Artificial Intelligence: A.I. (2001)
Alone in the middle
Steven Spielberg is in an ambiguous position. He's definitely not one of those typical Hollywood filmmakers who are more interested in making a killing at the box-office, but he looks awkward in the company of directors like Ingmar Bergman, Federico Fellini and Akira Kurosawa.
Artificial Intelligence: A.I. is Spielberg's latest. David, the main character in A.I., and the director have uncanny similarities. First, the former is a robotic boy who tries to convince everyone he meets that he's a real human being, while the latter might want to show that A.I. is proof that he's not contented with his two Best Director Oscars. Second, both are yearning for acceptance, which they got but not without a long wait. Third, both are kids at heart.
The only difference is while David attains his goal in the end, Spielberg falls short, as A.I. becomes the most-recent inclusion in the "List of Could-Have-Been-Great Pictures."
The film's story is a futuristic and darker version of Pinocchio, and it becomes juicier in light of recent news about human cloning. Technically, A.I. is brilliant, and its first hour is superb, as the parents of a terminally-ill boy adopt David, who is programmed to love. It's unsettling at first, as the mother (played by Australian actress Frances O'Connor, who slightly resembles Sally Field) tries to treat a robotic boy like her own flesh and blood.
When the adjustments are made and David is starting to get cozy, trouble brews when the real son recovers and comes home. Envy gradually heats up to a boiling point when the father (Sam Robards) feels threatened by the uncertainties that David's presence can bring. It didn't take much and long to convince his wife that David had to go.
What makes the film's first hour memorable is the suspense that kept me engrossed. Haley Joel Osment, the star of The Sixth Sense and Pay It Forward, is a marvel to watch. His performance might earn him another Oscar nomination next year. It's ironic to note that what makes the first hour so memorable is it's quality of being so un-Spielberg.
Unfortunately, the film reaches its peak too early - typical in Spielberg pictures - that when Jude Law enters the scene, the movie begins its gradual descent. It's due to Spielberg who makes his trademarks enter the big screen little by little; it's like dawn followed by sunrise. The most obvious sign is the gradual change in the tone of John Williams' musical score.
In the next hour, David encounters his kind and finds out that he's more fortunate than some of them. Just like Buzz Lightyear" (in Toy Story), he realizes that he's not one-of-a-kind as he first thought.
There are two things that make the second hour worth watching: the art direction to gawk at, and Law (star of Gattaca and The Talented Mr. Ripley), who is fun to watch as the robot programmed to be every woman's object of desire.
The final stage is the film's letdown, as it achieves a complete turn from its dark beginning. Williams' score is undoubtedly optimistic, and rises up to a fell-good finale. There's no mistaking that the last part is so Spielberg, such that fans of the director can't help but get nostalgic about his early works like E.T. the Extra Terrestial.
Rephrasing the movie's ad line, Steven Spielberg's talent is real, but can he still still deliver the goods? During the previous decade, the Academy voters recognized Spielberg for two works that are not really his best. Schindler's List may be his most most personal, and his sincerity is without a doubt, but it quite pales in comparison to Seven Beauties, another Holocaust pictures released in 1976 (the film earned a Best Director Oscar nomination for Lina Wertmuller, a first for a woman filmmaker).
As for Saving Private Ryan, despite its heart-pounding opening, the World War II flick looks like a copycat of Pierre Schoendoerffer's two war classics: 317th Platoon (1965) and Le Crabe Tambour (1977).
I wonder if Spielberg is already afflicted with MOOLAH-ria, a common but dangerous illness in Hollywood. Another thing is Stanley Kubrick was the first to take a crack at A.I.. If not for his death, would a Kubrick-Spielberg collaboration be like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Much as I want to kick Spielberg in the ass after watching his most recent, hopeless idealism prevailed, believing he can still make movies as wonderful as his early works.
The movie may elicit polarized reactions, but in my case, I'm in the middle and confused. Both David and Spielberg feel the same way, too.
