Okay, I’ll bite…
I saw A.I. on the opening weekend, and went in looking forward to a good, intellectual hard science fiction piece. It’s nice to see there’s still a market for sci-fi which asks the big questions instead of concentrating on big explosions. The last literate sci-fi movie I recall from a major studio was Gattaca, and that came out far too long ago.
As a recovering Cinema Nerd it was very interesting to watch the sometimes uneasy interplay between Kubrick’s and Spielberg’s influences at work in the film, though it was frustrating to see Spielberg do SO well with material he clearly found uncomfortable and then lapse back into maudlin sentimentality for the ridiculous third act. Spielberg really does break new ground in his career here—he’s always been a master at manipulating audience emotions, but with A.I. he tries to explore the disquieting, dissonant, and profane instead of the salable inspirational palaver he often lapses into.
It’s worth mentioning that the much-lambasted third act of this movie is original material by Spielberg (with uncertain influence from Kubrick.) From what I can gather on other discussion forums, the first act is drawn from two short stories by Brian Aldiss, “Supertoys Last all Summer Long” and “Supertoys When Winter Comes,” and the second act somewhat parallels the Aldiss’s “Supertoys in Other Seasons.”
So why the inclusion of the disjointed and sappy third act? Was Spielberg simply unable to reconcile his own professed optimism with the brooding, misanthropic pessimism he channeled from Kubrick? Did the studio (read: Spielberg) want something which approximated a happy ending for marketing purposes? Is Spielberg just out of practice with screenwriting, his last serious attempt being in the mid eighties? Or did Speilberg just not “Get” something Kubrick was trying to do with this coda? Hard to say.
At any rate, in the interest of “asking the Big Questions” (and to give Kubrick snobs some justification for sitting through the big Hollywood Baddness) I’d like to toss out an idea… So, Spoilers away!
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A common reading of the third act is that it’s a tacked on Happy Ending. While I do believe that it is meant to function as such (evidenced by Spielberg’s masterful and reflexive pulling of the ol’ heartstrings,) I think this ending could be read as quite tragic. David is able to find some modicum of happiness/transcendance, but only because he is, in a sense, an abused and damaged being.
Consider for a moment what David is—for all his remarkable nature as an emergent empath, his self-awareness has been artificially constrained. He is by design sort of a tawdry consumer product, and it is implied that he has been “programmed” for eternal innocence as well as implicit love. All of the other Mecha he meets, which are stated to be inferior models, have a more fully developed self-consciousness than David does—even Teddy, an obsequious and simplistic child’s toy, carries a heavy understanding of the vicissitudes of android existance.
David, on the other hand, doesn’t really understand his nature, his orgin or his function in the world. The movie lacks a discussion of whether this self-awareness is an emergent phenomena David has not manifested or a Mecha axiom which has been suppressed in him. It is implied in the third act that David has been programmed to be oblivious about these big questions, because acknowledging them would inhibit his function as a panacea for parental grief.
Consider his reaction when he confronts his maker and the irrefutable evidence that he is a manufactured commodity. He lapses into a catatonic fugue then succumbs to the obsessive fairy tale he has previously embraced. This organic frailty is one of the things which makes him so very human. (It could also be read that David tries to end his existance when he is no longer able to sustain his ego, but I don’t think this interpretation really works with the continuing themes of innocence in the film.) There’s a clue to David’s limitations in the recurring quote from Yeat’s poem, “The Stolen Child.” The world is indeed “more full of weeping” than David will ever understand.
The tragedy is that David is unable to understand that he is a creature lacking in self-determination and will never be a fully realized intellect. He offers unrequited love to an idealized image of a “mother” who brutalized him in the worst way a parent could. Whether this is a hard coded Oedipal Mecha routine or an organic Stockholm syndrome isn’t even the issue at heart. The cruelty of the joke is that he doesn’t understand what a damaged and limited being he is, and he is only able to find happiness because he is oblivious to this. That’s a nasty enough methphor for humanity to suit Kubrick’s style. Or we can allow that David (fully or subconsciously) understands the limits of his free will and prefers to live in a fantasy world rather than acknowledge them, which is in a sense even sadder.
I don’t think this film explored the nature of what is human as well as, say, Blade Runner/Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, but I think that if it had tried to much harder it would have come off as unduly heavy-handed. I’m still waiting for a movie which explores the emergent and learned nature of intelligence as authors Ray Kurzweil and Danny Hillis discuss it, rather than following the hubristic notion that something as complex as a human intellect could simply be deconstructed and “programed.”
All things considered it’s worth seeing. There are certainly worse ways you could invest eight bucks and 2.5 hours of your life this summer. If your tolerance for cinematic drivel is too low, just get up and leave as soon as the voice over narration starts while David is in the submarine—you’ll still have a great, if different cinematic experience.
-Jeff Kievlan