"Very odd, what happens in a world without children's voices"

Rating: 9/10 (19 February 2009)

It's been just over two years since first I saw 'Children of Men (2006),' and I'm still utterly blown away by it. Alfonso Cuarón's cautionary science-fiction tale, the finest film of 2006, is not only a masterclass in technical film-making, but also, and above all else, a 100-minute roller-coaster ride that doesn't let up its intensity until the final frames. This decade has, all things considered, been a pretty good one for science-fiction, and numerous directors have brought forth their own intriguing visions of the future. Many, like Alex Proyas' 'I, Robot (2004)' or Michael Bay's 'The Island (2005)' were determinedly bright and dazzling. Stephen Spielberg's 'Artificial Intelligence: AI (2001)' and 'Minority Report (2002)' were largely optimistic, but also noticeably alluded to a darker underbelly. Danny Boyle's '28 Days Later (2003),' whatever my thoughts about the film itself, depicted a frightening and morally-barren post-apocalyptic Britain. The animated 'Renaissance (2005)' took the classic neo-noir route, channelling the artistic style of 'Blade Runner (1982).'
Alfonso Cuarón's despairing vision of the future is frightening, not because of how much the world appears to have been changed, but because it feels like only one step ahead from where we are now. Just as Spielberg reproduced horrific images of the September 11 terrorist attacks to give immediacy to the alien invasion in 'War of the Worlds (2005)' {Tom Cruise emerges from the initial attack covered in a smothering white powder}, Cuarón too plunders our own unstable political climate to predict a bleak, oppressive future for future generations  if, indeed, there are to be any. At a concentration camp at Bexhill, there stands the infamous "hooded man" of the shameful Ghraib Prison scandal. A coffee shop bombing recalls the devastating July 2005 London bombings, and decades of IRA terrorist attacks. Cuarón seems to be suggesting that the capacity for human depravity is already present in modern society; it would take only a single unexpected tragedy  such as an epidemic of infertility  to finally push our "dominant" race over the edge into genuine, unbridled barbarity.
Clive Owen isn't a leading man typically known for his versatility, but here his flatness is put to good use. Over the years, many actors have attempted to duplicate the weary-eyed laziness of Robert Mitchum, and Owen's Theo is a strong attempt, a disillusioned nobody who finally finds something to hope and fight for in Mankind's future. Able support is provided by Julianne Moore, Michael Caine and Chiwetel Ejiofor, but the real star of the film is Emmanuel Lubezki's dynamic camera. Entire set-pieces are played out in single takes (though much post-production splicing took place), and, unlike other recent efforts such as the Dunkirk beach sequence in 'Atonement (2007),' these long shots actively propel the film's plot. Indeed, on first viewing, it wasn't until afterwards that I realised the sheer extensiveness of the technique's use. The extended takes, in a similar manner to Hitchcock's clever usage in 'Rope (1948),' place the viewer in a unique position: not only that of a voyeur, but of an active participant.