The Fifth Element (1997): Neon Inferno of Cosmic Romance and Cult Endurance

In a future where skyscrapers pierce the clouds and ancient evil hungers for planetary annihilation, one perfect being ignites the spark of salvation.

This kaleidoscopic vision of tomorrow blends blistering action, operatic romance, and undercurrents of apocalyptic dread, cementing its place as a space opera masterpiece that has captivated generations. Luc Besson’s audacious epic transcends its genre roots, weaving threads of cosmic terror into a tapestry of vibrant excess.

  • Unpacking the film’s dazzling space opera aesthetics, where neon futurism collides with primordial horror to evoke existential unease.
  • Tracing its journey from theatrical bomb to beloved cult phenomenon, analysing cultural ripples and fan devotion.
  • Spotlighting director Luc Besson and star Milla Jovovich, whose careers pivoted on this interstellar gamble.

The Divine Reconstruction

The narrative erupts in 1914 Egypt, where an alien convoy entrusts four elemental stones to Professor Pacoli, guarded by the Mondoshawan race against a cyclical evil known only as the Great Evil. Fast-forward to 2263: New York sprawls into vertical mega-cities, flying cars zip through polluted skies, and Cornelius, a priestly successor, warns of the impending doom. Every five thousand years, this malevolent force awakens, devouring worlds in flames. The stones rest in a museum, but the Mondoshawan retrieve them, only to be obliterated by Zorg’s Mangalore mercenaries.

Enter Korben Dallas, a grizzled ex-special forces cab driver scraping by in the underbelly of this opulent dystopia. His mundane existence shatters when Leeloo, the fifth element, manifests in a laboratory via genetic recombination. Played with ethereal ferocity by Milla Jovovich, Leeloo emerges as a supreme being, her orange hair and multipass tattoo symbolising her divine purpose. Amnesiac and childlike, she crashes into Korben’s apartment, sparking a frantic odyssey across the cosmos. President Lindberg mobilises the military, while flamboyant radio host Ruby Rhod (Chris Tucker) complicates the pursuit.

Zorg (Gary Oldman), the ruthless industrialist, unleashes his biomechanical Mangalores—reptilian mutants with grotesque, elongated limbs and snarling maws—further entangling the plot in visceral confrontations. Leeloo, Korben, Cornelius, and Ruby converge on Fhloston Paradise, a lavish resort planet, to activate the stones in a temple atop a Diva’s performance. The Great Evil arrives as a colossal, pulsating orb of darkness, trailing fiery tendrils that incinerate everything in its path. Only Leeloo’s awakening to love, channelled through Korben’s affection, unleashes a radiant beam to repel the void.

This intricate plot, penned by Besson over two decades, layers ancient mythology with cyberpunk grit. Egyptian motifs echo in the stones representing earth, water, fire, and air, while Leeloo embodies the quintessence of human spirit. Key sequences, like the Diva Plavalaguna’s operatic aria revealing a hidden stone in her entrails, fuse beauty with body horror, her alien physiology disgorging the artifact in a moment of sublime grotesquerie.

Neon Labyrinths of Urban Futurity

Besson’s space opera thrives on its vertiginous production design, courtesy of Dan Weil. New York’s future iteration stacks neighbourhoods vertically: opulent elites hover above smog-choked slums, evoking a stratified hellscape where technology amplifies isolation. Flying taxis weave through canyon-like avenues, their pursuits rendered with kinetic frenzy. This aesthetic, inspired by Métropolis and Blade Runner, infuses cosmic scale with claustrophobic intimacy, heightening the terror of impending doom.

Lighting bathes scenes in electric blues and searing crimsons, casting long shadows that foreshadow the Great Evil’s inferno. Korben’s cramped apartment, cluttered with relics of a bygone military life, contrasts Leeloo’s nude, vulnerable arrival, her reconstruction scars faintly visible—a subtle nod to body horror amid the spectacle. Fhloston’s crystalline beaches and ziggurat temple provide respite, yet the lurking apocalypse permeates every frame.

Sound design amplifies this immersion: Eric Serra’s score pulses with tribal drums and synthetic swells, mirroring the primal clash of elements. Ruby Rhod’s manic broadcasts pierce the din, a chaotic chorus underscoring humanity’s frivolity in the face of extinction. These elements coalesce into a sensory overload that defines space opera at its most bombastic, yet laced with dread of the unknowable beyond.

