THX 1138 is an impressive first directorial effort by George Lucas, famed creator of the Star Wars saga. It is also, in almost every way, an opposite type of science fiction from that series for which the filmmaker is so famous. Whereas Star Wars is a fun, expansive, adventure-oriented take on the classic good-versus-evil story, THX is a pessimistic, confined, and artsy Orwellian sci-fi, much in the vein of movies like Logan's Run (though much better). It is a warning about where technology could take us. For this type of movie, THX is about as well done as any. Its solemn tone is its only potential drawback, but in this type of movie, that's unavoidable.

The hero of THX is a man actually named "THX 1138" (pronounced "Thex"). Apparently everyone, at least everyone in this society, is given a three-letter, four-number name based solely on alphanumeric qualities, like a license plate. THX works in a semi-robotic factory, building fully robotic chrome police officers. These are the keepers of order on the ground, commanded by human dispatchers who, fairly detached from the world, look on through security cameras and provide peacekeeping orders via radio. THX and his "mate," LUH 3417 (sexual interaction, however, is outlawed in this society), have quit the drugs that everyone is legally obligated to take. This rebellious act is eventually discovered by the nameless overlooking authority, and the two decide to try to escape the only world they know.

Overall, the thing Lucas does best in THX is create a world that feels intolerably empty, much like its inhabitants' lives. There is rarely a sense that anything exists outside of this world (though most viewers will themselves consider the possibility), and it is even difficult to gain any idea as to the general location of this enclosed society-facility. This sense of confinement is accomplished by the claustrophobic settings and the fact that nothing outside of the immediate society is ever referred to. There are no outer windows in this facility, and the only "outside" the characters have is an eternally dark area between facilities, where there is nothing but streets for dangerously fast cars. The inhabitants of this place are so brainwashed that they never even consider the question of what is out there, and, in fact, they do little talking about anything at all. It would be like us trying to figure out what comes after Heaven; to them, this is the whole world. LUH speaks at one point of a transport to some other society, which they may take after their labor-obligations for this society have been fulfilled, but by the point of the film when she brings it up, the possibility is so unbelievable that it comes across as a wives' tale. No one even seems to know who is in charge of their world. All they know is to do what they are told or else they are put to rehabilitation, detention, or death.

The society is kept under strict order by a Big Brother-esque system of surveillance and chrome robot officers. The omnipresent surveillance tries to come across as a friend, but we always know it cares only about its own ends. Whenever someone opens a medicine cabinet (all medicine cabinets are stocked with the same medicines), for instance, a suspiciously friendly voice automatically asks "What's wrong?" It then instructs the person which color pills to take and how many. "Help is on the way" it ominously says to one person after instructing him to take a certain pill combination. The robot law enforcement is equally ominous. They do everything they are ordered, unless they malfunction, and their still, metal faces are fittingly emotionless. Watching them, I am reminded of the utopian society described by the alien Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, in which invulnerable, unfailing robots perfectly keep order according to the laws programmed into them. This way, corruption is impossible. Klaatu makes it sound like a paradise of peace. After watching THX, however, the idea sounds like a nightmare. Imagine being always at the mercy of unfeeling robots whose sole purpose it is to uphold the law. I'd rather take my chances with corruption.

One addition the film makes to Orwellian totalitarianism is the confession booth. Throughout the city there are confession booths set up as casually as phone booths. Our hero goes into these booths twice. Inside, there is a picture of what appears to be the Messiah, though he is called "Ohm." The booths are electronic, of course, and the residents confess all of their sins and worries to it in complete confidence while it offers scripted responses. Not even THX is wary that the confessions might be listened to by someone other than Ohm. Indeed, there is little if any indication at all that any authority personnel are listening, other than the fact that they see and hear everything else that happens. Even if no one is listening, though, it is a brilliant vision of this type of world. People generally need someone, or something, to confess to. Even for societies where production is the sole purpose of life, the spiritual rejuvenation made possible by absolution would result in a better work attitude -- especially when your god leaves you with, "Let us be thankful we have an occupation to fill. Work hard. Increase production. Prevent accidents. And be happy." Religion might be the best morale booster there is.

Also on the religious note, there is one sequence that mimics Paradise Lost, and it stands out as the most insightful part of the movie. Shortly after THX is arrested, he attempts an escape from his detention ground, which is basically group of moderately insane people somewhere in a giant white abyss. Before tagging along with THX, who decides to try to find a way out, an acquaintance named SEN announces to the rest of the prisoners:

After long deliberation, I have decided to go out and personally examine the barrier, to learn at firsthand what difficulties are involved and decide how best to overcome them. . . . We shall be back soon but we shall be gone long enough to form an accurate and functional plan of escape, and I shall have an honest idea how best to organize us into a working unit -- the new alignment!

Compare this to Satan's speech shortly after being cast into Hell. After discussing the void that awaits whoever can escape from Hell, he says:

If thence he 'scape into whatever world,

Or unknown region, what remains him less

Than unkown dangers and as hard escape.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . [I]ntermit no watch

Against a wakeful Foe, while I abroad

Through all the coasts of dark destruction seek

Deliverance for us all . . . (Book II, lines 442-465¹)

The mirroring of the epic continues as the two wander through the great white void. The film's reflection of Milton's poem opens the movie to obvious analyses, but first we must remember that it is merely an acquaintance of the hero, and not the hero himself, who mirrors the demon. In fact, in the movie, THX heads out to leave the hell first, and it is not until then that SEN (sonically similar to "sin," notice) quickly gives his speech and follows. So THX is no fallen angel himself, but instead he represents our desire for absolute freedom. In fact, the way his rebellion has played out up to this point, it is more a product of others placing their freedom-wishes upon him than of his own will to break free. The ending, in turn, gives us an honest look at what true freedom is, bringing the viewer full circle in the examination of perfect totalitarianism and absolute liberty. It shows us what we have by that point been fearing might be the final outcome.

Whereas in Star Wars, George Lucas revels in technology, in THX he fears it. When I was younger and I learned that Lucas was set to be the director of Apocalypse Now before Francis Ford Coppola, I was surprised. After watching THX, though, that confusion washes entirely away. This film is so objectively concerned with humanity that it almost comes across as nihilistic. If there is anything to dislike about this, it is built into the formula. It is a sadness we have to confront. It's like wandering in an abyss.