Christmas On Mars mostly plays out on a
dirty, disintegrating space station that takes its cues from Alien's bleak vision of space
travel, but the symbols grafted all over the film are unique to the band.
Anyone who's seen the Lips live (or listened to "Psychiatric Explorations Of The
Fetus With Needles") will be prepared for the onslaught of bloody fetuses and
babies all over the place. Nor is Coyne's emphasis on the universe as a series
of vaginal orifices a shock; the Lips have always cheerfully shown naked chicks
and disturbing surgery with equal abandon. The band's members stick to their accustomed
personas: Coyne is the enigmatic, miraculous alien who arrives in a glowing
ball, Steven Drozd is the deceptively soft-spoken crewmember whose efforts hold
the base together (much as Drozd's musical gifts power Coyne's lyrics), and
bassist Michael Ivins sticks to his customary stoicism.
The main theme, as always,
is confronting death and godlessness in a meaningless universe. "Cosmic
reality, it's a real motherfucker," Fred Armisen announces. Crippled by low
oxygen and their proximity to space's emptiness, the crew waits for a savior
(or Santa Claus) that may never arrive. The screenplay plays like Coyne's
lyrics, announcing its vast themes in plainspoken, disarming ways. Comic relief
mostly comes from the incredibly intense crew commander, a man prone to lines
like "Take a fuckin' shit on my dick." He represents the Lips' Oklahoma-based
background: profane, racist, and suspicious of costume frippery, but ultimately
good at heart. As a movie, Christmas On Mars is mildly but sneakily
engaging; as a synthesis of the band's disparate parts, though, it's gold.
Key features: Band-member interviews and a making-of.
The deluxe edition also comes with the trippy instrumental soundtrack.
