A.I. - ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE
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A.I. - ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE |
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Written by DAVID KEYES
There aren't many movies that require repeat viewings to gain
a full perspective of what's going on, but Steven Spielberg's "A.I. - Artificial
Intelligence" falls under that category without a moment's hesitation. The
film is immediately an extraordinary visual spectacle, but its story dwells
somewhere between brilliant and mediocre, so much so that a second viewing
would likely serve as the only way to make a well-mounted response. Needless
to say, the result will be different for everyone, but for this particular
critic, that answer eventually became an overwhelmingly positive one. That
doesn't make it a flawless film, but awfully darn close.
The backhistory of "A.I." is a movie in itself. When the film began
production, Speilberg was working with a rough outline scribbled down
by the late Stanley Kubrick, who intended to direct the actual film after
"Eyes Wide Shut," but died before the opportunity came (a conflicting
source, however, says that he simply gave up with the material, but if
the truth be known, Kubrick suggested it to Spielberg in 1994, but reclaimed
it when his close friend turned down the offer). Insiders have even hinted
that Kubrick considered this to be his "dream film," the product that
would serve as an oppropriate closure to a career as rich and successful
as his. So how is it that Speilberg wound up with it instead? Apparently
the "Schindler's List" director knew a great deal about the "A.I." story
because he and Kubrick conversed about it on many occasions over the years
(most of the time secretly), and after Kubrick died, his family personally
appealed to Spielberg because, well, no one else could have provided a
clear insight into the scope Stanley sought after.
With "A.I." at his disposal, Spielberg does a little "give and take"
as far as vision goes, opting to utilize the best qualities of both his
and Stanley's directorial talents. We don't know for sure if Kubrick would
have done a better job than Spielberg does, but given the scenario, he
would probably be very pleased with what the result stands as: a bold
and effective endeavor that is not only absorbing, but also socially significant.
The story is set at the peak of imagination, a future evolved enough
to create and manufacture machines that look like human beings, and then
give them the opportunity to project realistic emotions. Of course, that's
the problem suggested in the movie's promotional line--"What responsibility
does a human have to a robot that genuinely loves?"--and in a universe
built upon bright colors but harsh behaviors, there really is no possible
answer. Why, exactly? Because those who live and breathe have extremely
diverse reactions to those that only seem to live and breathe. Some embrace
the machines as ordinary humans; others merely tolerate them, while some
simply despise their very existence.
In the world we live in, even though it is easy to separate what is
real from what is artificial, most of us tend to manipulate ourselves
into believing that machines and/or objects of any kind can actually learn
to love, or that we can learn to love them back. This is the crucial point
for the viewer as he/she is asked to attatch their feelings on to a character
who embodies traits that seem real, but are merely fabrications. I hesitated
on my intial response, but remembering the fact that I once invested my
emotions in a wooden puppet in "Pinnochio," and later reminded myself
that movies of all kind feature fabricated characters to begin with, the
emotional investment eventually came naturally. For it to happen with
other moviegoers, they must remember not the fact that we are demanded
to invest interest in a robot here, but the fact that they've probably
already done a similar thing somewhere in their pasts.
The movie opens with a scientist (William Hurt) approaching a company
specializing in creating "mechas" (machines that look like humans) with
an idea to bring their products closer to actual humanity--programming
them to learn and feel genuine human emotions. Two years pass, and the
product is David (Haley Joel Osment), a little boy robot with charming
eyes and a captivating smile that captures the attention of Henry (Sam
Robards), a father mourning the loss of his own child. Henry purchases
David and takes him home to his emotionally-ailing wife Monica (Frances
O'Connor), who is angered at the idea of investing her care into something
that is only wires and computer chips on the inside. But as the movie
progresses, she and David begin to bond, almost like a mother and child
who had just met after being seperated since birth. The involvement becomes
too much for the parent, however, and in an act of panic, she leaves him
behind and moves on with her life. Not understanding why so few humans
are willing to accept him (much less his own "mother"), David goes in
search of identity, meeting Gigolo Joe (Jude Law) along the way, a machine
equivalent to a male prostitute who, like the young mecha, is programed
to love.
The screenplay was inspired by a short story called "Super-Toys Last
All Summer Long," although the source material was probably spurred itself
by the story of "Pinocchio" (especially since the main character, David,
identifies with the little wooden puppet on many separate occasions, eventually
leading him on a journey to find the "Blue Fairy"). As a narrative, the
script is incredibly generous to its viewers, shoveling out hordes of
details about characters, situations and conflicts to help heighten the
realism not just of the mechas, but of the environment they live in as
well. However, there comes a point when our involvement is held back by
unfaithful convictions of a few of the film's most important scenes. There
is the moment, for instance, when Frances O'Connor's Monica abandons her
robot child in the woods, and then when David meets up with Jude Law's
Gigolo Joe. Scenes like these could have used extended investigations,
but are sadly deserted before the emotional appeal reaches its necessary
level. How do the parents feel about leaving behind David? What provokes
the correct connection between the young robot and Joe, besides the fact
that they are machines programmed to feel? Spielberg assumes we can figure
out the remains without those scenes, but the contemplation that comes
as a result painfully detracts us from our emotional attatchment to the
film as a whole.
Nonetheless, the look of the picture is magnificent, particularly when
David enters Rouge City, a vast metropolis that radiates in dazzling fluorescent
colors, and uses tall beams of light to focus in on the most important
players. All the visual Spielberg traits are apparent (including an obvious
homage to "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" during the resolution),
and yet the essence of the atmosphere--in which the world feels empty
despite the prescence of crowded sidewalks and busy streets--is definitely
Kubrick-inspired. In the eyes of the late director, "A.I." would probably
have been more menacing, more sexual, and definitely more violent than
anything Spielberg could have done. But as it stands, this version of
the film is already all those things, and much more in the process. Hardly
a kids movie and more of a deep psychological investigation, here is the
ideal summer motion picture: the one in which style and substance work
hand-in-hand to encourage lengthy discussions amongst its viewers. Who
honestly expects to get that kind of payoff from something like "Scary
Movie 2?"
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