Showing posts with label Alicia Vikander. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alicia Vikander. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Ex Machina












EX MACHINA                      B+                  
Great Britain  (108 mi)  2015  ‘Scope  d:  Alex Garland     Official Facebook                              

As the author of The Beach, a 1996 cult novel that became a motion picture, also the writer of Danny Boyle’s highly inventive zombie thriller 28 DAYS LATER…(2002), the futuristic space adventure SUNSHINE (2007), but also the sci-fi box office disaster DREDD (2012), all depictions of humans on the brink of survival, often expressed through a bleak, post-apocalyptic vision where scientific progress imprisons and dehumanizes people as much as it liberates them and expands their potential, Alex Garland’s first venture into writing and directing has led him surprisingly to an A-list of actors to work with.  Exploring the idea of an early era of artificial intelligence, the film raises ethical questions about the rights of sentient androids created under a corporate banner that for all practical purposes “owns” them, capable of making modifications and updates, perhaps against the expressed wishes of the creatures themselves who have no say in the matter, but are completely owned and controlled by their creators, despite having feelings and a will of their own, in the process questioning our own idea of humanity, where the real monster is man and not the machine.  In a sense, this is a bit like the John Hughes teen comedy WEIRD SCIENCE (1985) where a couple of nerdy social misfits astoundingly create an ideal dream woman from their computers, one that supposedly meets their idea of perfection, where in each case, it’s hard for these men not to fall uncontrollably in love with their invention, modeling them, after all, to serve their every need.  Scarlett Johansson played a sexy computer operating system in Spike Jonze’s Her (2013) using just her voice, programmed to sound warm and compassionate, but that didn’t stop Joaquin Phoenix from falling in love with his computer.  This is a variation on that male fantasy, where what happens, perhaps unsurprisingly, is that these artificial creatures have a mind of their own, separate and distinct from their creators, as expressed by the dying and about to expire replicants in Blade Runner (1982), but also the ever expanding mental capacities of Johansson’s artificial intelligence, who never sleeps, by the way, demonstrating she’s capable of maintaining multiple relationships at once, each one more complex than the next in search of higher forms of consciousness, literally leaving humans behind on their evolutionary trajectory.  While the androids have a desperate desire to save themselves, even to get in touch with their own soul, if that’s possible, humans are still bogged down in relatively minor details, at the dawn of a new age of scientific invention, with little comprehension about playing God or crossing any real moral boundaries.  To the film’s credit, it doesn’t minimize any of these issues, a throwback to Fritz Lang’s science-fiction classic METROPOLIS (1927), which featured an erotic female robot that drove men wild with passion, eventually instilling chaos in contemporary society, a cautionary tale about the crushing power of modern industrial life where the presence of a robot created in a heavily stylized human form was a jarring experience.  This film is modeled in that image, but on a much smaller scale in a more intimate setting, concentrating on a secret introductory project of unleashing artificial intelligence into the world while still in the early experimental stages.  While the title refers to a plot device known as “deus ex machina,” which literally means “god from the machine,” where an object magically solves an impossible problem in the narrative, the origin comes from Greek tragedy where a machine is used to bring actors playing gods onto the stage, often with mythological implications, a perfect example being Icarus flying too close to the sun, with this invention in the film being described as Promethean, literally bringing something from the gods down to earth, for which they will pay an eternal price.      

