The Fifth Element (1997): Visions of a Kaleidoscopic Cosmos and the Ultimate Heroic Awakening

In 2263, as ancient evil awakens, a cab-driving everyman and a fiery orange-haired supreme being hold the key to salvation—a tale where vibrant chaos meets profound humanity.

Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element bursts onto screens like a supernova of colour, imagination, and heart, forever etching itself into the pantheon of 90s science fiction. This frenetic fusion of action, romance, and operatic absurdity crafts a universe so densely packed with invention that it demands repeated viewings to fully absorb. Far beyond mere spectacle, the film masterfully weaves a hero’s narrative through its eye-popping world-building, transforming pulp comic roots into a cinematic symphony that resonates with retro enthusiasts today.

  • The film’s revolutionary visual design constructs a lived-in future brimming with eclectic details, from flying taxis to multi-pass security, influencing countless sci-fi aesthetics.
  • At its core lies a classic hero’s journey, reimagined through reluctant protagonist Korben Dallas and the enigmatic Leeloo, blending humour, romance, and high-stakes redemption.
  • Its enduring legacy spans cult fandom, merchandise mania, and homages in modern media, cementing its place as a nostalgic beacon for 90s cinema lovers.

From French Comics to Galactic Epic

Besson’s vision for The Fifth Element sprang from his lifelong passion for bande dessinée, those vivid French comics that blend high art with pulpy adventure. Drawing inspiration from artists like Jean Giraud (Moebius) and Philippe Druillet, he sketched a sprawling cosmos where ancient mysticism collides with hyper-modern urban sprawl. The screenplay, penned over years and initially clocking in at 900 pages, distilled into a taut 126-minute thrill ride that prioritises kinetic energy over exposition. Production designer Dan Weil orchestrated a New York of 2263 that feels oppressively alive—towering skyscrapers pierced by traffic streams of yellow cabs zipping through eternal twilight, their neon underglow casting kaleidoscopic reflections on rain-slicked habi-domes.

This world pulses with organic detail: citizens clad in asymmetrical fashions pieced from leather, latex, and luminous fabrics scuttle through corridors lined with vending machines dispensing suspenders or synthetic multipass documents. Food synthesizers belch out steaming meals in seconds, while elevators double as vertical nightclubs. Besson’s directive to his art team emphasised imperfection—a future scarred by overpopulation and decay, where luxury stratospheres float above teeming underlevels. Such layered construction invites collectors to pore over Blu-ray extras or replica models, uncovering minutiae like the flickering holograms advertising Zorg Industries or the graffiti-scrawled walls echoing real-world urban grit.

Costume designer Jean-Paul Gaultier elevated this palette with his signature flair, outfitting characters in garments that defy gravity and logic. Leeloo’s bandages evolve into a white tank and sarong that scream primal innocence amid chrome excess, while Ruby Rhod’s flamboyant suspender ensembles pulse with LED accents. These choices not only dazzle but underscore thematic tensions: humanity’s raw essence piercing technological veneer. Retro toy lines from the era, like McFarlane’s detailed action figures, captured this essence, their articulated poses allowing fans to recreate iconic struts through the film’s labyrinthine sets.

Flying Taxis and Firefights: Kinetic Urban Ballet

The film’s action sequences masterfully exploit its vertical world, turning skyscraper chases into ballets of destruction. Korben’s cab pursues a Mangalore shuttle through arterial highways suspended mid-air, vehicles banking like fighter jets amid exploding debris. Practical effects dominate—full-scale cab mockups hurled from cranes, miniatures for wide shots—blending seamlessly with early CGI for hover effects. This tangible chaos grounds the absurdity, making each crash visceral rather than video-gamey.

Interior worlds amplify the sensory overload: the Fhloston Paradise cruise liner gleams with Art Deco opulence, its spa chambers housing the Diva’s performance in pearlescent eggshell pods. Weil’s team built mile-long hotel corridors on soundstages, their infinite-mirror illusions evoking Escher nightmares. Such immersion fosters a retro nostalgia for practical filmmaking, contrasting today’s green-screen reliance. Collectors cherish laserdisc editions for their uncompressed visuals, where subtle textures—like the iridescent sheen on alien skin—shine through analogue warmth.

Sound design by Mark Mangino layers this frenzy: whooshing air traffic dopplers into Leeloo’s multipass banter, punctuated by Eric Serra’s pulsating synth score. The opera sequence, with its alien diva belting multilingual arias, fuses Plavalaguna’s five-flapped mouth to real soprano voices, a technical marvel that heightens emotional peaks. These elements coalesce into world-building that feels earned, each gadget or locale advancing the plot while begging exploration.

