In the post-9/11 Hollywood era, gloomy apocalyptic films with overt political messages have become the expectation for the average filmgoer. Movies such as V for Vendetta, Babel, and Syriana have all been noted for their mirror image of current day or soon-to-be current day tribulations. Most come laden with heavy moral warnings; some have novel insights about what our near future might be like. But relatively few have the emotional depth and cinematic skill to drive the message of the film beyond moral pontifications and towards a more fragile, intricately complex, examination of the modern-day human condition. Thanks to the brilliant workings of its director, Alfonso Cuaron, Children of Men creates a world of astonishing terror which opens a window into our own everyday lives. I say it is terrifying not because of the possibility that Cuaron’s world may soon come into existence, but because the film’s familiarity reminds us that this world already exists within us, deep within the heart of humanity.
Part of the film’s ability to grapple with such emotional issues is the script itself. There is nothing more natural and human than the process of reproduction, as it is essential to the continuance of our species. Set in London 2027, Children of Men opens with the bizarre news that the world’s youngest person, aged 18, has just been assasinated. Soon, we come to find out that no women in the world are able to give birth, due to a worldwide pandemic of infertility that began in 2007. A world without children means a world without hope, and despair has brought on worldwide destruction. A tv ad on a subway reads “New York, Toyko, Beijing: destroyed. The world has collapsed, but Britain soldiers on…” A drug called “Quietus: You decide when” quickly unveils itself as the #1 lethal suicide drug of choice for the middle-class. In this world, where Britain remains the only country with some societal infrastructure, illegal immigrants have become the villians to despise. Signs warning about consequences for those who harbor refugees (“fugees” for short) abound, and news clips reveal refugee camps which more closely resemble concentration camps. This is the world that Theo Faron (Clive Owen), a common worker for the ministry of energy, has come to cynically deal with, until a rapid turn of events involving his former wife’s (Julianne Moore) involvement in an underground resistance group leads him to discover that not all hope is lost. The resistance group is harboring an illegal immigrant, Kee: poor, young, and pregnant. As the group seeks Theo’s help in getting her to an organization dubbed “The Human Project,” Kee and Theo’s journey leads us through the horrific depths of the refugee camps, the greedy games of those who seek only their own best interest, and finally to an uncertain yet strangely hopeful end, in which the best and the worst of human behaviors collide to produce one of the most initimately vulnerable scenes ever filmed. The film ends with both the hope and uncertainty that faces us all, as we desperately seek salvation from the cruelties of the world.
Cuaron’s filmwork stages some of the most realistic battle scenes I’ve ever seen. I would credit this accomplishment due to his use of a very 3-D view, in which you see things going on peripherally while simultaneously fearing what may be creeping behind you (or the character). Despite the undenabily bleak, gray, look of the film, Curaon inserts rich textures into the shot which warm the otherwise dismal outlooks. An old, orange cat playfully rubs against a war-torn Theo clothed from head to toe in black. A car chase which ends with a betrayal and multiple deaths is paired against a beautiful English countryside and streaming sunlight. These glimmers of familiar comforts weaved in with the absolute evil acts committed lend a disturbing credibility to the film, and create lasting images which resonate with you long after you leave the theater.
Ultimately, Children of Men succeeds as both a dark apocalyptic film reminiscent of modern times and as a universal psychological portrait of human nature. While Alfonso Cuaron has been hailed as a children’s film director (A Little Princess, Prisoner of Azkaban), it is filmic depiction of a world that contains no children which, ironically, I feel is his absolute best work. I encourage everyone to see it, while cautioning against becoming heavy-laden with the emotionally taxing burden the film asks you to carry.