He is 'borg

As a critic who unfashionably believes that the android character of Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation explored the ethical issues exhaustively, some might say ad nauseum, involved in creating and dealing with artificial life forms, and that Scott's Blade Runner and Spielberg's AI are pretty much the only cinematic art to successfully deal with similar subject matter, and given Hollywood's track record adapting sci-fi, adding in my general indifference to Asimov, I can't say I was expecting much out of Alex Proyas' I, Robot. And indeed, the summit of philosophizing about the possible sentience of robots is attained with the lead 'bot's fleeting question to detective Del Spooner: "Who am I?" At least, I think that's what he asked. It might have been "What am I?" but the moment passed by so quickly I can't be faulted; and, of course, it was posited during a series of acrobatic escape moves (special effects) on the part of the robot.

But really, it doesn't matter that much; I, Robot is still a good ride. Although it borrows heavily from both AI and Minority Report, and Blade Runner, for that matter, for its general look and feel, and it's nowhere near as inventive and fresh-looking as Proyas' own somber and menacing Dark City, it does have one thing that none of those other movies have and that's Wil Smith. A considerably more serious, and more seriously buff, Will Smith.

Smith gives the first adult performance since his breakout role in Ali [edited by Rick]. He's a haunted man in this one, not the jokey sidekick, and he's the center of the whole movie, and so gone are the gratuitous one-liners accompanied by his trademark smirk; even his wise cracks are bitter and pointed. In terms of adult performance, I'm not primarily talking about the scene where Smith capably weeps revealing the origin of Spooner's prejudice against robots; no, the scene where Smith most shows his chops is when Bridget, the female lead character, admires Spooner's cybernetic arm as he's getting dressed. The scene seems to begin obviously as a shy, understated attempt at exhibitionist seduction on Spooner's part but once we see the mixed emotions of both pride and shame on Smith's face I realized the character was trying to make what was for him the most painful confession of all, a confession made all the more poignant when Bridget's human responses are overshadowed by her professional curiosity: she handles Spooner's arm and chest not as if it's a piece of meat or the wounded but beautiful body of an emotionally vulnerable man, but rather as an exquisitely crafted machine part, constructed by someone else. A rare, complex moment in a fairly simple movie; but it does make me wonder just who the "I" is in the title.

Article Author: Rick Powell

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