Something of a reinvention of Mary Shelley’s early 19th century Frankenstein story, perhaps the essence of the film is how complex thought is wrapped in such simplicity and sleek elegance, where the reliance upon such technical detail never feels over the viewer’s head, but is presented in a highly appealing manner set in one of the most extraordinary locations on earth.  From the outset we are introduced to a relatively low-ranking computer programmer in a large corporation, Caleb Smith, played by Domhnall Gleeson from Calvary (2014) and 2014 Top Ten List #10 Frank , also Shadow Dancer (2012), and before that an earlier Garland script NEVER LET ME GO (2010), which was actually written before the Kazuo Ishiguro novel upon which it was based was even published.  Caleb works for Bluebook, the world’s largest Internet search engine, where he’s been selected as the lottery prize-winner among company staff to win a week in an undisclosed remote location in Alaska with the company’s founder and CEO, Nathan Bateman, Oscar Isaac from A Most Violent Year (2014) and Inside Llewyn Davis (2012), the reclusive billionaire genius who wrote the code that launched his career success when he was only 13, retreating to the wilds of Alaska and has barely been seen or heard from since.  Flying by helicopter over mountainous terrain (actually shot in Norway), Caleb is surprised to discover it’s all Nathan’s land they’ve been traversing for the past two hours, dropping him off in the middle of an open field where he’ll be retrieved exactly one week later.  Following a river to an opulent, ultra-modern architectural dream home that is fully automated, installed with the latest hi-tech security systems, with Schubert and Bach playing on his sound system and Jackson Pollock and Gustav Klimt paintings hanging on his walls, blending uniquely into its natural surroundings with wall-sized glass windows, while also serving as his own private research facility, Nathan lives a solitary life attended to only by the enigmatic presence of silent house maid named Kyoko (Sonoya Mizuno), who supposedly doesn’t speak English.  The reason for Caleb’s visit, where he was actually chosen for being the most talented coder in the company, is to evaluate a female robot Nathan designed with artificial intelligence, giving her the Turing test, designed by British genius Alan Turing from The Imitation Game (2014), where his job will be to determine if the android is indistinguishable from a human being, calling the experiment, somewhat modestly, “the greatest scientific event in the history of man.”   Named Ava, Alicia Vikander from Pure (Till det som är vackert)  (2009) and A Royal Affair (En kongelig affære) (2012), she utilizes her ballerina training by the gracefully fluid and agile manner in which she moves, while also being coy, impassive, and shyly demure, bringing a tender humanity to the character, where it’s often easy to forget she is playing a machine.  Whether in METROPOLIS or a recent film like Under the Skin (2013), for a hundred years the futuristic, science fiction element has allowed women to be viewed as an unknowable, alien presence.  Both emboldened by the opportunity, each daily visit holds a certain amount of suspense, because they are infrequent and limited in scope, each one entitled “Ava: Session 1,” etc.  She is, of course, surprised to see him, as she’s never seen anyone but Nathan before.  Thrown into the mix are blackout periods at the compound when the power inexplicably turns off, whereupon all doors are immediately locked until power can be resumed a short period afterwards, where Garland bathes the screen in a red light, creating a chilling atmospheric mood of dread and suspense.  During these blackouts, Nathan has no access to the sessions that he otherwise observes and records, where Ava uses one of these moments to warn Caleb not to trust Nathan, describing him as dangerous.  Isaac plays him as a larger-than-life character with secret motives, a mad genius hiding his real intentions as he controls everything within the confines of his home, overseeing all, playing God, so to speak, where despite his friendly hospitality and outwardly gregarious nature, both Caleb and Ava see themselves as little more than lab rats within his locked compound.    

