I love intelligent, quietly thoughtful sci-fi films: an increasingly rare commodity in this era of Star Wars, Star Trek and all manner of superhero movies.
Although ostensibly a genre devoted to science and speculative advancement, the best examples focus on how futuristic technology impacts the human condition.
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| Anna (Maren Eggert) isn't wild about introducing Tom (Dan Stevens) to her museum research team ... but she prefers this to leaving him alone in her apartment. |
Director Maria Schrader’s Ich bin dein Mensch — released here in the States as I’m Your Man — belongs in their company. This disarmingly beguiling little drama is one of 15 films short-listed for this year’s International Feature Film Oscar. And deservedly so.
The script — by Schrader and Jan Schomburg, based on a short story by Emma Braslavsky — is by turns ingenious, whimsical, poignant and remarkably insightful. All concerned have concocted a cheeky modern riff on the ancient Greek Pygmalion legend; the result is equal parts rom-com and shrewd philosophical musings on the nature of humanity.
The setting feels like modern-day Germany — in terms of clothing, cars and personal tech — but clearly is a bit in the future, given the story’s focus. We meet Alma Felser (Maren Eggert) as she nervously joins the crowd at what appears to be a posh speed-dating nightclub. She’s greeted by a “handler,” (Sandra Hüller), who in turn introduces her to Tom (Dan Stevens), apparently her companion for the evening.
It’s a shame to telegraph all the little ways in which this initial encounter goes oddly awry; not knowing the reason robs viewers of the delight to be experienced by Stevens’ impeccably nuanced and oddly balletic performance. Suffice to say that Tom tries much too hard to be gallant and charming, his fervent declarations of love and devotion far better suited to couples married for a decade or two, than a first “date” … if, indeed, that’s what this is.
But it isn’t. At least, not exactly.
Alma, in turn, clearly isn’t happy, doesn’t want to be here, behaves like a trapped rabbit. Eggert radiates wariness and discomfort, her guarded expression revealing a bit of condescension, if not outright contempt.
All becomes clear when Tom is revealed to be a meticulously crafted AI: human in appearance and — theoretically — behavior, down to the last detail. (Rest assured, matters eventually do get down to the last detail.) Alma is an archaeological research scientist at Berlin’s Pergamon Museum, specializing in deciphering ancient Mesopotamian cuneiform writing; she’s also one of 10 “experts” selected to evaluate the newest line of robots made by a never-specified corporation.
Her boss, Dekan (Falilou Seck), is part of an ethics committee that will determine the degree to which these … beings … are entitled to some (any?) of the protective rights that society grants its human members. Dekan has dangled a plum trip to Chicago — where Alma will be able to examine some key cuneiform tablets in person — as a means of securing her participation in this three-week trial.
To that end, and following Alma’s exhaustive earlier battery of tests and psychological evaluations, Tom has been designed as her “ideal man.” He’s to live with her for three weeks, after which she’ll render a final evaluation.
And, so, she brings him home. Very reluctantly.
The resulting pas de deux is enchanting and delectably droll from the start, and gets even better as time passes. Alma is ferociously private; her apartment is messy; and (like any of us) she cherishes all manner of little daily rituals. Tom, flamboyantly determined to get her to love him — and to “help” her become the best possible version of herself — intrudes and oversteps on every conceivable level.
He lacks a sense of proportion and social cues, and no surprise; that cannot be programmed, but must be learned.
Playing a humanlike “other” is quite difficult, and very few actors have pulled it off without turning their characters into burlesques. I’ve always been impressed by Jeff Bridges’ performance in 1984’s Starman, and Brent Spiner’s Data was a marvelous highlight on television’s Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Stevens is even better, and Schrader must have spent a lot of time with him. The theatrical gestures, the a-bit-too-cheerful expression, the perhaps too affable half-smile, the constantly attentive gaze … everything is perfect, in the sense of being perfectly not-quite-right. He stands too straight, walks too precisely. He never blinks.
And his utter cluelessness is utterly adorable.
To everybody except Alma, that is.
Eggert’s performance is equally subtle and shaded. We initially fault Alma for being deliberately cruel, at the expense of a being that has no reference points for “correct” behavior. The assignment is sabotaged by the degree to which she initially keeps Tom at arms’ length. He can’t adapt, or conduct himself better, if she refuses to engage with him as … well … a human being.
In many ways, Alma seems the wrong sort of person for such an exercise. She’s too withdrawn, too buttoned-down, too unyielding. But that isn’t all; she also carries considerable anguish, into which Tom — with the delicacy of a bull in a china shop — frequently intrudes.
This dynamic is telling: In many ways, Alma is more robotic — less human — than Tom.
The question, then: Can they learn from each other? Will she allow it?
Hüller’s “handler” also is the public face of the aforementioned corporate entity. She remains perky, calmly efficient and coolly unruffled, even in the face of Alma’s occasional hostility; Hüller manages to make this professionalism mildly creepy. (We may chuckle at her relentless tranquility, but we do so nervously.)
Sidebar elements deftly enhance the core narrative. Alma’s father (Wolfgang Hübsch), sliding into dementia, needs constant care; her sister Cora (Annika Meier) takes the lion’s share of this duty. Alma’s visits are heartbreaking, due to the persuasiveness of Hübsch’s performance.
Alma’s relationship with her ex-husband, Julian (Hans Löw), is strained. They work in the same building, but not together; he seems pleasant enough, and they’re polite with each other. That said, given Löw’s quietly concerned gaze, Julian clearly worries about her.
Cora Pratz’s production design is solid: from the lived-in clutter of Alma’s apartment; to the university-style workspace shared by her research team; to visually arresting structures such as the James Simon Gallery in Berlin’s Museumsinsel.
Tobias Wagner’s score is as clever as the rest of the film: jarring, inharmonious synth during “robotic” moments — by Tom or Alma — intercut with warmer, softer piano combo cues that back more intimately human behavior.
Considering how carefully Schrader and Schomburg constructed their script, I’m a bit surprised by the glaring hanging chad concerning Alma’s research work: not so much unresolved, as simply abandoned.
That hiccup aside, Schrader builds this saga to a marvelous conclusion: a rare narrative example of being able to eat the cake and still have it.
For once, the destination is just as charming as the journey.
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