 My computer. The television set. Digital alarm clock. Microwave oven. Telephone. The air conditioner protruding from beneath the window. Sitting here in my apartment glancing around at the little tidbits of technology that make up my domesticity, I am reminded that each was born from basic human needs. Whether it be the need for physical comfort, for protection, for education/information gathering, for communication, or for entertainment, somewhere a technological advancement has (or will be) created to answer the call for human development.Many movies that focus on technology see it as an inevitable beast, which it may very well be. What seems to be missing from some of these cinematic endeavors, however, is the realization that technology’s ability to reach such advancements rests upon varying degrees of success. On many levels, technology must be helping to improve our lives, otherwise there’d be no danger of man-made creations occupying a plane beyond the controlling reach of the very hands that made them. Some movies show characters fascinated with technology as being self-absorbed mad men seeking nothing more than a new arena of destruction. The dangers of technology are not that obvious. Scientific endeavors are a continuous process of trial and error, and the sword of Damocles with regards to cybernetics is the possible consequences should the “error” be irreparable.Steven Spielberg’s “A.I.” is a blitzkrieg of fascinating ideas that are looked at from several different angles. Based on a concept originally conceived by the late Stanley Kubrick, the film is thought-provoking, challenging, intriguing, and frustrating all at once. It’s true, the narrative structure isn’t always smooth and even, but perhaps that’s inevitable when telling a story that doesn’t lend itself to easy answers. The movie is set in the distant future where natural resources are becoming increasingly scarce, rendering cybernetics more of a necessity.The human heart houses an infinite number of desires, passions, and longings, and the constant breakthroughs in technology enable us to venture further into the soul’s heavily guarded chamber to ease our emotional ills. An early scene in “A.I.” shows a scientist (William Hurt) giving a lecture on the advancements in robot technology. During the speech, he proposes the next step in cybernetic evolution: a robot that can love. “But we already have those,” a colleague offers, referring to those robots designed for physical gratification. The scientist, who we sense has suffered his own recent emotional loss, is talking about something else … the kind of love between parent and child. The room of brilliant minds is intrigued by the idea, but the notion raises some difficult questions: “If it is possible to create a lifelike robotic child that has the capacity to give and receive love, then what obligation does the human have to that robot?” Questions like those are what give “A.I.” its power. The movie understands that with discovery and evolution comes an added layer of responsibility, and when handling the delicate egg of human emotions, responsibility is the all-important shell.I’m going to tread lightly here because the movie contains a conglomeration of magnificent concepts; it’d be a crime to give anything away. The breakthrough robot (or “mecha” as they are known) is created in the loving form of a little boy named David (Haley Joel Osment). David is adopted by Henry and Monica Swinton (Sam Robards and Frances O’Connor), a young couple in emotional disarray after their real son (Jake Thomas) slips into a coma. At first, Monica resists the idea but soon agrees, realizing she’s not replacing her son, but rather finding a necessary outlet for her emotions. At first, things proceed nicely as David tastes the fruits of familyhood, including being given a teddy bear companion and having fairy tales like “Pinocchio” read to him. However, problems do arise. Human interaction consists not only of verbal and non-verbal communication, but also varying perceptions, intentions, and conceptualizations. It stands to reason that a robot might have some difficulty relating to the humans surrounding him. After some unfortunate misunderstandings, the parents decide they cannot live with their recently-acquired mecha, and the remainder of the story follows David’s attempts at locating his own “Blue Fairy” who he hopes will turn him into a real boy. Then he may return to the place where he feels most welcome.Despite not penning a full screenplay since “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, Steven Spielberg grasped the reins while trying to remain loyal to Stanley Kubrick’s original concept. The result sometimes feels uneven, as fans of both directors will notice the distinct differences between scenes that are Kubrickesque and those that are Spielbergian. The movie’s genius, though, isn’t the quality of its narrative execution, but that it perpetually challenges the perceptions of its audience as well as its own conclusions. It’s not merely a “vision”, it’s a comment on that vision. The film is not just a collection of ideas, it’s a series of moral and ethical questions regarding those very ideas. The story isn’t just about characters with variegated motives, but an examination of the values sprouting from those motives. The movie stops at nothing in challenging itself, and invites its audience to do the same.The story takes place many years in the future, and the visual style of the film certainly reflects this. It’s also reflected in the different mechas. I liked how they were built for distinct, individual purposes. On his journey, David meets up with a kind of foppish robot named Gigolo Joe (Jude Law). His name unveils the reason behind his construction and he comes equipped with a seductive demeanor and a romantic music box activated with a simple quick tilt of the head. Or consider David’s teddy bear companion, who is a fully functioning bear, capable of holding a conversation with any human being. Also, notice the voice: not cutesy or high-pitched, but low, confident, and protective. The toy was created as a guardian more than a companion. One of my favorite scenes in the movie has David dropping the bear while being whisked away, only to have the tenacious toy waddling after him, calling his name. What an invention – a teddy bear that comes looking for you when you’ve lost your way.Osment is absolutely stunning to watch here. I believe his performance to be the year’s best so far. He injects the role of David with a subtlety that would seem impossible in the character of a robot. He has several heartfelt moments, including the scene where the mother decides to employ the code that would facilitate his ability to love. Watch his face as he suddenly obtains human feelings. The change in his expression is simple but noticeable, going from a slight “built-in” smile to a look of blank emotional befuddlement, as though he had just received a soul and now needed it filled. “Mommy,” he says softly, and falls onto her lap. There are also gut-wrenching moments, as when she drives him into the forest after deciding they can’t keep him. “Please don’t leave me!” he wails. “I promise I’ll be good! I won’t get into any more trouble! PLEASE!” We know he’s not human, but we never lose sight of the fact that he’s a creation born from the deepest regions of the human soul, and his cries for acceptance are therefore not alien to the ears of his inventors.There’s a certain dichotomy in human longing that “A.I.” gets right. I know I’ve felt it. I spend a good portion of my time (too much, it seems to me now) pining away for what’s missing, or what I perceive to be missing in my life. Somehow, though, I’ve also mastered the ability to shield myself from people who house a greater understanding of my nature than I care to admit. The mechas in “A.I.” were created to fill certain needs, and yet they’re also perceived as threats. Why? Perhaps because they understand human desires a tad too well. In a way, David’s need for love and acceptance has an advantage over a human being’s need for the same thing. David’s is programmed, built-in, undying. A robot won’t recoil into an emotional shell. When faced with a choice like the one he encounters at the story’s conclusion, David makes the right decision. But is it the same decision a human would make? Maybe … but maybe not, and that’s the movie’s message, I think. The experiment from which David was born might not have been successful, but in the rubble lies the key to potential happiness. Denying oneself emotional consummation is uniquely human. Fulfillment is achieved with a tenacity similar to that of an artificial intelligence.I am so grateful I can gather information via my computer, can laugh at something on television, can sidestep my culinary ineptitude with a microwave oven, can check in with my loved ones on the telephone. But I take even greater solace in knowing the avenue to emotional fulfillment lies safely in the veins of my being, untouched by outside influences and only trained by my perceptions of certain events. Only a perpetual willingness to venture beyond my fears can happiness be achieved. It’s strange that the movie’s main character is a robot who was created to act human, and the robotic side houses the greatest lesson. |
