A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001)

A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) has got to be one of Steven Spielberg’s most intriguing films. The initial responses by critics and the public were largely divided, full of confusion and misunderstanding. Over time the critical consensus has slowly changed and some people are now hailing the film as a masterpiece. Roger Ebert’s original review was positive while acknowledging what he saw as problems with the story; ten years later he added it to his list of Great Movies. The story is deeper, more complex, and much more ambiguous than most people perceived it to be.

There are other films that were largely brushed aside when they were released, but eventually achieved a greater status and are now regarded as classics. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The Shawshank Redemption, and It’s a Wonderful Life, which are regularly included in lists of the greatest movies, were not critically acclaimed. It took years for people to catch on. Sometimes a piece of art doesn’t receive immediate recognition, but time and contemplation can change our minds.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence may be in the same category. I’ve certainly been more conflicted over it than any other film Spielberg has made. And yet I find it fascinating. As people have begun to praise the film, I’ve read article after review after analysis, keeping up with their thoughts, trying to understand what inspired them to call it a masterpiece. I’m not yet sure if I would call it that, but I agree with Roger Ebert’s comment that it is “ceaselessly watchable, endlessly compelling.” Here we are, more than fifteen years after its release, discussing its merits, attempting to determine its “greatness.”

The project began with Stanley Kubrick, based on a short story by Brian Aldiss called “Super Toys Last All Summer Long.” Working with Ian Watson and other writers, Kubrick spent years trying to develop the material for a film. Eventually he came to the conclusion that technology had not evolved enough to do the story justice, and the project continued in silent development. After the success of Jurassic Park and its phenomenal leap in technology, Kubrick started working again on A.I. in earnest. Unfortunately he died before he was able to complete it.

Kubrick had shared the story with his friend Steven Spielberg when it was in its early stages. He even suggested that Spielberg ought to direct it. After Kubrick’s death, his widow approached Spielberg, stating that the only way the project would see the light of day would be if Spielberg directed it. Spielberg wrote the screenplay himself, staying as true as possible to Kubrick’s vision. (This is one of the things I’m always defending. People mistakenly assume that the “sentimental” parts of the film were inserted by Spielberg into Kubrick’s unsentimental story. Almost the exact opposite is true. The seemingly “sentimental” ending is just as Kubrick wanted, taken directly from Ian Watson’s screen story. While people thought that the Flesh Fair was Kubrick’s creation, it was more the work of Spielberg. People thought that Spielberg severely toned down the Gigolo Joe scenes, but in reality Spielberg enlarged the role of that character.)

Anyway, I haven’t even discussed the story yet. It begins some distance in the future, when our coastlines are flooded after the ice caps have melted. Professor Hobby (William Hurt), the head of Cybertronics, suggests that they build a child “mecha.” Mechas have been created to be workers and lovers, but he desires to create a robot that can love. Childbearing is tightly controlled, and he thinks that his idea will fill a need for childless parents. (We will later learn that the loss of his son is the driving force behind his plan.)

Flash-forward and we meet Monica (Frances O’Connor) and Henry Swinton (Sam Robards). Their son is in cryogenic status, waiting for a medical solution to his condition. Henry works for Cybertronics, and is selected to “test-drive” a new child mecha. When he first brings David (Haley Joel Osment) home, Monica is extremely upset, disturbed by the thought of a robot taking the place of her child. David is very quiet, never blinks, and sort of creeps them out at first. To keep him company, Monica introduces David to Teddy (voice by Jack Angel), who becomes David's sidekick for the remainder of the film. After a while, Monica, still conflicted by her need to be a mother, decides to “imprint” David.

Soon after, the Swintons bring home their healed son Martin (Jake Thomas). Martin's jealousy of David's presence creates friction within the family. His manipulation of David eventually makes it appear that keeping David in the home is dangerous, and Henry convinces Monica that they need to get rid of David. Monica reluctantly goes for a drive with David, intending to take him to Cybertronics to be destroyed, but guilt changes her mind and she abandons David in the woods.