In keeping with the futuristic aspects of the story, one of the keys to the film is the ultra-modernistic setting combined with such a cold, abstract interior design, adding a formal precision that just happens to be the Juvet Landscape Hotel, The Hotel - Juvet, an utterly spectacular Norwegian hotel that is one of the architectural wonders of the world, with a minimalistic, state-of-the-art design that continually exposes the majestic splendor of the unspoiled naturalistic world outdoors.  This extraordinary partition of a separate indoor and outdoor existence couldn’t be more pronounced, a mirror image of their own existence, where Caleb is shocked to discover Kyoko is an earlier test product, where she curiously seems programmed to provide Nathan with whatever he wants, something of a sex toy, an expression of male arrogance and ego, leading to creepy thoughts that become even more disgusting when he’s willing to share her with Caleb, but the unseen parallel story is a rat in a maze that can never escape captivity, as neither Ava nor Kyoko have ever been outside or allowed to leave their perpetual confinement of living behind glass walls.  Caleb naturally begins to feel empathy for their plight, believing they’re being mistreated, as underneath their robotic perfection, doing and saying all the things they have been programmed to do, they are deathly afraid of Nathan.  During another blackout that she has actually learned to create, Ava reveals her underlying fears of what might happen to her if she fails to pass the test, as she might be switched off for an upgrade.  Caleb begins questioning his own existence, wondering if he’s being programmed by Nathan as well, where Isaac and Vikander are both truly remarkable in the scope of their performances, conveying secret worlds of untapped motives and possibilities that remain hidden beneath the surface, challenging the audience to identify with a computer-programmed robot.  Who’s to say one is better than or inferior from another?  They are simply placed in different circumstances, where the story revolves around the lives of the three main characters, and to a smaller degree the fourth, where the brilliance of the film is that it reveals the Turing test for what it is, a test of the humans and not the machine.  Even Nathan envisions a future where the humans will be at the mercy of the machines, who will be so much faster and smarter, able to self-repair and live without sleep, illness, or aging, where they can literally live forever.  This understanding, however, leads to his security fears and overcontrolling nature, where he continues to tinker with what he’s created, where he feels introducing A.I. robots is an inevitable part of the human condition, that if he didn’t create them then someone else would.  It’s a fascinating balance of power between the main participants, constantly fluctuating in each scene, becoming a story of deceit, obsession, and manipulation, where the director himself never gives away his true intentions, which keeps the viewer off guard, where the less one knows, the better the experience.  The familiar aspect of these stories is attributing human traits to computers, where they are not simply content to serve humans any more than Scarlett Johansson is in Her, or your pet dog would be, as there’s simply more to a happy and fulfilling life.  Exploring human consciousness through a science fiction narrative has always held a certain mysterious intrigue both in literature and film, where Vikander’s beguiling beauty as Ava has an undeniable femme fatale appeal, complete with all the noirish trappings, where you might get sucked down the proverbial rabbit hole if you’re not careful.  The darkening mood throughout is unsettling and eventually disturbing, veering into horror territory, where the expanse of Nathan’s secret hideaway and the suffocating confinement within is an extension of his own flawed character, beautifully filmed by Rob Hardy, while the throbbing musical score by Ben Salisbury and Portishead’s Geoff Barrow underscores the enveloping claustrophobia, where the subject being explored is the mystery of the human condition, equally baffling whether seen through a computer or a human vantage point, where by the end they are seamlessly blended into one.     

To his credit, Garland enlisted Murray Shanahan (Home - Professor Murray Shanahan), Professor of Cognitive Robotics at Imperial College London, and writer and geneticist Adam Rutherford as science advisers.  Paul Smith interviews Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak from The Australian Financial Review Weekend, March 24, 2015, Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak on the Apple Watch ...:
  
“Computers are going to take over from humans, no question,” Mr Wozniak said.

He said he had long dismissed the ideas of writers like Raymond Kurzweil, who have warned that rapid increases in technology will mean machine intelligence will outstrip human understanding or capability within the next 30 years.  However Mr Wozniak said he had come to recognise that the predictions were coming true, and that computing that perfectly mimicked or attained human consciousness would become a dangerous reality.

“Like people including Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk have predicted, I agree that the future is scary and very bad for people.  If we build these devices to take care of everything for us, eventually they’ll think faster than us and they’ll get rid of the slow humans to run companies more efficiently,” Mr Wozniak said.

“Will we be the gods?  Will we be the family pets?  Or will we be ants that get stepped on?  I don’t know about that … But when I got that thinking in my head about if I’m going to be treated in the future as a pet to these smart machines … well I’m going to treat my own pet dog really nice.”