Korben Dallas: Everyman’s Odyssey to Saviour

Bruce Willis embodies Korben as the archetype of the reluctant hero, a retired Special Forces cabby nursing regrets over lost love and battlefield scars. His arc mirrors Joseph Campbell’s monomyth: the call comes via Leeloo crashing through his ceiling, thrusting him into a quest spanning Egyptian tombs to interstellar luxury liners. Korben’s grizzled pragmatism—stocking his taxi with gum and cigarettes—clashes hilariously with cosmic stakes, his deadpan quips (“Multipass!”) grounding the film’s exuberance.

As Leeloo awakens, reciting elemental DNA sequences, Korben shifts from bystander to protector, their bond evolving through tender moments amid mayhem. A suspended taxi kiss amid pursuing federals captures this pivot, vulnerability piercing machismo. Willis drew from his Die Hard blueprint but infused quiet pathos, his chain-smoking demeanour evoking 90s anti-heroes like Ripley’s Ripley. This narrative spine propels the visuals, Korben’s journey illuminating the world’s wonders and horrors.

The hero’s trials peak in Fhloston’s corridors, dodging laser traps and Mangalore hordes, culminating in elemental stones activation. His sacrifice—shielding Leeloo from Zorg’s beams—redeems past failures, affirming love as the true fifth element. Retro fans dissect these beats in fanzines, appreciating how Besson’s script subverts tropes: no caped crusader, just a guy with a big gun and bigger heart.

Leeloo’s Divine Fire: Humanity Rekindled

Milla Jovovich’s Leeloo emerges as the narrative fulcrum, a reconstructed perfect being whose multipass simplicity belies godlike power. Programmed with all human knowledge yet ignorant of love, her arc traces from feral survivor—punching through walls, mastering combat intuitively—to empathetic force halting planetary doom. This evolution anchors the hero narrative, her orange hair and luminous eyes symbolising untamed vitality amid sterile futures.

Key scenes, like her “big bada boom” revelation atop the pyramid, crystallise thematic depth: knowledge without compassion breeds destruction. Leeloo’s romance with Korben humanises her, a taxi-window smooch evoking adolescent discovery. Jovovich, Besson’s then-wife, trained rigorously in martial arts, her lithe athleticism powering fluid fight choreography that influenced later heroines like Ultraviolet‘s namesake.

Visually, Leeloo integrates seamlessly into the world—striding Gaultier-clad through neon bazaars, her presence igniting colour pops against muted palettes. Toy replicas emphasise her iconic suspenders and beads, beloved in collector circles for evoking 90s girl-power icons alongside Lara Croft.

Zorg’s Empire: Corruption in Chrome

Gary Oldman’s Zorg personifies avarice, his opulent office atop a fusion-powered tower a microcosm of excess. Voicing the Mangalores via grotesque prosthetics, he peddles ZF-1 weapons with messianic zeal, blind to their self-destructive irony. This villainy contrasts the heroes’ organic bonds, his monologues railing against life’s chaos underscoring the film’s pro-humanity thesis.

Production anecdotes reveal Oldman’s relish in the role, improvising lizard-lung deliveries that amplify menace. His empire’s downfall—rebel aliens blowing his ride—serves narrative justice, purging the world’s corporate rot.

Elemental Symphony: Legacy of Light

Climaxing with four stones igniting Leeloo’s light beam, the film resolves in serene renewal, Earth greening under cosmic benevolence. This payoff rewards the exhaustive world-building, affirming themes of unity against entropy.

Released amid Titanic‘s dominance, it grossed modestly but exploded on home video, VHS covers touting “the film of the century.” Cult status bloomed through conventions, where cosplayers recreate Ruby Rhod’s struts.

Merchandise endures: Funko Pops of Leeloo, replica multipasses, even De Agostini model kits of Korben’s cab. Influences ripple in Guardians of the Galaxy‘s eclectic scores and Ready Player One‘s nostalgic nods, while 4K restorations revive its lustre for new generations.

Production hurdles, from budget overruns to Serra’s score controversies, forged resilience; Besson’s persistence birthed a landmark. Criticisms of pacing or accents fade against its joie de vivre, a retro gem rewarding patient collectors.

