Underrated AND Misinterpreted: A.I. Artificial Intelligence

     
          People often unfairly criticize Steven Spielberg for "changing" Stanley Kubrick's original vision of A.I. Artificial Intelligence. I've even said this myself. For years, I thought that A.I. was an almost-masterpiece. That it was just a few tweaks away from being one of the great science fiction films. As I've gotten older, I am realizing more and more that A.I. is not only a great movie, but it is one of the most horrifying, non-sentimental films Steven Spielberg has ever made. And it is certainly, in my opinion, his finest foray into "serious" filmmaking.

          I know what you're thinking. Plenty of you probably saw the title and slapped your foreheads. "No, Cameron. No. That's the movie where Spielberg raped Stanley Kubrick."

          Actually, Kubrick always intended for Spielberg to direct the film. The two were very close and they admired one another's work. Kubrick always saw Spielberg as the perfect fit for this film because of his gift with effects and child actors. And, as Kubrick got older, he shied further and further away from taking directing gigs for fear he'd take too long setting up shots of people walking through doors. He acknowledged Spielberg as the populist, and he knew the film needed to run through a filter before entering the world. Even Kubrick found the subject matter a little too dark for his own sensibilities.

          In his last years of life, Kubrick labored over robot designs, conceived of what future America would look like, and sketched storyboards for the most crucial scenes. He also developed several drafts of the script that Spielberg would eventually take over.

           After Kubrick's death, Spielberg decided that he would make A.I. his next project in order to honor his good friend. He set out to find the perfect David. Of course, he didn't have to look very hard, because Haley Joel Osment was the most profitable child actor in the world at that time. He was also quite talented, and had already shown an amazing ability to take on a serious role without a hint of youthful irony or sentiment. Just what the doctor ordered.

         Photography began in early 2000, and teaser trailers and websites were already making their rounds. Finally, people were saying, Spielberg is making another whimsical fairy tale for children. He's making an E.T. for the new generation! It's even got an acronym title! The problem with this theory is that the movie is about death, disappointment, and the hatred and selfishness that lies inside all of us. The movie is about loss and pain. It's about companionship, and how some things were made to be broken.

        This is powerful (and, admittedly, kind of emo) stuff for a kid's film. I guess that's why it isn't a kid's film. It just has kids in it. You know, like KIDS. So, to everybody's surprise, A.I. turned out to be a rather nihilistic portrait of America gone wrong, and parents everywhere swore to never trust a trailer with whimsical guitar ever again. Look at that logo. The boy is looking up, as if there's hope.

         But this isn't Spartacus or Paths of Glory we're talking about here. This is late Kubrick. This is Eyes Wide Shut Kubrick. He has seen the joy and love that people share. He's here to show us why that's so important. He's here to show us what happens when that goes away.

        A.I. tells the story of a mother, Monica, whose son is dying of a rare disease with no cure. Every morning, she goes to the boy's cryogenically frozen body and reads books to it. She spends her days folding and washing his clothes. Wishing he were around.

       One day, her husband comes home with a surprise. There's a new kind of robot, a boy robot, that has a software that enables him to love. All she has to do is activate the software, and the immortal robot boy will love her, unconditionally, forever. Monica is outraged by the very thought of replacing her son. Besides, the robot, named David, will never feel genuine. What good is love if you've had it programmed? But what is motherhood anyway, if not a love you yourself have created?

       Before long, Monica decides she'll accept the offer. She programs David to love her, and he is immediately obsessed with his mother. He follows her all around the house. He helps her with her chores. He gives her constant care and validation. Monica is appropriately freaked out.

      What is so fascinating about this movie is the way that it understands love. In the film, love is not companionship or respect or trust. It is obsession. David is obsessed with his mother. Everything he does is somehow a reflection of his obsession with her. For David, love is a disease. And there's no cure.

      And just when Monica was starting to come around to the idea of loving David back, her son is miraculously cured and sent home. This shatters David's world. Why would Monica love David, her replacement son, when she's got the real son all to herself? Besides, he's a real person who can grow old, reproduce, and eventually die. He is not immortal. He is not a constant reminder that one day all of us will die.

     This is really heavy stuff for Spielberg, who even ended his Holocaust movie with a triumphant rescue scene. In A.I., we have to watch a child's (albeit a synthetic child) arbitrary quest to find a way to become a real boy so that his mother can love him.

     After a few misunderstandings, David is abandoned in the woods by Monica, where he meets a fugitive robot who was designed as a male prostitute. From this point on, the two robots go on a mission to find the Blue Fairy (as seen in a Pinnochio picture-book his mother so indiscreetly read to him), and, by extension, a way for his mother to love him again.

