Dickens is often discussed in Life Like, but the movie takes its literary cues (and quite openly, I think) from Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (which was, of course, turned into Blade Runner) and Pinocchio (by way of A.I. Artificial Intelligence). It would have benefited the script to be more of the former and less of the latter.
James (Drew Van Acker) and Sophie (Addison Timlin) are a married couple who come into a lot of money and move into a huge mansion. Idealistic Sophie fires the help (with a handsome severance package), so pragmatic James acquires Henry (Steven Strait) — who is, for all intents and purposes, a replicant — to run the household.
What follows is a study of the uncanny valley hypothesis. James first views Henry as little more than a state-of-the art appliance, but later comes to feel threatened by him. Meanwhile, Sophie can’t see past Henry’s human exterior and would rather befriend him than order him around.
Both eventually grow sexually attracted to Henry, and act on it to varying degrees (Sophie, for instance, sluts herself up and masturbates loudly, hoping that Henry will spy on her, which he does.)
The screenplay also tackles the question of whether you need to know where you come from in order to get somewhere. The problem is that the film presents this argument in too much of a narrow, black-and-white, secularity vs. religion manner.
Henry correctly points out that humans “can’t be scientifically certain who’s responsible for making” them — i.e., “God” —, but then he claims that, because Henry personally knows who made him, that “allows me certainty in my purpose.”
Later, the trio discuss whether love or lust drives Pip in Great Expectations (movie characters analyzing a book? Believe it or not, that’s hard to imagine for some). This leads to Henry asserting that lust is “often regarded as sin.” When asked if he believes that, Henry replies that “Sin should only be judged by the eyes of your God. My maker didn’t perceive lust as a sin, therefore nor do I.”
The implication appears to be that, since humans can’t know God and His designs, that somehow means we have no way of knowing what we want or why we want it. Religion, however, doesn’t have a monopoly on morality. You don’t have to place everything within a theological framework to be able to determine whether it’s right or wrong, worthwhile or deplorable. You’d think that’s a lesson that Henry could have learned in his emotional evolution.
Moreover, does it all have to come down to fucking? Can’t you explore the ethical and philosophical nuances of your chosen subject without shoehorning sex into the equation? Makes you wonder what would have happened if the protagonists weren’t young and ridiculously good-looking. Probably nothing.
Then again, first-time writer/director Josh Janowicz clearly hadn’t gotten the hang of the whole story-telling thing, so it’s no wonder he fell back on the sex crutch. The film’s bookends are especially problematic.
The movie opens with James and Sophie going to pick up Henry, then flashes back to three months earlier, and circles back to the beginning — all in less than 15 minutes. This is a needless flourish that Janowicz has no doubt seen in many another movie and thought it was ‘cool.’ Why not just make “three months earlier” the starting point and go forward from there?
On the opposite side of the narrative there’s a twist that has no reason for being other than to provide a cheap cop-out (in general, plot twists are a sign of desperation; a cry for help that says, ‘I have no idea how to finish this fucking thing!’).
I won’t give the revelation away (though it relates to something I mentioned in my opening paragraph) because I honestly did not see it coming (in my defense, it’s tough to foresee something that the filmmaker is pulling out of his ass); suffice it to say that when the mild shock wears off — and it’s a shock of disbelief, not surprise —, all that’s left is the realization that not only would Life Like have worked better without the twist, but it doesn’t work at all with it.
In the deathless words of Jackie Chiles, it’s outrageous, egregious, preposterous. It’s also contrived, far-fetched, implausible, disingenuous and completely fucking retarded. Worst of all, it negates the entire premise. It does explain some of Henry’s behavioral inconsistencies, but overall it raises more questions than it answers. I know Janowicz was aiming for thought-provoking, but the only thought that this development provokes is, ‘the fuck?’
All things considered, I said that the film is a study of the uncanny valley effect. What I meant was that it could have (and should have) been one, but whatever results it yields are inconclusive because the sample was contaminated.
P.S. I just can’t help myself, so here it is (spoiler alert): It just so happens that Henry was a ‘real boy’ all along. This is supposed to be like the cleverest, ultimate subversion of this trope, but the fact remains that it falls apart under the slightest scrutiny.
The filmmaker provides a few alleged clues to foreshadow this turn of events, but all he achieves is t build a massive case of Fridge Logic. Like when Sophie asks Henry if he can drink wine (“Yes”), and then wonders “what happens to things that you consume?” According to Henry, “I have a holding tank within me that my docking station will empty.”
That do won’t hunt, Monsignor. There’s a big difference between an android who can “consume” foodstuff and a human being who needs to eat (and shit) lest he dies.
Or what about when James drags Henry out of his “docking station” for their late-night racquetball sessions? Can’t James tell that Henry isn’t so much ‘powering up’ as waking up? Presumably yawning and rubbing his crusty little eyes.
And there are a million other things, like hair and nails growing, and sweating and, I dunno, breathing that should give Henry away. It’d be one thing if Henry were in on the scam; I could buy that he takes care of his human needs in secret, while Sophie and James drive themselves crazy trying to figure out why the toilet keeps flushing by itself in the middle of the night.
However, Henry (and many others) has been gaslighted into believing that he’s a robot. The question is, how can he fool James and Sophie when it’s already a stretch that he could fool himself? Doesn’t he find it odd when he gets hungry? And why don’t Sophie and James pick up on what should be Henry’s increasingly stinky body odor? (‘Is it me, honey, or does Henry need a shower?’). Not to mention that, as a human, Henry is no more qualified to manage a large estate on his own than Sophie was.
Now, since Janowicz just had to go down this route, the least he could have done was follow it to its utmost consequences; the little Henry who appears in the coda should not simply be named after Henry, but actually be his own flesh and blood.
Let Sophie go all the way with Henry, let him knock her up, and let that unexpected pregnancy be what tips her off to his humanity. If you’re going to stick with the triangle thing, then you might as well do it right.
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