iRobot

Rating: 8/10 (14 August 2015)

2015, the same year when a committee of top scientists, including Stephen Hawking, issued an open letter cautioning against further development of artificial intelligence in robotic and computer systems, also, perhaps unsurprisingly, saw a glut of major Hollywood releases exploring the concept in its execution. But, amidst the Age of Ultron and the chirping of Chappie, another AI film, penned and released with no major fanfare by a first-time director, quietly cemented itself as the year's definitive, and certainly most realistic, take on the ramifications of sentient robotics (and, moreover, the only one to slyly rope in software corporations like Apple as accountable for their inception). That film, of course, is Ex Machina.
Writer/director Alex Garland, better known as the scribe of various smarter-than-average Hollywood romps, including 28 Days Later and Dredd, clearly has Kubrick on the brain for his work here. Rather than caving to the temptation to pump out a more action-oriented techno-thriller (behold: not a single explosion!), Garland plays things slow, taut, and creepy, which is more appropriate and effective. Both aesthetically and tonally, Ex Machina glints with a dimly chrome sheen and almost clinical stillness, establishing an eerie atmosphere of fascination and vague unease. The film is (or feels) nearly silent; characters speak only when absolutely necessary, and it would not be amiss to notice a certain robotic quality to their universally calculated dialogue. It's chilling, but terribly magnetic as a slow-burning thriller. While the pace runs the risk of being slightly too drowsy for contemporary sensibilities at times, Garland's film is undeniably all the more engaging and compelling by tonally resisting the mugging for emotion or reaction increasingly demonstrated in more rote Hollywood fare.
There's also a distinctly theatrical quality at play here. Garland has tremendous fun contrasting the vast, lush, outdoor setting of his mysterious billionaire CEO's mountain retreat with the stark, claustrophobic interiors of the house, and its barren, techno-IKEA modernism, with cameras gliding down hallways and around corners with the most clipped sense of foreboding since The Shining. Moreover, the sparsity is echoed in the film's interplay between its trifecta of characters, with consistently shifting social politics and power dynamics, with pivotal information being withheld and divulged at crucial moments, keeping the film bristling with tension. The film is not a 'mystery' in any sense, but nor does its ultimately predictable execution and outcome feel like a shortcoming. Instead, Garland works with the subtext of algorithmic execution – the viewer is privy to all the information necessary to work through the film in advance, but watching its immaculate execution unfold is exhilarating in its own right.
Subtlety, again, is the name of the game; all three performers play close to the chest and avoid emotional showboating, but all are universally excellent. Domhnall Gleeson proves a strong lead, blending emotional detachment, astute analytical prowess, and an understated arrogance in the perfect cocktail of software prodigy, while somehow remaining sympathetic throughout in spite of it all. The increasingly impressive Oscar Isaac sinks his teeth into the showier role of enigmatic tech genius without overselling his character's eccentricities, crafting a loud, drunken, bodybuilding persona that hides the shrewd, endlessly calculating spider within. It's a perfectly balanced performance, never campy or tacky, and one that could well worm its way into awards season by year's end. Finally, Alicia Vikander, in the time-worn role of existential android, moulds an impressively cryptic performance. Vikander interchanges pathos, naïveté, emotional manipulation, and deep curiosity, all while scarcely blinking her giant, endlessly probing eyes and unwavering inflection – an android that actually feels like an android, rather than the customary cinematic mawkish, personified parodies of sentient robotics.
Ex Machina is a film that plays to its strengths. It's not as lofty or profound as a lot of comparable sci-fi parables tackling the etymology of existence, nor is its subject matter flagrantly original, or changing the face of the genre. Unlike its protagonist, Garland's film does not struggle with identity issues, and is content to deliver what it says on the tin: a lean, mean, sci-fi potboiler, tense, well-acted, and with a neat little climactic twist tying the whole thing up with a bow. It's unassuming, perfectly composed, and terribly efficient - in short, a perfectly 'robotic' film, albeit in the best sense of the word.
iLike.
-8.5/10