     We know the entire time that David's journey is ridiculous. There is no blue fairy. It is impossible for him to become a real boy. And as we see him travel further and further into this dystopian America, the more we realize that the human race is completely falling apart. Robots live forever. Their energy sources never die. And, as Jude Law's Gigolo Joe tells David, "When the dust settles and the fire goes out, all that will be left is us. And they hate us for it."

      Entire game shows are dedicated to the destruction of robots. This is not because humans hate robots, but because they fear their own mortality. People get older. People die. These robots aren't natural because they don't age. They don't change. They are forever. This isn't a story about a robot becoming a real boy, but of a robot coming to terms with the mortality of those around him. He has to learn to accept that death is natural, and that he is not of the natural world.

SPOILERS AHEAD

          And this is why the ending is so necessary. The theme of the movie is that we can't stop death. That everything must, one day, come to an end. When David is stuck in front of the Blue Fairy statue, what we see is a young boy who is still full of hope. He still believes in magic. He is still a child. However, 2,000 years later, David is unearthed by highly advanced robots (yes, those are robots--they have digital faces, and they have lived longer than humans, just as Gigolo Joe predicted they would), he is given the chance to spend one more day with Monica.

          When I first saw the film, I was very upset with this ending. Why wouldn't they end it with a shot of the Blue Fairy, wooden and inanimate at the bottom of the ocean? It fit better with the hopelessness of the film. I thought, jeeze Spielberg, way to schmalz it up for us. But now, I see this as a much more horrifying conclusion. He does not get to spend the rest of his days with Monica. No. He gets to spend one day with her. And he can live forever.

           So what do they do? He makes her coffee and they read together. And then she goes to sleep. That's when she dies. David will wake up next to Monica, who is dead, and he'll spend the rest of eternity with faceless robots that only care about using David like he's a museum artifact. The robots are merely replacing the humans in his situation. He is still being objectified by the very beings that allow him to live. He was created to fulfill a curiosity. He was built as a substitute for grieving parents to cope with. Now he's a substitute for the entire human race, which ceases to exist at this point in the future.

          A.I. is a daring, high-budget concept film that analyzes the darkest depths of the human soul. It shows us death and suffering and fear, and it does this through the lens of a beautiful retelling of Pinnochio, only, without that happy ending where he becomes a real boy. It's not a perfect film. There are pacing issues and sometimes it's a little too on-the-nose with its message, but I greatly admire Spielberg's work, here. This is some of the most interesting material he has ever worked with, and probably the last movie he'll ever take a real risk with, considering the reviews and box office returns.

        If you saw this movie years ago and didn't like it. Try it out again. If anything, it's a bizarre relic of Hollywood squeezing out a sad, nihilistic movie about death marketed for children.


I give A.I. Artificial Intelligence an 8 out of 10 annoying Clockwork Orange fans.

Misinterpreted: Wild At Heart

          Roger Ebert, before he decided that he liked David Lynch after all upon the release of Mulholland Drive, found Wild At Heart to be a wildly unbalanced, tonally confusing, and offensively violent failure of a film. Ten years later, Ebert praised Inland Empire for the exact same thing. He called the latter a bold, ambitious vision that few directors can achieve. I'm glad that Ebert appreciates Inland Empire for all of its idiosyncrasies, but it feels unfair that Ebert would wait until Lynch is almost universally loved in the world of film criticism before he started giving the director the benefit of the doubt.

           In his reviews for ERASERHEAD, Blue Velvet, and Wild At Heart, Ebert criticizes the way Lynch's movies don't explain themselves. He acts as if Lynch has no big plan for his films, and that they are just random moments of style that amount to an empty experience. He criticized Blue Velvet for its sexuality, ERASERHEAD for its dense imagery, and Wild At Heart for its violence. He said it was a director pushing buttons for the sake of controversy, and that Lynch's films are full of hate.

           Not to sound dramatic, but there are people who believe that Huck Finn is a racist novel because there's racism in it. Just because something depicts cruel acts of humanity, this does not mean that that product endorses cruel acts.

           Yeah, Wild At Heart is violent. It begins with Sailor Ripley (Nicolas Cage) beating an African-American man to death in one of the most shockingly violent scenes I've ever seen. Sailor, our hero, committing such acts of violence so early in the film is indicative of the kind of journey Lynch is taking us on.

         
           Sailor is not a hero. He is young, impulsive, passionate, and free. He represents the dream of 1950's youth--the invincible, endlessly cool lover who will do anything "for [his] girl." He is Elvis and James Dean rolled into one. From his snakeskin jacket to his oiled hair, he is the epitome of style.