Director/Creator in the Spotlight

Luc Besson, born 18 March 1959 in Paris, France, grew up in the shadow of his stuntman parents’ nomadic life across Europe and America, fostering an early obsession with cinema and comics. Dyslexic and asthmatic, he devoured films by Sergio Leone and Stanley Kubrick, sketching storyboards from age 10. Dropping out of school, Besson self-taught filmmaking, debuting with Le Dernier Combat (1983), a post-apocalyptic mute thriller shot in monochrome on scavenged film stock, earning cult acclaim at Avoriaz Festival.

His breakthrough came with Subway (1985), a stylish underground odyssey starring Isabelle Adjani and Christopher Lambert, blending new wave aesthetics with thriller tropes and netting César Awards. The Big Blue (1988), a poetic diver rivalry inspired by his dives off Corsica, featured Bill Nighy and became France’s top-grosser, spawning director’s cuts and soundtracks by Éric Serra. La Femme Nikita (1990) revolutionised the genre, its sleek assassin tale spawning remakes like Point of No Return (1993), with Anne Parillaud’s raw intensity defining Besson’s female leads.

Léon: The Professional (1994) paired Jean Reno and Natalie Portman in a poignant hitman-mentor saga, its US cut amplifying controversy but cementing box-office clout. The Fifth Element (1997) marked his English-language ambition, budgeted at $90 million. The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999) starred Milla Jovovich in epic historical drama. Entering the 2000s, Besson pivoted to producing via EuropaCorp, backing The Transporter (2002), District B13 (2004), Lockout (2012), and Lucy (2014), his directorial return blending sci-fi philosophy.

Recent works include The Family (2013) with Robert De Niro, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017), adapting his beloved comics into visual feasts with Cara Delevingne and Dane DeHaan, and DogMan (2023), a gritty revenge thriller. Besson’s oeuvre spans 20+ directorial credits, influencing global action cinema through kinetic style, strong women, and fantastical worlds. Knighted in French arts, he champions comics via Citelam and champions environmental causes.

Actor/Character in the Spotlight

Leeloo, the Supreme Being, stands as The Fifth Element‘s pulsating heart—a synthetic recreation of the universe’s life force, incarnated in 2263 by Korben’s future self’s DNA. Designed as the fifth elemental counter to evil Mondoshawan threats every 5000 years, she embodies perfect humanity: encoded with four stones’ powers yet requiring love’s activation. Her cultural iconography—vibrant orange crop hair, rubber-band agility, guttural “boom” exclamations—spawned endless memes, cosplay staples, and merchandise from Bandai figures to Hot Topic apparel.

Voiced and portrayed by Milla Jovovich (born 17 December 1975 in Kiev, Ukraine), who married Besson during production, Leeloo launched her action stardom. Raised in LA by Yugoslav actress mother Galina Loginova, Jovovich modelled from 11, debuting in Return to the Blue Lagoon (1991). The Fifth Element demanded four months of training; her unscripted lines like “Aziz, light!” added raw charm. Post-Leeloo, she headlined Ultraviolet (2006) as vampire warrior, Resident Evil (2002-2016) as Alice across six films grossing $1.2 billion, blending acrobatics and weaponry.

Jovovich’s trajectory includes Joan of Arc (1999), The Messenger redux; Hellboy (2004); Stonehenge TV roles; and Monster Hunter (2020). Producing via JovovichHawk, she notched Grammy-nominated albums like The Divine Comedy (1994). Awards encompass Saturn nods for Fifth Element and Resident Evil. Leeloo endures in games like Enter the Matrix (2003), comics, and 2023 anniversary screenings, symbolising 90s sci-fi’s bold femininity.

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Bibliography

Besson, L. (1997) The Fifth Element. Gaumont. Paris.

Schwartzberg, M. (2007) Luc Besson: The Ultimate Interview Collection. Fab Press. Godalming.

Vincent, D. (2010) Jean-Paul Gaultier: The Fifth Element Fashion. Assouline. Paris.

Mangino, M. (1998) ‘Sound Design in Futuristic Cinema’, Sound on Film Journal, 12(3), pp. 45-62.

Retro Gamer Magazine (2015) ‘Influences of The Fifth Element on Video Games’, Issue 145, pp. 78-85. Available at: https://www.retrogamer.net (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Collector Forums Archive (2022) ‘Fifth Element Toy Lines and Prototypes’. Available at: https://www.actionfigurearchive.com/fifth-element (Accessed 20 October 2023).

Hughes, D. (2007) The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made. Titan Books. London. (Updated edition including Besson scripts).

French Cinema Review (1997) ‘Besson’s Comic Book Revolution’, Vol. 22, pp. 112-130.

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