Children of Men
Sep. 2nd, 2007 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sawylI don't seem to watch all that many films anymore. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of the low quality of most mainstream stuff at the moment. Perhaps it's the unappealing seats at my local Odeon. Could it even be that I've got an eigenself whose taken over my interest in movies on my behalf? Whatever. The upshot is that I don't watch all that many flicks anymore. This week, however, I broke with tradition and watched something new: Children of Men.
Loosely based on a novel by PD James, the story is set in a future where the entire human population has become suddenly and shockingly infertile. Theo, an idealistic activist turned apathetic bureaucrat, is contacted by his ex-wife Julian, the head of terrorist group, the Fishes. She asks him to contact his cousin, a powerful politician, and to get transit papers to get a refugee woman to Brighton. On the way to Brighton, Theo, Julian and the fugee girl are ambushed and Julian is killed. After uncovering the reasons for Julian's death and the flight to Brighton, Theo takes responsibility for the girl's safety and promises to help her reach a safe ship run by the mysterious Human Project.
Essentially, then, it's a really cracking distopian movie with a heavy dose of religion running throught it. The sort of thing that would not suffer adversely from being compared to The Handmaid's Tale — the novel rather than the film version which, despite a quality cast and the involvement of Harold Pinter on the writing side, didn't really work.
The look and feel of Children is really impressive. Familiar London landmarks are given a post-plague layer of grime which contrasts with the precise, clean, world of Theo's cousin, who broods over the city from a vantage point high in Battersea Power Station — not for nothing does the section open with In the Court of the Crimson King on the soundtrack as the chauffeur driven car takes Theo out of the slums. There are some wonderful moments of artistry, including a particularly fine scene where the camera focuses on Theo, while out of sight and out of focus, his old friend Jasper tells the Fishes how Theo and Julian's son died, with all the emotion of played out on Theo's face. Wonderful stuff.
Loosely based on a novel by PD James, the story is set in a future where the entire human population has become suddenly and shockingly infertile. Theo, an idealistic activist turned apathetic bureaucrat, is contacted by his ex-wife Julian, the head of terrorist group, the Fishes. She asks him to contact his cousin, a powerful politician, and to get transit papers to get a refugee woman to Brighton. On the way to Brighton, Theo, Julian and the fugee girl are ambushed and Julian is killed. After uncovering the reasons for Julian's death and the flight to Brighton, Theo takes responsibility for the girl's safety and promises to help her reach a safe ship run by the mysterious Human Project.
Essentially, then, it's a really cracking distopian movie with a heavy dose of religion running throught it. The sort of thing that would not suffer adversely from being compared to The Handmaid's Tale — the novel rather than the film version which, despite a quality cast and the involvement of Harold Pinter on the writing side, didn't really work.
The look and feel of Children is really impressive. Familiar London landmarks are given a post-plague layer of grime which contrasts with the precise, clean, world of Theo's cousin, who broods over the city from a vantage point high in Battersea Power Station — not for nothing does the section open with In the Court of the Crimson King on the soundtrack as the chauffeur driven car takes Theo out of the slums. There are some wonderful moments of artistry, including a particularly fine scene where the camera focuses on Theo, while out of sight and out of focus, his old friend Jasper tells the Fishes how Theo and Julian's son died, with all the emotion of played out on Theo's face. Wonderful stuff.