           In a sense, Sailor is the embodiment of what Ebert accused Lynch's films of being--good style, easy on the eyes, but, ultimately, empty. To call the characterization of Sailor broad-stroked and lacking of any subtlety is not a criticism, but an observation. His violence, his raw sexuality, his hatred--these are all elements used to describe an ideal. And, as the movie continues, the viewer should come to realize that the film does not like Sailor. The film wants Sailor to change, but he can't. How can he? He's an ideal. He isn't a real person.
       
          You could say that I'm reading the film this way because I love David Lynch. You're probably on to something. Once I commit to a filmmaker or painter or singer, I am fiercely committed to that artist and love what he or she does. However, with Wild At Heart, I think there's a good argument for my reading of the film.

         It becomes clear early on that the film is a loose (and I mean loose) adaptation of The Wizard Of Oz, complete with a good and bad witch and a road onto which the heroes must journey. Now, let's think about The Wizard of Oz for a second. What is Dorothy? Is she a character lovingly designed with subtlety and nuance? No, she's the ideal little girl. She is innocent and sweet and cannot stand when other people are hurt. Like Sailor, she is a representation of a dream. She must be read this way for us to invest in her story.

       Now look at Sailor. He is 1950's America (a subject Lynch never really seems to stray from), and he represents every ignorant, hateful, alienating aspect of the decade and what it represents. Lula Fortune (Laura Dern) is in love with his spirit. He is a go-getter, a fighter, a man who fully believes in his own convictions, and for the duration of the film, these convictions all center around her.

          Lula is the way people of Sailor's ideal view women. She is the pinup, the codependent, the passionate virgin looking for adventure. Her obsession with Sailor is poisonous. It infects her life and her relationship with the outside world. She very literally goes to the edge of the Earth to keep Sailor in love with her. You see that picture up there? Lula spends approximately 80% of the film in a position very similar to that one. Most of her dialogue is the exclamation "Sailor!" She is not a real person. She can't be. She is a type, just as Sailor is, and when Lynch puts both of these types into the same room, they explode.

        The rational world cannot handle these extreme examples of 1950's idealism. They are embroiled in a tragic romance not unlike Bonnie and Clyde, or the lovers in Terrence Malick's Badlands, or even Romeo and Juliet.

         What sets them apart from these other tragic love stories is that they are aware of their own story. From the earliest point, it becomes clear that Lula and Sailor are knowingly and willingly becoming entrenched in a tragic love affair. They are exhilarated by the knowledge of their own demise. Each time Sailor gets in a fight, or drives his car too fast and too dangerously, or lights up a cigarette, Lula smiles and screams with glee. Only true love can burn so bright. Only true life must be ejected from this world. Only true love can inspire the monsters to attack.

          As in The Wizard of Oz, the journey of the hero is tested. In the case of Wild At Heart, the hero is Sailor Ripley, and the journey is his path toward enlightenment. For Dorothy, her true test was a fight against the Wicked Witch--a woman who hates where she is from and what it represents. The witch represents, for Dorothy, the way that she may end up if she doesn't change her mind about her family and her home. She may end up alone in a tower, hating everything that's content.

         For Sailor, his Wicked Witch Bobby Peru (Willem Dafoe). Peru is the end result of what Sailor is slowly becoming. He is impulsive to a fault--exploding into violence at the smallest whim, and his sexuality is so strong that it is hostile. Peru is mean and closed-minded. He is a dark example of arrogance and brute strength. He knows what he wants and he gets it with God on his side. Sailor sees himself in the man. He knows that, if he doesn't watch out, he will become Bobby Peru.

        Wild At Heart is a fable. This is not one of David Lynch's complex dissections of the human identity. It is a morality a tale, a pretty straightforward one at that, and it uses its Wizard of Oz imagery to guide viewer in his/her understanding of it. The film is often considered a misfire, despite the fact that it won the Palm D'or at the Cannes Film Festival, because of its unusual tone and bizarre sense of humor, but I find it to be one of the director's most enduring and interesting films of his career.


        If you've never seen it, definitely give it a look. If you've seen it before and you are shaking your head at the lengths I will go for my fanboy passions, then you should watch it again. Perhaps you'll change your mind.

How do you feel about this movie? Let me know in the comments. 

Underrated: Shotgun Stories

       
          The brothers are named Son, Boy and Kid. These are their legal names. Their father, a drunk who changed his ways grew a conscience, left his three sons and started a new family after his metamorphosis. They grew up fending for themselves in a rural Arkansas town. Son, the oldest (played by the always brilliant Michael Shannon), is a fisherman. He is quiet and filled with fury. Boy, the middle child, coaches middle school basketball and lives in his van. He has no fight left in him after a troubled adolescence. Kid, the youngest, is a mechanic for Kia Motors and looking for a raise. He's loud and belligerent and ready to fight anybody who opposes the brothers.

