163
gender, 163

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Landscape and the

Palgrave Studies in Media and Environmental Communication

More information about this series at

Palgrave Studies in Media and Environmental Communication

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017938300

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017

Cover credit: Jason Persoff Stormdoctor

Printed on acid-free paper

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature

1 Introduction: Greening the Machine—Hollywood Takes

2 Cradle to Crave: The Commodification of the Environment

3 The Spy Who Saved Me: Sustainability, Identity, and

4 Imagining Disaster in the Eco-Thriller 97

5 Stranger than (Science) Fiction: Environmental Dystopia

6 The Lone Danger: Resource Scarcity in the Western 157

7 “Super” Green: Sustainable Superheroes Tackle the

8 The World Slowly Dies for Profit: The Portrayal of

Introduction: Greening the Machine—

In 2008, the Hollywood blockbuster WALL-E made a significant contri-

Shelby Forthright, CEO of Buy N Large in WALL-E

Although its initial portrayal of global ecological degradation was some-

© The Author(s) 2017 1

the significance of evaluating filmic portrayals of environmental degra-

mainstream media and in ongoing public discussions among concerned

Grounded in a critical perspective, this book conducts a multilay-

Diagnostic Critique as Interpretive Framework

One belief central to this book is that we cannot understand com-

The drive for profit in a concentrated media marketplace dominates

The ultimate consequences of this concentrated media cartel is best

It’s not Easy Being Green: Making Connections Between

Outside the bounds of self-preservation, cultural studies needs to

cultural studies’ recognition of the centrality of consuming practices to

Finally, identifying ecological issues as an important focal point within

and articulation between ecology and cultural studies would encourage

Here, Grossberg (2009) calls our attention to the significance of “radi-

Cultural Studies and the Environment: Landscape as a

Pierce Lewis, Axioms for Reading the Landscape

The theoretical conception of landscape is crucial to my critical cul-

The Green Machine: Genre’s Role in Portraying the

• a blueprint (formula) that influences media production;

From here, Grant’s broad definition of genre as “a system of conventions

The central reason why genre produces such conventional meaning

environment into just another product in the monopolized media land-

Polysemous Texts, Audiences, and Culture Industries

both “utopian” and “ideological” perspectives in media culture (in 1995,

Resisting Resistance: The Special Case

practices, and consumer culture in general, still it continues to provide

the ideologies of the culture industry don’t function on us as if we are

of specific environmental problems and issues. While some scholars (see

causes of these issues as well as their potential solutions. Disney’s Frozen

Chapter 5 assesses three science fiction films that provide a dystopian

Goldman, Michael. 2000. On Drama: Boundaries of Genre, Borders of Self. Ann

McChesney, Robert Waterman. 2008. The Political Economy of Media: Enduring

Steinberg, Shirley R. 2011. Kinderculture The Corporate Construction of

Cradle to Crave: The Commodification

This chapter is derived, in part, from an article by Ellen Moore published in

© The Author(s) 2017 31

These films were chosen from an embarrassment of riches when it

“Children’s” Film, “Family” Film, or Animation?

regardless of audience.” The films chosen for analysis in this chapter

animation is largely the history of American animation,” thus making US

Hollywood, the New Consumer Culture, and the Child

to political economy and recent changes in children’s consumer culture

Diagnostic Critique as Interpretive Framework

Cultural Studies and the Environment: Landscape as a

The Green Machine: Genre’s Role in Portraying the

Polysemous Texts, Audiences, and Culture Industries

Cradle to Crave: The Commodification

Hollywood, the New Consumer Culture, and the Child

Theoretical and Interpretive Frameworks

Representations of Environmental Problems

Ideological Implications of the Symptomatic Reading

Frozen in Time: Disney’s Global Blockbuster

How Environmental Issues are Portrayed in the Spy

Quantum of Solace Summary

Quantum of Solace Analysis: A Fight for the Right Resource

Climate Change as a Myth and the Role of the Upper-

Hart: limate change is a threat that affects us all … and

Hart: hat carbon emissions are a red herring, and that

Valentine: You like spy movies, Mr. De Veer?

White Male Saviors in Ecological

Imagining Disaster in the Eco-Thriller