Thursday, February 21, 2013

A Royal Affair (En kongelig affære)















































A ROYAL AFFAIR (En kongelig affære)             B+         
Denmark  Sweden  Czech Republic  (137 mi)  2012  ‘Scope  d:  Nikolaj Arcel         

Anyone who has seen a Karl Theodor Dreyer film knows exactly what this film is about, especially the corrupt power of the Church which in the mid 18th century still believed in torture, heresy, and fear mongering, spreading vicious rumors to undermine any threat to their own power, creating such a repressive, punishment oriented society that they were viewed with disdain by the rest of neighboring Europe which was undergoing an Age of Enlightenment, led by radical free-thinking French such as Voltaire and Jean-Jacques Rousseau that endorsed individual freedoms over tyrannical and oppressive regimes, ideas that sparked American independence while also leading to The storming of the Bastille, which opened the doors of the French Revolution.  But while the rest of the world was enjoying newly discovered freedoms, Denmark remained entrenched in a corrupt monarchy run by the repressive regime of the Lutheran Orthodox Church which advocated tortuous punishments.  This is the background of the film, a kind of Danish Dr. Zhivago, told with the same epic sweep where a doomed and illicit romance is set against the backdrop of history.  Shot in ‘Scope by Rasmus Videbaek, the luscious visual composition along with the largesse of the natural landscape impresses from the outset, where one can’t help but think it’s been ages since Hollywood produced a movie with such a glorious look to it.  But of course, they’d need big name stars that would cost a fortune, any one of which would cost more than the entire budget of this film, as they’d never invest in anything less than proven star material, yet here the Danes have mastered the epic historical romance for a little more than $8 million dollars, easily making it look better than most $100 million dollar Hollywood movies.  That’s likely the reason the film is one of the 5 nominated Best Foreign Films, a gorgeous costume drama that actually has a superb story to tell, based on two novels, Per Olov Enquist's The Visit Of The Royal Physician, read ahead of time by both the director and fellow screenwriter Rasmus Heisterberg, but owned by a publishing company that refused to sell the rights for the movie, as they were looking to negotiate a better deal translating the novel into English, so screenwriting credit goes to Bodil Steensen-Leth's erotic novel Prinsesse Af Blodet.  What one comes away with after having viewed this film is the severity of the subject material, feeling positively Shakespearean, based on real events, one of the great stories in Danish history, all the more impressive the way these extraordinary actors make it come alive onscreen. 

The director is known for having written the screenplay, adapted from the Stieg Larsson novel, for the Swedish version of THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO (2009), much superior to the American David Fincher version, in my view, as it best captures the depth and interior strength of the characters, which is certainly the captivating allure of the immensely popular novel.  He has done the same here, where the film begins and ends with Alicia Vikander, who won the Swedish Best Actress Award several years ago for her performance in Pure (Till det som är vackert) (2009), playing Caroline Mathilde, a gorgeous and highly educated member of the British royal family.  Reminiscent of Sofia Coppola's MARIE ANTOINETTE (2006), her family has arranged a marriage to the young King of Denmark, someone she’s never met, making her Queen of Denmark at the age of fifteen, where the opening landscape sequences frame the horse-driven coaches and the royal entourage as tiny objects at the bottom of the screen, overwhelmed by the majestic beauty that surrounds them.  To her utter surprise, the man to whom she has been betrothed, Christian VII (Mikkel Boe Følsgaard), is mentally deficient, not overly so to the point of incompetence, but his infantile interests and crude, self-centered manner, subject to embarrassing outbursts, keep him secluded behind the walls of the royal palace where the nature of his condition is kept secret.  When they first meet, he has no interest whatsoever in marriage, but prefers the entertainment of watching plays and spending all his time with women of the flesh, enjoying a life of pampered decadence.  When it’s clear she has brains, talent, and much to admire, exactly what he lacks, he angrily warns her “Don’t steal my light!” as he needs to be the center of attention, with people constantly at his beck and call, where being King is more a game he plays, a theatrical role he relishes, while she’s called upon to display the aristocratic reserve and proper etiquette and manner of a royal head of household.  He sarcastically calls her “Mommy” throughout, as she’s constantly admonishing him for spending so much time in bordellos, eventually refusing to see him altogether, as it’s simply a waste of time.  While this is the surface reality, there is an ominous underlying tone in Caroline’s narration, where she is sometime in the future writing letters to her children, explaining the horrific circumstances as to why she hasn’t seen them.  These thoughts, however, are revealed sparingly, yet it interestingly provides insight into the present.   