        We see their lives as simple and desperate. The brothers have no money, no direction, no ambition. Son lives in a shotgun shack beside a wild field that used to harvest the family's farm. His house is the only semblance of what used to be a successful, happy family.

       The film, written and directed by Take Shelter's Jeff Nichols, begins with the brothers learning that their father has died, and that the funeral is taking place tomorrow. When the brothers arrive at the funeral, we find out that the other family -- the half brothers -- are affluent and proud. They love their father and everything he stood for. Son can't handle this fact. He is suffocated by the idea that his father may have been a good man. That a good man may have left his three boys behind in order to make a new life, as if his own children were the evidence of a misdeed.

      Son decides he's got something to say at the funeral. He tells the congregation that his father was an evil man. That he left his family all alone to fend for themselves. Son spits on his father's coffin. This starts a war between the families.

          Like he does in Take Shelter, Nichols relies heavily on the silent intensity of Shannon's presence. He is truly amazing, here. Everything he does feels calculated, precise. His anger is revealed only in short bursts, punctuating his otherwise calm temperament.

         The film is a parable. The police don't exist. The town is a vacuum where all that matters is the war between the families. Shotgun Stories is reminiscent of David Gordon Green (who serves as a producer)'s early films, such as George Washington or Snow Angels. The narrative is episodic and focused primarily on the rural life of a community. The characters are intelligent without ambition. Sometimes it's hard not to see them as bums, but the closer we get to them, the more we can sympathize with how simply they live.

         Shotgun Stories is a surprising success. Its deliberate pacing and episodic nature mirror that of an Ingmar Bergman chamber drama. The writing is king, whereas the visuals only seem to serve as vehicles for dialogue. It's an interesting film that is, for some reason, never really talked about. Hopefully the success of Take Shelter will increase the demand for what I find to be one of the most interesting films I've seen in quite some time.

I give Shotgun Stories an 8 out 10 wet coffins.

Underrated: Valhalla Rising

       

          Somebody once described the style of Nicolas Winding Refn's Valhalla Rising to me as "What if David Lynch made a Viking movie?" However, I'm not sure if this description is totally fair to either party. For one thing, this implies that the movie is surreal. It isn't. It also implies that the film contains dark humor, it doesn't. It's actually pretty amazing how dissimilar this movie is from any David Lynch film ever made. Amazing only because I can see why people would make a comparison between the stylistic choices of Refn and those of Lynch.

          Valhalla Rising is dark, moody, atmospheric, uninterested in linear plotting, and totally committed to its central theme. This theme, of course, is terror. The story is presented as a sort of bad acid trip (the director's intention) that only gets worse. Its protagonist is One-Eye, played by Bond villain extraordinaire Mads Mikkelsen, a blood-thirsty warrior who is seen at the opening of the film as an enslaved gladiatorial piece of property. He fights while chained to a stake for the gambling profit of the elder warriors in a clan of Vikings.

          Of course, One-Eye escapes the clan and seeks retribution. But instead of being able to exact action movie revenge, One-Eye is instead captured by a group of nomadic Christians traveling along the fresh water lakes of what is now Delaware. They are frightened by One-Eye, but they can't resist keeping him around as a sort of insurance policy. He might be extremely violent, but he also only kills those who cross him.

         The audience is then subjected to several strange and disturbing scenes of violence. So disturbing, in fact, that in one scene I actually said "oh my god" uncontrollably. I was by myself when I watched the movie.

         People probably relate this film's style with that of David Lynch because they've never seen a Werner Herzog movie. Valhalla Rising feels a whole lot like Herzog's Aguirre: The Wrath of God, and Mikkelson's performance could have easily been captured by the manic Klaus Kinski. But I think what we're really seeing is another new voice in cinema. Nicolas Winding Refn is responsible for the Pusher trilogy, Bronson, and this year's Cannes Film Festival Best Director prize winning Drive (click for trailer), my most anticipated film of 2011.

         Refn is part of a new generation of filmmakers who grew up watching films by Lynch and Herzog and Jodolowsky and has crafted his own synthesis of these visions. He's part of the New Danish Cinema movement fronted by Lars Von Trier, and he's of a similar style and influence.

       The film is beautifully shot and acted well by all of those in involved. Its pacing may be a bit slow for those expecting more action, but I said violence, not action. It is definitely worth a watch if you enjoy films like those collaborations between Herzog and Kinski, or if you enjoy films like El Topo or even, to a lesser extent, Lost Highway and Wild at Heart.

Valhalla Rising is currently available on Netflix's watch instantly. Check it out for yourself.