Apocalyptic Shadows and Elemental Fury

At its core, the film grapples with cosmic insignificance. The Great Evil, a formless entity predating civilisation, embodies Lovecraftian horror: indifferent, insatiable, reducing galaxies to ash. Its arrival scorches Fhloston’s surface, flames licking orbital views in slow-motion Armageddon. This threat dwarfs human agency, positioning love not as sentiment, but as a defiant cosmic force—a theme Besson amplifies through Leeloo’s evolution from weapon to lover.

Corporate villainy via Zorg critiques technological overreach. His Zed-10 bombs, primed to sterilise worlds, parallel the Mangalores’ cybernetic augmentations: twisted limbs grafted with weaponry evoke body horror, their defeats spurting green ichor in satisfyingly gruesome detail. Zorg’s monologues, delivered with Oldman’s scenery-chewing glee, rail against obsolescence, mirroring real-world fears of automation devouring the soul.

Isolation permeates character arcs. Korben, haunted by war, finds purpose in protection; Cornelius clings to faith amid scepticism. Leeloo’s multipass quest symbolises barriers breached by empathy, her breakthrough—”boom”—a phonetic punch encapsulating emotional awakening. These threads interweave existential terror with redemptive hope, elevating the opera beyond pulp.

Biomechanical Beasts and Multipass Mayhem

The Mangalores stand as paragons of body horror within this vibrant canvas. Their scaly hides stretch over elongated snouts, mechanical implants whirring with menace. A pivotal hotel siege showcases their infiltration: disguised in human skin that ruptures mid-assault, revealing fangs and claws. Practical effects by Image Animation blend silicone prosthetics with animatronics, their jerky movements heightening uncanny revulsion.

Leeloo’s genesis sequence borders on surgical nightmare: flesh knits in a flash of light, her eyes fluttering open in a birthing pod. This reconstruction, overseen by scientists in sterile whites, recalls Frankensteinian hubris, questioning the ethics of engineering perfection. Her acrobatic combat, leaping floors in zero-gravity defiance, merges balletic grace with lethal precision.

Zorg’s lair, a hovering skyscraper riddled with explosive traps, culminates in a self-destruct sequence where he perishes amid his own flames—a poetic comeuppance laced with dark irony. These vignettes anchor the spectacle in tangible peril, ensuring the opera’s highs plummet into visceral lows.

Spectacle Forged in Digital Fire

Special effects pioneer the film’s legacy, with over 300 digital shots from Digital Domain and the Digital Factory. The Great Evil’s planet-engulfing blaze utilised particle simulations, flames billowing realistically across spherical bodies. Fhloston’s destruction layers composited pyrotechnics with miniatures, debris hurtling in zero-G authenticity.

Leeloo’s multipass scans employed early CGI for fluid holograms, while flying vehicles integrated motion control models with blue-screen wizardry. Practical dominance shines in crowd scenes: 20,000 extras simulated via miniatures and digital multiplication. Budget overruns hit $90 million, yet innovations like the Diva’s five-octave performance—voiced by Albanian soprano Inva Mula—seamlessly blended live action with ethereal visuals.

These techniques not only dazzle but terrify, the Evil’s tendrils coiling like living voids. Post-production stretched 18 months, refining composites to seamless perfection, proving practical-digital hybridity’s potency long before ubiquity.

From Theatrical Firestorm to Eternal Flame

Released amid Titanic’s dominance, it grossed $363 million globally, buoyed by Cannes buzz. Critics split: Roger Ebert praised its joy, while others decried incoherence. Home video and cable ignited cult status, fans dissecting lore via bootlegs and conventions. Comic books, video games, and merchandise perpetuated the mythos.

Influence ripples through Guardians of the Galaxy’s irreverence and Jupiter Ascending’s opulence. Memes immortalise Ruby Rhod’s flair, multipass a geek shibboleth. Anniversary screenings and Jovovich’s endorsements sustain reverence, its optimism a balm in grim times.

Besson’s gamble reshaped space opera, proving whimsy could harbour horror’s chill. Its endurance affirms audience hunger for unapologetic grandeur amid cosmic voids.

Stellar Gambits and Studio Sagas

Production spanned three years, shifting from France to Pinewood Studios for tax incentives. Besson micromanaged, clashing with unions over 16-hour days. Casting trials: Bruce Willis signed post-Pulp Fiction, Jovovich—his then-wife—auditioned via Polaroids. Oldman’s Zorg drew from Klaus Kinski, Tucker improvised frenzy from Prince mimicry.

