Three stars. Rating: R, for profanity, sexual candor and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang
Writer/director Spike Jonze’s new
fantasy is an intriguing cautionary tale aimed squarely at the narcissistic,
self-absorbed millennials who increasingly behave as if social media isn’t
merely an acceptable substitute for personal contact, but in fact deserves to
become the preferred method of
interaction.
In that respect, Jonze displays
an uncanny instinct for depicting our deeply disturbing near-future, if such conduct
continues unchecked along its current path.
Much as I admire the message,
however, the delivery system leaves something to be desired. At 126 minutes,
this film is self-indulgent to a fault, moving s-l-o-w-l-y to the point of
ponderous tedium, en route to a resolution that we can see coming from miles
away.
Were Rod Serling alive today,
I’ve no doubt he could have turned this premise into a dynamite half-hour
installment of his Twilight Zone TV
series (assuming placement on HBO or some other pay-cable network, to preserve
the essential adult themes). Jonze, taking a much more leisurely approach,
drags us for an monotonous ride that had me checking my watch during the entire
second hour.
Jonze burst onto the cinema scene
with 1999’s Being John Malkovich —
which brought him an Academy Award nomination for best director — and has built
his subsequent big-screen career on eccentric and downright bizarre
relationship dynamics. He most famously teamed with screenwriter Charlie
Kaufman for 2002’s Adaptation, the
latter insisting on co-crediting that script with his “fictitious twin brother”
Donald, both of whom were depicted in the film by Nicolas Cage.
Adaptation was an alternately hilarious and
disturbing analysis of the creative process, and Jonze’s new film certainly
follows that template. But instead of a fictitious twin, this story’s
co-protagonist is the disembodied voice of a computer operating system that
possesses intelligence, perception and a capacity for emotional growth.
In other words, the perfect
example of artificial intelligence.
The setting is Los Angeles in a
“slight future” that is a welcome utopian relief from the Blade Runner-esque hellholes envisioned in too many recent sci-fi
films. The overall infrastructure in this vision of Southern California looks
and feels familiar, aside for a greater emphasis on towering buildings, and the
ambiance is warm, comfortable and embracing. People wear nice clothes, the
weather seems ideal, food is plentiful and tasty, and there’s no trace of
crime, neglect or poverty.
OK, so maybe it’s a bit soulless
... which is, of course, precisely the point.
Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) has a
successful career as one of the best scribes employed at
BeautifulHandwrittenLetters.com, a company that can be hired to ghost-write
correspondence for clients unwilling (or unable) to do the job themselves.
Offhand remarks indicate that Theodore has been doing this for awhile, since
he’s quite familiar with the intimate details of (for example) married clients
whose letters he has composed for years.
His letters are beautiful,
touching and soulful, every word conveying an emotional intensity that poets
would admire.
With respect to his own personal
life, however, Theodore is badly damaged goods: deeply depressed over the
failure of his marriage to Catherine (Rooney Mara). The highs and subsequent lows of this
relationship are depicted in a series of poignant flashbacks that arrive in
short hiccups throughout this film: wordless montages that deftly convey the
joyous glow of young love that eventually fades into estrangement and, finally,
dissolution.
Clearly, then, Jonze knows how to
distil complex narrative details into economical bursts of on-screen action.
Too bad he couldn’t do that with this entire film.
Reduced to spending his evenings
with immersive computer games, Theodore responds with interest upon learning
about a new operating system “personality” that is designed to bond with its
user, and then adapt itself into a sort of online companion. Theodore signs up,
breezes through a few perfunctory questions and quickly becomes the recipient
of an OS that dubs itself — herself —
Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson).
Why that name, he wonders aloud.
Because it felt right, Samantha — Sam — replies.
Indeed, we reflect, burrowing nervously into our
theater seats.
At first, Theodore is merely
amused and intrigued by the depth of knowledge that Samantha displays: typical
light-speed computer processing. Her increased awareness of his moods, however,
is something else entirely ... along with her companionable desire to know him
better. Quite soon thereafter, Theodore finds that Sam has become a highly desirable
friend and, eventually ... even lover.
