I wavered between giving A.I. a 6 or a 7, finally deciding on a 6 because Spielberg needs to be punished. Seriously.
The film is inventive and packed with ideas, whatever its flaws. The real betrayal has been commented upon elsewhere, and I'll repeat it here:
A.I. has three opportunities to close. The first ending -- the narration over the Ferris wheel -- would have been terrific, however grim, and the audience could have left satisfied and tantalized, if a little glum. At that point, the film -- warts and all -- would have been thought-provoking, evocative, and even mythical.
But it keeps going. Again, it could have ended when a statue shatters; not as good an ending as before, but a halfway decent crescendo which still would have had some resonance thematically.
And it keeps going. Now we're in the realm of total grafting and adolescent science in which, by God, we're going to get SOMETHING of a happy ending, however slim.
With that, the increasingly creaky contraption breaks down and sputters out, wooden Oedipal overtones and all. Spielberg betrays his story and audience.
This is one of those films in which, when it ends, the audience can't get out of their seats fast enough. At the screening I attended, half of us were on our feet when the director's credit came on.
I may well buy the DVD when it's released, watch the movie and shut it off when its proper time comes. What will gnaw at me, however, is knowing there's that appendage on there -- a sixth toe I'm trying to ignore -- and I wish, like Kubrick -- that Spielberg would have the courage to lop off what's unnecessary even after it's in the theaters.
By God, sir, I will not abide another toe.
The film is inventive and packed with ideas, whatever its flaws. The real betrayal has been commented upon elsewhere, and I'll repeat it here:
A.I. has three opportunities to close. The first ending -- the narration over the Ferris wheel -- would have been terrific, however grim, and the audience could have left satisfied and tantalized, if a little glum. At that point, the film -- warts and all -- would have been thought-provoking, evocative, and even mythical.
But it keeps going. Again, it could have ended when a statue shatters; not as good an ending as before, but a halfway decent crescendo which still would have had some resonance thematically.
And it keeps going. Now we're in the realm of total grafting and adolescent science in which, by God, we're going to get SOMETHING of a happy ending, however slim.
With that, the increasingly creaky contraption breaks down and sputters out, wooden Oedipal overtones and all. Spielberg betrays his story and audience.
This is one of those films in which, when it ends, the audience can't get out of their seats fast enough. At the screening I attended, half of us were on our feet when the director's credit came on.
I may well buy the DVD when it's released, watch the movie and shut it off when its proper time comes. What will gnaw at me, however, is knowing there's that appendage on there -- a sixth toe I'm trying to ignore -- and I wish, like Kubrick -- that Spielberg would have the courage to lop off what's unnecessary even after it's in the theaters.
By God, sir, I will not abide another toe.