just don't think about it
I saw the movie "Children of Men" last night and wanted to share a few thoughts. The movie is set in a near-future England (2020? 2030? I missed the first five minutes so there's a little bit of summary missing). For whatever reason, every human on the planet has become infertile; the last birth was some 18 years earlier, and England has become a police-state, interested primarily in managing its human population, testing for fertility, offering painless suicide solutions to everyone who's ready to "opt out," and restricting the presence of refugees ('fugees) from other countries (primarily, it seems, Africa and Asia). The protagonist, Theo, is an alcoholic ex-radical who lost his son in a flu epidemic and now carries on his day-to-day routine in a complete haze. He's shaken out of his stupor by the return of his ex-wife, who left him sometime after the death of their son, and her request that he help her in a highly sensitive project; to get a very special young woman out of England and into the arms of a secret group of scientists who are trying to restore hope to a world without children. Theo agrees to help, and then things start to go wrong. I won't say anything more specific about the plot.
The England that we see in the film is the paradigm of a dystopia, but what's most disturbing about it is how, for awhile at least, you could imagine living (like Theo does) in such an environment without necessarily doing anything about it. 'Fugees are rounded up in cages and detainment centers throughout the city of London, and Theo walks by them as they cry and complain, and police dogs snarl, on the way to work with his coffee. The streets and sidewalks are littered with garbage, the walls are covered with graffiti. As they drive through the countryside, piles of cows (and other things) are being burned. Buses and taxis carry electronic billboards and on-board computers, but there's a simultaneous sense that things are running down, buldings falling into disrepair, everything slowly grinding to a halt. Theo carries a small bottle of whiskey in his pocket and takes long sips whenever the reality of the situation threatens to overwhelm him.
Radical activists (or terrorists, depending on who is describing them) threaten violent revolution on behalf of 'fugee rights, and for a while Theo is carried along with their program. But they turn out to be the flip-side of the government, interested in pursuing an ideological agenda that has nothing to do with the people themselves, with actually bringing life and hope to this society. Theo and the young woman he protects find themselves caught in the middle of this conflict (literally) and the results are terrifying and, just maybe, hopeful.
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret the movie's message. On the one hand, the English government and its totalitarian measures surely stand in for the United States to some degree. At one point, Theo and the woman (her name is Kee) are herded through a checkpoint with the label "HOMELAND SECURITY" above the gates. There is also a sense that the idealism of the 60's is being invoked, both by the soundtrack (which includes at least one John Lennon song and a cover of the Stones' "Ruby Tuesday") and by characters like the one played by Michael Caine, who is an aging hippie who resists the government and grows weed to sell to the local army base. But it's not clear if the movie is suggesting that a return to 60's idealism is any solution. In the end, it seems like the only thing we can count on is our shared humanity, the willingness to treat each other decently, to consider each other as human beings and not just abstractions (refugee, fascist, hippie, homeless, "whatever"). And even that is no guarantee. It's just the only way we can keep being human.
The movie is very violent and there are many moments of desperation and fear, but the scariest moment for my money is one of the quietest, and it echoes eerily with some of the points made by Thomas de Zengotita in the Harper's essay we read. Theo goes to see his "connected" cousin to try and get emigration papers for himself and Kee. His cousin is fabulously wealthy, and lives high up in a luxury tower above the shattered city of London. He has used some of his money to rescue famous pieces of art. Michelangelo's David sits in the entranceway, missing part of one calf (looters had started to take it apart before he secured it). Theo, his cousin and his cousin's son eat lunch beneath Picasso's "Guernica" (an ironic moment if ever there was one). His cousin seems to be a bastion of civilization in a world descending into barbarity. But his cousin's teenage son eats while strapped into a video game and he plays obsessively, as if the world around him doesn't exist. His father has to scream at him to take his "pills" and even then the boy does not stop playing his game. Finally, Theo has to ask his cousin, how can you go on living like this, when the rest of the world is going to hell? His cousin smiles and says "You just don't think about it." Outside the window, a giant, pig-shaped balloon sways absurdly in the gray, smoke-choked air. We move on. And then, one day, we don't.
The England that we see in the film is the paradigm of a dystopia, but what's most disturbing about it is how, for awhile at least, you could imagine living (like Theo does) in such an environment without necessarily doing anything about it. 'Fugees are rounded up in cages and detainment centers throughout the city of London, and Theo walks by them as they cry and complain, and police dogs snarl, on the way to work with his coffee. The streets and sidewalks are littered with garbage, the walls are covered with graffiti. As they drive through the countryside, piles of cows (and other things) are being burned. Buses and taxis carry electronic billboards and on-board computers, but there's a simultaneous sense that things are running down, buldings falling into disrepair, everything slowly grinding to a halt. Theo carries a small bottle of whiskey in his pocket and takes long sips whenever the reality of the situation threatens to overwhelm him.
Radical activists (or terrorists, depending on who is describing them) threaten violent revolution on behalf of 'fugee rights, and for a while Theo is carried along with their program. But they turn out to be the flip-side of the government, interested in pursuing an ideological agenda that has nothing to do with the people themselves, with actually bringing life and hope to this society. Theo and the young woman he protects find themselves caught in the middle of this conflict (literally) and the results are terrifying and, just maybe, hopeful.
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret the movie's message. On the one hand, the English government and its totalitarian measures surely stand in for the United States to some degree. At one point, Theo and the woman (her name is Kee) are herded through a checkpoint with the label "HOMELAND SECURITY" above the gates. There is also a sense that the idealism of the 60's is being invoked, both by the soundtrack (which includes at least one John Lennon song and a cover of the Stones' "Ruby Tuesday") and by characters like the one played by Michael Caine, who is an aging hippie who resists the government and grows weed to sell to the local army base. But it's not clear if the movie is suggesting that a return to 60's idealism is any solution. In the end, it seems like the only thing we can count on is our shared humanity, the willingness to treat each other decently, to consider each other as human beings and not just abstractions (refugee, fascist, hippie, homeless, "whatever"). And even that is no guarantee. It's just the only way we can keep being human.
The movie is very violent and there are many moments of desperation and fear, but the scariest moment for my money is one of the quietest, and it echoes eerily with some of the points made by Thomas de Zengotita in the Harper's essay we read. Theo goes to see his "connected" cousin to try and get emigration papers for himself and Kee. His cousin is fabulously wealthy, and lives high up in a luxury tower above the shattered city of London. He has used some of his money to rescue famous pieces of art. Michelangelo's David sits in the entranceway, missing part of one calf (looters had started to take it apart before he secured it). Theo, his cousin and his cousin's son eat lunch beneath Picasso's "Guernica" (an ironic moment if ever there was one). His cousin seems to be a bastion of civilization in a world descending into barbarity. But his cousin's teenage son eats while strapped into a video game and he plays obsessively, as if the world around him doesn't exist. His father has to scream at him to take his "pills" and even then the boy does not stop playing his game. Finally, Theo has to ask his cousin, how can you go on living like this, when the rest of the world is going to hell? His cousin smiles and says "You just don't think about it." Outside the window, a giant, pig-shaped balloon sways absurdly in the gray, smoke-choked air. We move on. And then, one day, we don't.
posted by mdl 1550 at
1:52 PM
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