The Doomsday Clock (1987)

The Doomsday Clock from Susan Young on Vimeo.

Commissioned by the United Nations and directed and animated by Royal College of Arts graduates Susan Young and Jonathan Hodgson, The Doomsday Clock (1987) is a plea for multilateral nuclear disarmament which, much like David Hopkins' Sweet Disaster series, offers up a chilling vision of a world hovering upon the very brink of nuclear chaos.  Unlike Sweet Disaster, which was unflinchingly bleak in its outlook, The Doomsday Clock bows out upon a highly optimistic note (making it something of a rarity in its field), suggesting that even in the darkest hour, peace and understanding are still reachable - which is not to say that it doesn't take us to some seriously grisly territory along the way.

The title and central metaphor of the film are a reference to the symbolic "Doomsday Clock" conceived by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, which made its first appearance in 1947 and has been maintained ever since as an indicator for how close the world currently stands to all-out global catastrophe (for much of its history, the Doomsday Clock primarily reflected the threat of nuclear war, but in more recent years the issue of climate change has also been a major influence).  The closer the clock reads to midnight, the more dire the outlook for humankind.  As of January 2016, the Doomsday Clock stands at three minutes to midnight (having been moved from five minutes in 2015), which also happens to be the same position it stood at in 1987 when The Doomsday Clock debuted.

The opening sequence of Hodgson and Young's film depicts a world that is vibrant with production, industry and activity, as an assortment of labourers, from farm workers to coal miners to home computer manufacturers, are seen going about their business to the rhythms of a pulsating percussion-based soundtrack.  The initial images show a vast golden field with a flock of birds flying through blue sky overhead - a fleeting glimpse of warmth, colour and natural splendour that is largely absent from the rest of the film, although the entire opening sequence has a tremendous sense of beauty and efficiency, with even the darkness and confinement of the underground coal mines being richly detailed and bursting with life.  The great irony of this sequence is that this intricate network of energy and life is threatened by the very forces that its combined toiling is so skillfully supporting, for things take a distinctly sinister turn when it is revealed that the final product of all this back-breaking labour is a warehouse stocked with nuclear missiles.

Despite the vibrancy of its opening sequence, much of the film takes place against a drab, washed-out urban backdrop that is largely devoid of vitality and colour, as two leaders from opposing nations meet in an effort to negotiate an agreement that could potentially avert a nuclear war, and the fate of the entire world hangs in the balance.  Like Dreamless Sleep,  The Doomsday Clock contains no dialogue and, past the opening sequence, very little background music, creating instead an ambiance of minimal noise against an uneasy and deadening silence - the various footsteps shuffling, doors creaking and jump ropes brushing against pavements convey the stiffness of a world that is not oblivious to the impending threat (manifested here in the form of large spectral skeletons which linger above their every movement) but feels powerless to do anything other than continue feebly on.  Children are seen convening at a playground, and yet there is little sense of any playful activity - if anything, they seem to be locked together in fearful anticipation of the omnipresent horrors lurking above them.  Comfort and reassurance have little resonance here - during the channel-surfing sequence the words of the newsreader are muted and comprehensible, so that the voice of authority becomes distant, alien and meaningless, lost amid a succession of violent and chaotic images in which soldiers open fire upon enemy troops and cartoon characters beat one another senselessly to blandly upbeat music.

It is during the sequence depicting the televised discussion between the two opposing political figures that we hear the echoes of the percussion in the film's opening sequence, as the throbbing rhythms and energies of life are transformed into the beats of terror and urgency, with the ticks of the titular clock counting their way toward total annihilation, further indicated by the ominous red button that each of the two leaders wields at his fingertips.  As the conflict between these leaders intensifies, the two of them don masks and their faces morph into increasingly monstrous and grotesque contortions, their various bestial grunts, squawks and growls signifying their detachment from humanity and their descent into the raw, primal aggression that keeps them at odds.  This calls to mind the terrifying central figure of Babylon, whose monstrous snarls and looming presence personified the perils of the nuclear threat - here, that same sense of monstrosity is shown to grow directly out of human intolerance, discordance and misunderstanding, although The Doomsday Clock urges the viewer not to lose sight of the basic humanity that lurks behind it.   Like Babylon, The Doomsday Clock also uses darkness to indicate a world that is deeply entrenched within the threat of Armageddon, which corresponds with the clock ticking ever closer to its metaphorical midnight.  As the dueling world leaders reach the peak of their conflict, to the extent that they are literally spitting fireballs at one another, and each of them slams a hand down upon their respective red button, we see a shot of the entire Earth plunging into total darkness.  Light disappears from the world, threatening to take all hope and life along with it.

The film could very easily have faded out here, upon its stark images of an apocalyptic wasteland comprised of skeletons, dust and rubble, but The Doomsday Clock has one final message about the power and importance of human unity, and it is through this that it is able to reach its surprisingly optimistic and, in many respects, all the more robust and emotionally resonant conclusion.  In the literal and figurative darkest hour, it is the ordinary citizens, still plagued by the horrifying spectral skeletons hovering above them, who refuse to resign themselves to a world of death and darkness, and who rally together in an effort to convince their leaders to turn back the clock.  Likewise, it is ultimately through their mutual fear of the clock striking midnight that the two leaders are able to shed their monstrous guises and reconnect as human beings, resulting in one of the film's most powerful images, in which they huddle together beneath the doomsday clock, not as enemies on opposing sides but simply two vulnerable and frightened individuals threatened by the same impending catastrophe.  From this recognition of their shared humanity, not only are the hands of the clock turned back, but the foundations are formed for understanding, agreement and ultimately peace.

The sun rises on a new day and there is light and colour in the world again, signified by our return to the vast golden fields that opened the film, and the two world leaders are seen in a classroom, educating the younger generation upon the values that ensure a prosperous, harmonious and united Earth.  A happy and hopeful ending, although one that does not entirely offset the sense of horror that arises from the knowledge of just how closely the world skirted toward complete and utter destruction.