"There hasn't been a murder in 6 years. There's nothing wrong with the system, it is perfect"

Rating: 10/10 (28 November 2008)

Philip K. Dick was always fascinated by advanced human technology, and the effect that it would have upon both society and individuals. He also frequently proposed that there can be no single, objective plane of reality; our perception of time and existence is inescapably influenced by the meagre subjective workings of our brains. Dick's musings on reality and awareness, largely influenced by his experimentation with mind-altering narcotics, were ahead of their time in science-fiction literature, and it's no surprise that adaptations of his works comprise some of the genre's finest cinematic entries  including Scott's 'Blade Runner (1982),' Verhoeven's 'Total Recall (1990)' and Spielberg's 'Minority Report (2002).' Originally published in 1956, "The Minority Report" is not one of Dick's richest short stories, really serving only to introduce the basic concept of precognition, and to briefly explore the relevant themes inherent in its mechanics; namely, free will vs. determinism. Out of this fascinating framework, however, Steven Spielberg has crafted one of the most breathtakingly comprehensive futuristic visions ever committed to the screen.
I've always loved time-travel movies, mostly because they explore the intriguing notions of causality, determinism and fatalism. Though 'Minority Report' doesn't strictly qualify (since it's only information making the journey), it nonetheless grapples with similar metaphysical ideas, paradoxes and moral dilemmas. Can the Precogs truly be foreseeing the future if their visions result in the prevention of those future events? Is it ethical to punish citizens who have committed no crime, but may conceivably have done so in an alternate timeline? John Anderton (Tom Cruise) believes unwaveringly in the merits of Pre-Crime, having lost his son in an unsolved kidnapping six years earlier, and being determined never to allow another such an atrocity to take place. However, his implicit trust in this "perfect" system is suddenly shattered when he, Anderton, is accused of the future murder of a man he's never met. Convinced that he is being framed by an ambitious federal representative (Colin Farrell), Anderton goes on the lam, and, to prove his innocence, must elude and defeat the system he helped create.
This "man on the run" framework supplies the blueprints for a series of heart-stopping action and suspense sequences, with Spielberg exploiting possible future technology (such as self-driving cars, police jet-packs, and "spyder" surveillance gadgets) for maximum thrills. The completeness of his future vision is simply breathtaking, with CGI used extensively but never intrusively. The cinematography of Janusz Kaminski resembles that of his previous Spielberg collaboration, 'AI: Artificial Intelligence (2001),' adding to the great tradition of visually-rich science fiction cinema. Washington D.C. in 2054 possesses elements of both a utopian and dystopian future. In the city's more respectable districts, where businessmen and politicians debate the future of Pre-Crime, the rooms are awash with light, deliberately over-lit and with extreme colour desaturation, the negative having been bleach-bypassed in post-production. In the city's destitute slums, known as the Sprawl, we witness the decadence of contemporary society, bathed in a shadowy noirish darkness, where blind drug dealers lounge in the shadows and spout wisdom like "in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king."
The concept of eyes  our primary means of perceiving the world  is very important to the film. They are continually used to identify us, but this technology can be bypassed through relatively inexpensive underground surgical procedures (performed in a manner that calls to mind the Ludovico technique in Kubrick's 'A Clockwork Orange (1971),' another film that explores the notion of free-will). Just as the eye can fool others, the visuals provided to our own brains have the tendency to mislead. The Precog Agatha (Samantha Morton) frequently uses the phrase "Can you see?", in a manner that implies not just optical recognition but an otherwise-elusive greater understanding of human nature. The brightly-lit surroundings of upper-class Washington DC are merely a facade, designed to bolster the mind into a false sense of optimism and security, lest we remove our blindfolds to genuinely appreciate society's darkened heart. The Pre-Crime system may be perfect, contends Danny Witwer, but, if there's a flaw, it's human. In such a way, deliberate misdirection allows elderly director Lamar Burgess (Max Von Sydow) to hoodwink the senses and get away with murder.
Steven Spielberg has often been criticised for an overwhelming need to end his films on an upbeat note. It's true that he likes to have his patrons leave the cinema smiling, and, over the years, I suppose that he's developed a rapport with his audience that he's hesitant about breaking; in a way, he's the antithesis of Terry Gilliam, who likes to end his sci-fis by kicking the audience in the guts. However, delve a little deeper into each films' themes, and often the outcome isn't as optimistic as we'd initially thought. The much-disparaged epilogue to 'AI: Artificial Intelligence,' carried over from Stanley Kubrick, is much sadder and despairing than we initially believe. Likewise, in 'Minority Report,' I've only recently become intrigued by prison warden Gideon's parting words as Anderton is lowered into indefinite incarceration: "they say you have visions, that your life flashes before your eyes, that all your dreams come true." Could the perfectly-just sequence of events that follows merely be the desperate longings of an imprisoned man? Philip K. Dick would probably have said so.