(First published in Daily Tribune on September 8, 2001)
Steven Spielberg is in an ambiguous position. He's definitely not one of those typical Hollywood filmmakers who are more interested in making a killing at the box-office, but he looks awkward in the company of directors like Ingmar Bergman, Federico Fellini and Akira Kurosawa.
Artificial Intelligence: A.I. is Spielberg's latest. David, the main character in A.I., and the director have uncanny similarities. First, the former is a robotic boy who tries to convince everyone he meets that he's a real human being, while the latter might want to show that A.I. is proof that he's not contented with his two Best Director Oscars. Second, both are yearning for acceptance, which they got but not without a long wait. Third, both are kids at heart.
The only difference is while David attains his goal in the end, Spielberg falls short, as A.I. becomes the most-recent inclusion in the "List of Could-Have-Been-Great Pictures."
The film's story is a futuristic and darker version of Pinocchio, and it becomes juicier in light of recent news about human cloning. Technically, A.I. is brilliant, and its first hour is superb, as the parents of a terminally-ill boy adopt David, who is programmed to love. It's unsettling at first, as the mother (played by Australian actress Frances O'Connor, who slightly resembles Sally Field) tries to treat a robotic boy like her own flesh and blood.
When the adjustments are made and David is starting to get cozy, trouble brews when the real son recovers and comes home. Envy gradually heats up to a boiling point when the father (Sam Robards) feels threatened by the uncertainties that David's presence can bring. It didn't take much and long to convince his wife that David had to go.
What makes the film's first hour memorable is the suspense that kept me engrossed. Haley Joel Osment, the star of The Sixth Sense and Pay It Forward, is a marvel to watch. His performance might earn him another Oscar nomination next year. It's ironic to note that what makes the first hour so memorable is it's quality of being so un-Spielberg.
Unfortunately, the film reaches its peak too early - typical in Spielberg pictures - that when Jude Law enters the scene, the movie begins its gradual descent. It's due to Spielberg who makes his trademarks enter the big screen little by little; it's like dawn followed by sunrise. The most obvious sign is the gradual change in the tone of John Williams' musical score.
In the next hour, David encounters his kind and finds out that he's more fortunate than some of them. Just like Buzz Lightyear" (in Toy Story), he realizes that he's not one-of-a-kind as he first thought.
There are two things that make the second hour worth watching: the art direction to gawk at, and Law (star of Gattaca and The Talented Mr. Ripley), who is fun to watch as the robot programmed to be every woman's object of desire.
The final stage is the film's letdown, as it achieves a complete turn from its dark beginning. Williams' score is undoubtedly optimistic, and rises up to a fell-good finale. There's no mistaking that the last part is so Spielberg, such that fans of the director can't help but get nostalgic about his early works like E.T. the Extra Terrestial.
Rephrasing the movie's ad line, Steven Spielberg's talent is real, but can he still still deliver the goods? During the previous decade, the Academy voters recognized Spielberg for two works that are not really his best. Schindler's List may be his most most personal, and his sincerity is without a doubt, but it quite pales in comparison to Seven Beauties, another Holocaust pictures released in 1976 (the film earned a Best Director Oscar nomination for Lina Wertmuller, a first for a woman filmmaker).
As for Saving Private Ryan, despite its heart-pounding opening, the World War II flick looks like a copycat of Pierre Schoendoerffer's two war classics: 317th Platoon (1965) and Le Crabe Tambour (1977).
I wonder if Spielberg is already afflicted with MOOLAH-ria, a common but dangerous illness in Hollywood. Another thing is Stanley Kubrick was the first to take a crack at A.I.. If not for his death, would a Kubrick-Spielberg collaboration be like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Much as I want to kick Spielberg in the ass after watching his most recent, hopeless idealism prevailed, believing he can still make movies as wonderful as his early works.
The movie may elicit polarized reactions, but in my case, I'm in the middle and confused. Both David and Spielberg feel the same way, too.
(First published in Daily Tribune on September 8, 2001)
posted by Francis Rex Alger @ 5:34 PM
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