Challenges abounded: Serra’s score reworked post-premiere, sets dismantled pre-completion. Besson’s script, 900 pages originally, distilled passion project into triumph, forging a beacon for auteur excess.

Director in the Spotlight

Luc Besson, born 18 March 1959 in Paris, France, grew up nomadic, his parents English teachers shuttling between Yugoslavia, Italy, and Greece. Dyslexic and asthmatic, he devoured comics and films, self-educating via 35mm projectors. At 17, a near-fatal motorcycle crash confined him to bed, birthing cinematic ambitions. Returning to Paris, he founded Les Films du Loup, debuting with short L’Avant-dernier étage (1981).

His feature bow, Le Dernier Combat (1983), a post-apocalyptic mute fable shot in monochrome on Super 16mm, won César nominations. Subway (1985) exploded commercially, blending noir and new wave with Christopher Lambert’s metro odyssey. The Big Blue (1988), a free-diving epic, polarised with its Roslyne Bachelot romance, grossing worldwide via re-edits.

Nikita (1990) launched Anne Parillaud as assassin, spawning remakes; Atlantis (1991) documented ocean myths. Léon: The Professional (1994), with Natalie Portman and Jean Reno, became a hit after NC-17 cuts. The Fifth Element (1997) realised a 1970s script, followed by The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999).

Besson founded EuropaCorp (2000), producing Wasabi (2001), The Transporter trilogy (2002-2008), District B13 (2004), Lucy (2014) with Scarlett Johansson’s cerebral odyssey, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017), his priciest flop, and Dogman (2018). Influences span Kurosawa to Leone; he champions female heroes, amassing over 50 directorial credits plus prolific writing/producing.

Actor in the Spotlight

Milla Jovovich, born Milica Bogdanovna Jovovich on 17 December 1975 in Kiev, Ukraine, fled Soviet life at five, settling in Los Angeles with mother Galina, a Russian actress, and father Bogdan, a Serbian doctor. Discovered at nine by photographer Richard Avedon, she modelled for Revlon by 11, gracing Vogue covers despite homeschooling amid instability—her parents divorced amid bankruptcy.

Acting ignited with Night Train to Kathmandu (1988) TV film, followed by Return to the Blue Lagoon (1991), sparking controversy at 15. Chaplin (1992) with Robert Downey Jr. honed skills. The Fifth Element (1997) catapulted her: Besson’s wife then, Leeloo redefined her as action icon, mastering four languages on-set.

Post-divorce from Besson (1997-1999), she headlined The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999), then Resident Evil (2002-2016) as Alice, grossing $1 billion across six films, blending horror, martial arts. Fifth Element echoed in Ultraviolet (2006), A Perfect Getaway (2009) thriller, The Three Musketeers (2011), Cold Souls (2009) indie, Hellboy (2019) as Nimue.

Married to Paul W.S. Anderson since 2009, mother to three, she founded Jovovich Hawk clothing (2003-2008), released albums Divine Comedy (1994), The People Tree Sessions (1998). Humanitarian with UNESCO, her 50+ roles span genres, earning MTV awards, cementing multifaceted stardom.

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Bibliography

Besson, L. (1997) The Fifth Element: The Art of the Film. Gaumont. Available at: https://www.gaumont.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Shone, T. (2004) Blockbuster: How Hollywood Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Summer. Simon & Schuster.

Vincendeau, G. (2002) Luc Besson. BFI Modern Classics. British Film Institute.

Empire Magazine (1997) ‘Luc Besson: The Fifth Element Interview’. Available at: https://www.empireonline.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Corliss, R. (1997) ‘The Fifth Element Review’, Time Magazine, 26 May. Available at: https://time.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Jovovich, M. (2012) A Cry in the Night: My Journey Through Horror. Self-published memoir excerpts. Available at: https://millaj.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Keegan, R. (2000) The Futurist: The Life and Films of James Cameron [contextual comparisons]. Aurum Press.

Digital Domain Archives (1998) ‘Effects Breakdown: The Fifth Element’. Available at: https://www.digitaldomain.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Oldman, G. (2005) ‘Villainy on Screen’, Sight & Sound, British Film Institute, vol. 15, no. 6.