Which isn’t quite the absurdity
that it sounds. Women have imagined themselves into bodice-ripping gothic romances
for generations; men have done the same, somewhat more crudely, with explicit
magazines and films. All the way back in 1983, director Douglas Trumbull’s Brainstorm played with the notion of the
heightened “reality” of an experience not one’s own.
And Jonze’s script quite cleverly
depicts the blossoming attachment between Theodore and Sam; we may be
encouraged to chuckle, but not because these events are ridiculous. No, they
actually seem uneasily probable. After all, if we’ve already made peace with
the concept of “sex surrogates” who help people work out their erotic kinks, is
it that far-fetched to imagine an attractive young woman (Portia Doubleday) who
offers herself “professionally” as the one thing — a physical body — that an OS
personality such as Sam lacks?
We can’t help being captivated by
these aspects of Jonze’s film; he definitely has his insightful finger on the
pulse of everything that’s psychologically disturbing about the social media
generation.
And it’s also true, as has been
bruited in numerous media stories, that Johansson’s sparkling voice is this
film’s most enchanting element. She works an impressive degree of emotional
depth into this purely speaking role: We can tell whether Sam is joyous or
concerned, giddy or pouting, gently reproachful or playfully sensual. It’s
quite a performance.
Frankly, though, Johansson’s work
stands out so much because the “real people” in this story behave like
sleepwalkers. They move slowly and talk slowly, their expressions changing
slowly — if at all — in response to external stimuli. This is the Clint
Eastwood School of Acting, where a wealth of emotion theoretically is conveyed
by blank stares and long, quiet takes. Doesn’t always work that way.
This is Theodore’s story, and
it’s easy to recognize the significance of this character’s anticipated
evolution. But Phoenix walks around in a bland daze much of the time, reacting
passively even when a situation calls for a stronger emotional response.
Granted, yes, this speaks to the moral crux of Jonze’s narrative, but the
soporific approach wears thin pretty quickly.
Even the usually effervescent Amy
Adams is muted as Theodore’s good (platonic) friend Amy, a budding
documentarian whose current project is a lengthy film of herself ... sleeping.
Amy is married to the patronizing Charles (Matt Letscher), and we sense that
their relationship may not be long for this world.
Chris Pratt co-stars as one of
Theodore’s office mates, who has an interesting reaction upon learning that his
friend is spending so much time with a computer OS; the always sexy Olivia
Wilde pops up as a blind date that Sam encourages Theodore to meet. Listen
carefully, and you might recognize the voices of Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader,
as off-camera chat room participants.
Production designer K.K. Barrett
has a lot of fun with the various “slight future” trappings, particularly
smaller items such as restaurant menus and next-gen smart gadgets. Conveying
the look of a Los Angeles that is “just around the corner,” in Barrett’s own words,
was achieved by filming numerous exteriors in Shanghai’s Pudong District, where
elevated walkways keep the pedestrian eye-line above the distant hum of unseen
vehicles.
The quite varied score comes from
the Grammy Award-winning band Arcade Fire and composer Owen Pallett, with an
additional (quite significant) contribution by Karen O, one of Jonze’s frequent
collaborators. The totality of music is gentle, wistful and richly emotional
... which, unfortunately, often contributes to the film’s increasingly muted
tone.
I’m intrigued by this film’s
arrival only a few months after Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s Don Jon. Both stories involve young men looking for love in all the
wrong places: wrong places that ironically both center around Scarlett
Johansson. Both films waste far too much time reaching their blindingly obvious
conclusions, albeit from different artistic directions: Gordon-Levitt’s style
was relentlessly in-your-face, while Jonze prefers the slow burn of a
somnambulant pace.
Both approaches are flawed, for
essentially the same reason: insufficient emotional “truth” on which to hang
our interest.
Johansson’s public visibility may
grant this film a greater percentage of mainstream viewers than ordinarily
would have noticed it, which on the surface is a good thing; it would be
wonderful if millennials recognized themselves on the screen, and modified
their behavior accordingly. But Jonze takes much too long to wander toward the obvious
fairy-tale resolution, by which time many folks may have fallen asleep.
Probably not the desired response.
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