Mads Mikkelsen plays Johann Friedrich Struensee, the son of a well known yet highly conservative German judge, seen as little more than a country doctor treating the poor at the outset, but we quickly discover he’s a bold and radical proponent of the Enlightenment freedoms, exactly the opposite of what his father stands for, so he keeps a low profile, writing materials anonymously.  His superior intellect and elegant manner, however, lands him a position as the personal physician to Christian VII, gaining his trust instantly by being able to quote Shakespeare, becoming his friend and trusted ally, though Christian views him as his favorite playmate.  Over time, Dr. Struensee wins over the royal court, having a positive effect on the King, who has fewer moments of outrageous instability, which impresses the Queen, who is struck by how he managed to sneak in censored books into his personal library, reading them all, quickly becoming intimate friends.  It must be mentioned that while the King is freely screwing every harlot in the county several times over, the Queen is isolated by duty and custom, raising a young son, but leading an extraordinarily repressive existence where she has little social life to speak of.  The intelligent conversations with Struensee feel like a godsend to her, a rare opportunity, leading to a scandalous secret affair.  This opened the doors for radical reforms, where the King, in a stroke of momentary clarity, literally dismissed the oppositional cabinet members loyal to the Church, allowing Struensee to craft new laws, eliminating censorship, abolishing torture, free labor, and the slave trade, while assigning land to peasant farmers, reforms that captured the attention of the rest of Europe, as if Denmark had come out of the Dark Ages.  When the Queen had another baby, however, almost certainly Struensee’s, it created a scandal and their brief window of freedom was coming to a close, acknowledging they underestimated the cruelty of the opposition, who began spreading vile lies and xenophobic rumors about the German’s influence, all designed to reassert what they claimed was their legitimate authority, eventually bribing their way back into power, arresting both Struensee and the Queen, sending him to the guillotine while exiling her for the rest of her life, but only after taking away her children.  While Gabriel Yared and Cyrille Aufort’s lushly scored music adds elegance and depth to the proceedings, it’s a riveting tale, told with exquisite detail, perhaps overly long, but the severity of tone is in stark contrast to that brief flurry of freedom and happiness where the doors are suddenly opened to a new dawn, only to be slammed shut again, torture and censorships quickly reinstated, leading Denmark once again back into the darkness.   

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Pure (Till det som är vackert)















PURE (Till det som är vackert)        B                     
aka:  Beloved
Sweden (97 mi)  2009 d:  Lisa Langseth  

This first time feature film by Swedish writer/director Lisa Langseth seems to have gone through several permutations, including at least 3 or 4 different titles, initially released in Europe as Beloved, before changing the title for the American overseas market to Pure, though the translated title is closer to For That Which Is Beautiful.  Now having seen the film, Pure doesn’t really work, and was previously used in 2002 by Keira Knightley in an edgy realist Gillies MacKinnon British film about addicted mothers, where the title made dangerous reference to potentially lethal overdoses of heroin.  Adapting her own play, interestingly starring Noomi Rapace (the original Lisbeth Salander in the 2009 European version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2011)) in the 2004 premiere at Stockholm's Dramatic Theater, this film initially stakes out new territory, feeling very much like a composite of several nations, especially in the riveting performance by the lead actress Alicia Vikander, who won the Swedish Best Actress Award for her performance as Katarina, showing incredible range and the ability to engage in a remarkable downward descent, something along the lines of Hungarian miserablism, but also the Dardennes Brothers film ROSETTA (1999), where in the course of her life she becomes more and more constricted, suffocating in the bleak reality of growing up in the slums of the housing projects, reminiscent of Andrea Arnold’s FISH TANK (2009), especially the unflinching, alcoholic portrayal of her all but absent mother (Josephine Bauer).  Katarina gives a raw, searingly confessional opening monologue that has one’s head spinning before the opening credits, using offensive gutter language to describe herself, where this is a girl barely twenty who uses physical assault to express her ferocious indignation with others, literally attacking people when she’s had enough of their perceived hostility or abuse.  In this respect, both she and her mother have regularly crossed the moral line of human depravity, sinking into the depths of hopeless oblivion from which there may be no possible return.

