by Teal-Greyhaven
COLUMNIST

In an age when we have grown weary of colossal orc battles and starships flying through space, here is a film to astonish us. Alfonso Cuarón’s The Children of Men, now playing at Grand Cinemas, is the most stunningly realistic film I have seen. Not only does it feature several minutes-long single takes, but its vision of a not-too-distant future world in chaos feels less like Blade Runner and more like today’s television footage of Iraq. This is a film to see and let resonate.

Based on P.D. James’ 1992 novel, it imagines the year 2027, when the earth has been stricken with an inexplicable wave of infertility. No babies have been born in 18 years, and humanity, within sight of its own extinction, has turned to violence and despair. Most of the globe has crumbled into anarchy; only Great Britain remains a functioning state. There, illegal “fugees” from everywhere else in the world are rounded up, held in cages, and carted away to refugee camps. There are whispers of government bombings to keep people afraid, and of a shadowy human rights organization called “The Human Project.”

Clive Owen plays the ashen-faced Theo, who is pulled into a plot to protect a young woman named Kee (Clare-Hope Ashite). Kee may be more important than anyone can imagine, but those assigned to protect her may have hidden agendas. What follows is essentially a chase movie, but done so intensely and with such spare exposition that it doesn’t for a second feel like a thriller.

Cuarón has said that he wanted to immerse the audience in the character’s experience, and, by extension, in their world. By cutting as little as possible, and by not shying away from things more often seen at a safe distance (at one point, blood spatters onto the camera lens), Cuarón compels us to care for Ashite and her story as though it were our own.

There are several shots of five-plus minutes in the film, not the least of which is a sense-stunning seven-minute battle sequence in which Owen ducks and darts for cover amid tank fire, but the most thrilling moment for me was a scene of childbirth. Watch this shot, which must last at least two minutes, and tell me how they got a live baby into the scene. It’s been a long time since I have asked myself “How did they do that?” at a movie and not been able to answer.

Many filmgoers will not be aware of such techniques while watching the film, but they will be affected nonetheless. When we are unable to dismiss what we see as “make-believe,” we are forced to become involved, and that is the secret strength of Children of Men. Its lack of the usual didactic sci-fi commentary grounds it in its story––––and in Owen, who locates a weary sort of hope and willpower reminiscent of Bogart’s turn in Key Largo. And because we are pulled in so close, we are invited to realize, perhaps, how familiar the pervasive unease in this future world may feel. The 21st century has heard more talk of the apocalypse than any other era so far, from the year 2000 to September 11th. There is something wearying about each new car bombing headline, and with baby boomers entering their 60s it’s no wonder that our present has a lot in common with the shocked despair of Cuarón’s future.

James has said that she wrote her original novel to answer the question, “If there were no future, how would we behave?” What may be more disturbing than this film’s answer is how closely its world without hope already resembles our own.