While in the woods David meets other abandoned and discarded mechas who scrounge for spare parts. The mechas are soon captured by Lord Johnson-Johnson (Brendan Gleeson) to be used in a Flesh Fair, which is a twisted event where mechas are destroyed for the entertainment of humans. David escapes the Flesh Fair with Gigolo Joe (Jude Law), and the two travel to Rouge City so that David can search for the Blue Fairy. During his time in the Swinton home David learned the story of Pinocchio, and has become convinced that the Blue Fairy can turn him into a real boy, thus granting him the ability to earn the love of Monica.

Rouge City is a bit like Las Vegas on steroids but even more depraved. It's kind of amazing how Spielberg and his collaborators have created such distinct places, each one as memorable as the other. The images in this film are strangely, inexplicably haunting. The design work, in addition to the cinematography by the great Janusz Kaminski, is impeccable.

David and Joe ask Dr. Know (voice by Robin Williams) how to find the Blue Fairy, and he shares with them a strangely prescient portion of a poem by William Butler Yeats which leads them to a flooded Manhattan. There they find Professor Hobby, and David learns the truth and purpose of his creation. In the film's most disturbing scene, David also learns that he is one of many "Davids." (Spoilers from here on out.) Not knowing how to handle this information, David basically attempts suicide, falling from a tall building into the ocean below.

David and Teddy end up using an "amphibicopter" to search the underwater Coney Island amusement park, where they eventually locate a statue of the Blue Fairy. They become trapped, and David implores the Blue Fairy to turn him into a real boy. Time passes, a new ice age descends, and the story continues 2000 years later.

The amphibicopter is excavated from the ice, and David and Teddy are discovered by what at first resemble aliens, but are actually highly advanced super-mechas. Mankind has become extinct and these super-mechas are all that remain. They access David's memories as a way of studying his interaction with humans, which is now their only way of studying the human race, possibly in an attempt to understand their own past. The super-mechas appear to be led by a character credited as the Specialist (voice by Ben Kingsley), who is also the narrator of the film.

After being awakened by the super-mechas, David appears to have returned to the Swinton home where he encounters the Blue Fairy (voice by Meryl Streep). As a result, the super-mechas decide to give David one last day with Monica. (In the film it is explained that she has been recreated through a strand of DNA and will only live for a single day. Other discussions on the internet have posed the theory that the final events in the story may only be happening in David's mind.)

It's really up to each viewer to decide what happens at the very end. It's interesting to note that, in the behind-the-scenes interviews, composer John Williams (whose score for this film is an extraordinary achievement) states that David essentially dies at the end, which brings a certain human-like mortality to his character.

I've left out certain key elements of the story, but they ought to be discovered as part of the experience of David's journey. At the end we're left with many debatable issues. Does David really feel love, or is it only a result of his programming? Do we as an audience really care about the fate of a robot boy, no matter how realistic? Humans are expert at forming sentimental connections to objects. Does such a connection constitute a responsibility on our part?

Spielberg creates a look in this film that often pays tribute to the work of Kubrick, and often evokes other Spielberg films, but somehow becomes an interesting mix. As he has gotten older Spielberg's camera work has become even more elegant and economic; even fancy shots still serve the story. And through the astounding performance of Haley Joel Osment he found the perfect David. This story lingers in the mind, stirring many questions and ideas.

Even as I write this in late 2016, the film holds up astonishingly well. None of it looks dated, and the story has as much impact as when it was first released. I'm not sure if I've done it justice in this description. I'm drawn to this story, which is hard to describe except as Ebert did: "ceaselessly watchable, endlessly compelling."

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014)

When I saw the original Planet of the Apes as a kid I hated it. There were a lot of factors: I was young enough not to truly understand the message behind the story; parts of it were disturbing to me (even though it's technically a rated G movie); it's very different from other science-fiction films; and it just kind of creeped me out. The apes bothered me, not because they looked like actors wearing masks, but they were out to control and/or eliminate humans. For me, they had no redeeming features.

So I ignored the entire franchise for years. I've been somewhat of a fan of Tim Burton, but I avoided watching his 2001 version. Childhood memories create strong impulses. Then Rise of the Planet of the Apes came out in 2011 . . . and I went about my business. But my brother said I ought to watch it and that I might like it. I read up on it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it got favorable reviews. So I gave it a look and surprised myself. Not only did I like it, I really liked it. The filmmakers had finally found the right way into the story for me: they told it (mostly) from the point of view of Caesar, the main ape character. Andy Serkis's performance was revelatory, and I found myself identifying with Caesar.