From this emotional abyss, Katarina has learned to elevate her spirit through the use of classical music and an MP3 player with earplugs, where the musical soundtrack is filled wall-to-wall with breathtakingly beautiful music, especially from Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, where she takes her somewhat common and unimaginative boyfriend to a concert of Mozart’s Requiem, played to perfection by the Gothenburg Symphony in their hometown concert hall.  While she is utterly enthralled, his reaction is more or less one of open hostility due to the obvious class difference, where his life bears no resemblance to that music.  Katarina’s curiosity, on the other hand, takes her into the concert hall afterwards where she listens to a rehearsal in progress, temporarily transported from the graphic violence of her neighborhood.  When a woman approaches her, mistaking her for a temporary job applicant as a front desk receptionist, she creates a sympathetic lie that sounds heart renderingly appealing and is miraculously given the position straightaway.  Apparently the maternal instincts of her boss, Isabella Alveborg, kick in when Katarina indicates a preference for Mozart to Snoop Dogg, drawing a distinction between her own daughter, suddenly becoming the daughter she never had.  This position gives her access to the continuous stream of music and even some of the principle players, including the conductor, Samuel Fröler, who introduces her to a book of poetry and the philosophy of Søren Kierkegaard, where the quote “Courage is life's only measure” literally enraptures her, where she is quickly swept off her feet by the surge of untapped emotions from this elegant smorgasbord of cultural enlightenment.  The conductor obviously takes liberties with this intern, which turns into an ill-advised Clintonian Monica Lewinsky affair, which she misreads, severing all attachments to her former life, which leaves her flying freefall on a trapeze with no safety net.

Vikander’s emotional upheaval is beautifully portrayed, much of it wordless, where she moves between an enraptured schoolgirl’s crush to a demoralized and humiliated woman who’s been betrayed, where she’s cruelly removed from her position, taking her feet out from under her, initiating a spiraling descent into a crushing void of hopelessness and despair.  Having literally nowhere to go, as her boyfriend has disowned her, throwing her out as well, all she has is the street to comfort her, finding each day a stark nightmarish rejection, feeling ever more helpless and scorned.  At this point, the film’s turn to misery and gloom has a Hungarian feel of bleak depression, something that country specializes in above all other nations, where suicide idealizations frequent the screen, led by Vikander’s no holds barred approach in allowing her soul to rise to the surface and literally be exposed and debased, leaving her with an irreparable psychological wound that is internally ruptured, where she can’t stop the bleeding.  Based on the eloquence and ferocity of Vikander’s performance, offering a fiercely unique perspective, this could have been one of the best films of the year, as again, Beethoven is never far away in the musical expression of human pain and agony, where he contemplated suicide at the impending loss of his hearing.  After all the effort to get to this point, building a believable character within such a painfully realist framework, it’s the director that is her own undoing, adding an epilogue style finale that feels like a betrayal of everything that came before, offering a compromising, uplifting air of hope through art and cultural awareness that simply isn’t there.  She reaches a point for which there are no further options, but then one is pulled out of a hat, which feels more like trickery and the artificial wonders of rewrites, offering a studio style ending that is more in line with focus groups than real life, as this otherwise tragically uncompromising film is not designed and triggered for happy endings, but needs the blistering shock of her own hellish emptiness and inadequacy, which the director achieves for one startling moment, which wordlessly offers a painterly Madonna and child rendering of transcendence from human suffering.  Unfortunately the director then adds a completely unnecessary tacked-on ending, which derails the previously established dour mood, stealing much of the emotional power away from that original moment of utter devastation, allowing the audience a release point to feel good about, as if she has finally achieved Kierkegaard’s message.