Children of Men Review
For those of us in North America, Children of Men is the theatrical entertainment package of the 2006 holidays. Well it would be if Universal opened it in more than 16 theaters and the large collection of screenwriters didn’t botch the ending of the film. In all fairness, I’ve not read P.D. James’ novel so I cannot compare endings. Alfonso Cuarón blends large-scale filmmaking of his stint with Harry Potter (he directed the third one) and smaller scale road-trip social critique of Y Tu Mamá También. The result is a worthy action thriller comprising of a seamless mixture of science fiction, chase-picture and war-time drama.
The story follows a former political activist (a scruffy 5 O’clock shadowed Clive Owen) who begins his day with cheap booze in his Starbucks before work at a cubicle farm. Like the rest of Britain, he just keeps his head down and moves forward because nearly all hope is lost. Around 2009 women all over the world lost the ability to have children and the human race is expected to die out in about 50-60 years.
The overall Orwellian future-Britain of 2027 in the film is an interesting blend of post-WWII and War on Terror imagery and that, frankly, makes V for Vendetta look like kindergarten (now I see why Alan Moore was more than a little upset with the Wachowski brothers). It is the action picture for adults who want to think a little in between the spectacle. The first half of the film holds up a mirror to contemporary society and extrapolates the technology advancement in a somewhat realistic manner. The future has to offer some pretty slick looking interactive puzzle games and a ‘humane’ home-suicide kit, Quietus, whose product placement is all over the film. I couldn’t help thinking the subtle background detail was akin to Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report. The social ills of pervasive (and exceedingly shallow) media saturation is shown with the death of the youngest person on the planet (aged 18) becoming something of a 9/11 memorial slash princess Diana love-in amongst the few remaining middle class citizens. The divide between non-citizen Foogies - which the government actively rounds up like cattle and deports (or executes) a la Abu Ghraib - and über-rich Scientist/Bureaucrat Nigel (Danny Huston) is as wide an ocean. Huston’s character collects art and has the trappings of culture and refinement, but as disconnected to the world as Owen’s streetwise burn-out, perhaps even more so, because he lives in his gated Ivory Tower. Nigel's domicile overlooks a landscape not unlike the flame belching stacks of Blade Runner, but shown in grey-ish, drab daylight, underscoring the difference between the pulp feel of Ridley Scott’s opening and the realistic aim here. Other elements recall the anxiety of a civilization on the verge of total collapse shown in 12 Monkeys. Michael Caine even shows up to tell a story of fate vs. chance which echoes both Chris Marker’s original and Terry Gilliam’s remake. While I’m on the subject, the film also has shades Michael Winterbottom’s Code 46 in the blending of so many cultural, language, religion and technology ideologies into a messy global stew. Just look at the graffiti in the background throughout Children of Men.
The second half of the film is a fairly (narrative wise) standard chase film with several stunning action-war set-pieces. Comparisons to Spielberg are again apt; remember the impact of the first 30 minutes of Saving Private Ryan? The cinematography in Children of Men lends a visceral immediacy to the folks caught in the middle of Britain tearing itself apart at the street-level. It is fair to say that Cuarón has possibly made the best directed film of 2006. Subtle blending of visuals, sound design and set design all add up to an immersive motion picture. The film stumbles a bit in the drama department, because the dramas of the characters (including a luminous and effective Julianne Moore and great supporting players Chiwetel Ejiofor, Pam Ferris and a fabulously demented Peter Mullan) take a back seat to contemporary criticism and the occasional grand-standing moment and overly contrived ending which Spielberg is guilty of where Gilliam and Winterbottom are not. It's not the actors fault for the films flaws, but a gap or two in the screenplay. Make no mistake, however, if there is an heir to top-shelf big-budget filmmaking it is Alfonso Cuarón. Combined with Guillermo del Toro (whose Pan’s Labyrinth is the best film of 2006) and Alejandro González Iñárritu (Babel, which is not anywhere near, but has directorial style to burn), the Mexicans have the potential to take over Hollywood. This is good.
