Artificial Intelligence, the Movie, My Thoughts
I am twelve years or more behind in posting this (there wasn't blogging back then, really). I finally watched this movie the other night because it was on TCM, late. I managed to stay up for it despite its going off at 1:30.
It was imaginative; it was more Spielberg than Kubrick; it was too long, with a tacked on ending. Kubrick would have ended it with David staring forever at the blue fairy underwater; he had a darker vision. Spielberg has a habit of sinking into some unneeded pathos at times. His best movies are Schindler's List and Lincoln--and maybe Saving Private Ryan--where he couldn't do that. Of course he is one of the greatest filmmakers, but that doesn't mean I have to like all of them. Faulkner was brilliant but I am not going to read him for enjoyment.
I had two issues with the movie as far as getting emotionally involved in it. We are supposed to fall in love with David, but I couldn't. He was just a machine, and I would no more fall in love with a robot character than I would my microwave. I felt emotion for the mother, the real mother in the first part of the film. So I was somewhat detached from it, watching it intellectually to see if it was good or bad, not entering into the story.
Secondly, I got to thinking about having a replacement child like that. David would always be eight years old. He would always be the same. One of the greatest things about being a parent is the never-ending possibilities of one's child because they grow, and change, and develop, and learn, and become a different version of themselves. Every age with my son was a delight; I never wanted him to stay at the age he was, no matter how cute and charming and well behaved he was. Raising him was about seeing him rise--to a newer level.
This is one reason I find dogs just a little bit dissatisfying. They don't really change. You can teach them a new trick, but they are pretty much what they are (which can sometimes be pretty disgusting; my dogs lick themselves far too much no matter how we reprimand them). They are fun if you don't expect to much.
The conceit of the film is that a robot could be developed who could love, and that they could them evolve (to be those alien-looking beings at the end). A second conceit is that a child who doesn't grow up would satisfy a grieving parent. (I was so glad when Martin got better!)
So the engineer who designed David, we finally learn, really wanted a replica of his own child who had died (why didn't he take him home instead of inflicting the robot on those poor people). Wouldn't they have been able to clone by then, if they could develop that level of robot, and get a second child that way?
In the end, though, it was beautiful and thoughtful and violent, if too long.
It was imaginative; it was more Spielberg than Kubrick; it was too long, with a tacked on ending. Kubrick would have ended it with David staring forever at the blue fairy underwater; he had a darker vision. Spielberg has a habit of sinking into some unneeded pathos at times. His best movies are Schindler's List and Lincoln--and maybe Saving Private Ryan--where he couldn't do that. Of course he is one of the greatest filmmakers, but that doesn't mean I have to like all of them. Faulkner was brilliant but I am not going to read him for enjoyment.
I had two issues with the movie as far as getting emotionally involved in it. We are supposed to fall in love with David, but I couldn't. He was just a machine, and I would no more fall in love with a robot character than I would my microwave. I felt emotion for the mother, the real mother in the first part of the film. So I was somewhat detached from it, watching it intellectually to see if it was good or bad, not entering into the story.
Secondly, I got to thinking about having a replacement child like that. David would always be eight years old. He would always be the same. One of the greatest things about being a parent is the never-ending possibilities of one's child because they grow, and change, and develop, and learn, and become a different version of themselves. Every age with my son was a delight; I never wanted him to stay at the age he was, no matter how cute and charming and well behaved he was. Raising him was about seeing him rise--to a newer level.
This is one reason I find dogs just a little bit dissatisfying. They don't really change. You can teach them a new trick, but they are pretty much what they are (which can sometimes be pretty disgusting; my dogs lick themselves far too much no matter how we reprimand them). They are fun if you don't expect to much.
The conceit of the film is that a robot could be developed who could love, and that they could them evolve (to be those alien-looking beings at the end). A second conceit is that a child who doesn't grow up would satisfy a grieving parent. (I was so glad when Martin got better!)
So the engineer who designed David, we finally learn, really wanted a replica of his own child who had died (why didn't he take him home instead of inflicting the robot on those poor people). Wouldn't they have been able to clone by then, if they could develop that level of robot, and get a second child that way?
In the end, though, it was beautiful and thoughtful and violent, if too long.
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