Three years later came Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014) with a new director, but still with Andy Serkis. I still can't believe how excited I was to see it. The special effects had taken yet another leap in quality, and the story was even deeper than before. This time I identified with the apes and the humans, which is sometimes a controversial move for a filmmaker, showing that the argument on both sides has equal importance and value, while also showing that there are potential villains on either side of a conflict. No one is 100% right, and no one is 100% wrong. Yet things happen that will forever affect the direction of both societies. I found it to be a very involving film.

The events in Dawn take place ten years after Rise of the Planet of the Apes. The apes have created a utopian society in the California forest, working and living in harmony. There have been no signs of humans. Caesar is the leader of the colony, and has a family (wife Cornelia, son Blue Eyes, and a newborn). The ape friends he made in the first movie (Maurice, Koba, and Rocket) are trusted and important members of this society.

All seems peaceful until a group of humans stumble upon the apes. It is revealed that humans are still living in nearby San Francisco, and a small group has been sent to locate the nearby dam and attempt to use it to restore a modest amount of power to the remaining residents of the city. The group is led by Malcolm (Jason Clarke), and includes his wife Ellie (Keri Russell) and son Alex (Kodi Smit-McPhee). Caesar initially turns the humans away, but Malcolm makes an appeal to the apes, and soon they are trying to find a way to work together.

The cooperation between the apes and humans causes deep unease on both sides. A majority of the human population was wiped out by the "simian flu," and several of the apes, Koba (Toby Kebbell) in particular, remember the treatment they received at the hands of humans. Mistrust and fear of the unknown plague both parties.

It's worth appreciating how director Matt Reeves doesn't turn this into an all-out action film by shying away from the issues that arise. He deftly shows that both sides share many of the same feelings. Both sides are led by open-minded individuals who are struggling to control the fears of those around them. Sometimes those fears are justified. Sometimes the only way forward is to put aside differences and work together, bringing each other to a different understanding. But fear is a powerful emotion, and the characters in the world of this movie have been conditioned to expect it. Only a chosen few possess enough foresight to push against that impulse.

Without giving away much more of the plot, the misunderstanding and anger that have been simmering for the entire movie finally bring things to a conflict. The intriguing part is that the filmmakers have made it possible for us to follow all of the issues. Even when characters do things we don't agree with, we understand how they came to those decisions. Both humans and apes see what happens as a betrayal, but it's hard to assign all the blame to one side.

The director and his colleagues do a smooth job of taking what is essentially a science-fiction thriller and weaving in all the emotional/political/sociological issues. I found it to be very resonant. While none of the issues are clearly black and white, I had a clear sense of how the characters felt about those issues. To an even greater degree, Reeves has made it possible for the audience to identify with the apes as much as—if not more than—the humans. When things finally boil over into action sequences, we understand the complexity of what is happening without losing track of the characters.

Much credit is also due Andy Serkis, one of the greatest actors now working. Beginning with the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and passing through King Kong (2005), The Adventures of Tintin, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, The Hobbit, and Star Wars: The Force Awakens, his work is unparalleled in the world of motion-capture performance. As a pioneer in the field, he has an innate understanding of the process, in addition to being a wonderful actor. He gives a powerful yet subtle performance, conveying intelligence and wisdom through guarded expressions and body language with just enough dialogue, but no more than necessary.

All the actors, in fact, do a great job. The cast is a good mix, on both sides of the conflict, and the director makes it easy to tell everyone apart. These are not cookie-cutout characters from an assembly line. These are individuals with personalities and histories that can affect the outcome of the story.

Maybe the turnaround in my opinion has something to do with advances in technology. But I think a big reason is how movies have developed in their storytelling. The filmmakers finally approached this story from an angle that piqued my interest. As Caesar tells the members of his extended family: "If we go to war, we could lose all we've built. Home. Family. Future."

Who couldn't relate to that?