The song remains the same

As I've mentioned here a couple times before, one of my all-time favorite films is the director's cut of Blade Runner (no voiceover, ends in the elevator.) Among the many things that make it a favorite are: 1. It leaves unanswerable questions unanswered, rather than trying to resolve everything with a happy ending. 2. It asks those questions in a subtle fashion, rather than beating you over the head with them. The film we saw tonight, I'm Your Man, takes a similar approach to a very broad topic. Whereas Blade Runner posed the question of what it actually means to be human, I'm Your Man asked its protagonist (and, in turn, its audience) what it means to love and be loved. As most who've been in and out of serious relationships can tell you, there's no simple answer to that question or even why it often is asked, internally or externally, directly or obliquely, by other people and by oneself.

The premise isn't hugely innovative. A driven, mostly isolated anthropologist studying Sumerian cuneiform is asked to participate in a company's test run of androids that they're marketing as the "perfect companions." Her task from her superior at her university is to spend three weeks with one and then write a report about the experience. As Jaime noted tonight, it's pretty similar to any of a number of TV shows and films that have preceded it, including an episode of Black Mirror. But the screenplay is very clever and the performances of the two leads, Maren Eggert as the anthropologist and Dan Stevens as the android, are excellent, as they maintain a very light touch on a very heavy question, even in the more emotional moments of the film. In some ways, it's not too dissimilar from Blade Runner, in that the detached, seemingly machine-like person is often contrasted with the more warm and sociable machine who is programmed to do everything he can to make her happy; an emotion that she doesn't always find herself willing or able to embrace.

It is, of course, often difficult to define exactly what makes one happy, in the same way that it's difficult to define what love is. Alma (Eggert) is immersed in her work, in part because that's who she is and in part because she's been burned by some personal circumstances that make it more comfortable for her to approach life in a very defined, professional, and mechanical fashion. Those circumstances don't make her "happy", per se, but she's accepted them as comfortable, as opposed to the uncertainty which could be even worse. Tom (Stevens) is programmed to be her perfect man and to do everything that his algorithm dictates that would make her life better emotionally, but that's not necessarily the kind of love or relationship that she's looking for. Indeed, at one point, she tries to test his ability to take her emotional abuse because she feels like she needs the friction, the personal give-and-take, that many people define as the essential energy of their relationships. But Tom's only feedback is positive, no matter how much pressure she applies, which leaves her with an emptiness that no amount of tenderness and concern can fill.

Now, a lot of people would probably recoil at the idea of a "perfect" companion who exists solely to make one happy. But Alma runs into someone who's also been paired with an android and whom has never had a good experience interacting with other humans on an intimate level and that person is overjoyed at the prospect of staying with his companion. Is that person's sense of love any less valid than Alma's? Part of what she recoils from is Tom's irreducible good nature because it reminds her that he's a machine and not what she considers to be "human." But many people confronted with poor matches or unceasing stress and conflict might be happy to indulge in the continual support and care that comes from having a companion like Tom. In some ways, it's like having a pet who is always thrilled to see you and be in your company. Is that kind of love any less genuine than that with another human who typically has more complex wants, needs, and emotional states?

Again, these are deep questions and it would have been easy to slip into a maudlin story about missed chances or the failure of some people to appreciate what they have. But director Maria Schrader kept the film moving at a steady pace; not lingering on moments of dramatic import, but instead continuing to push us forward, even when Tom stops to spell out the underlying reasons for Alma's reactions like a physician diagnosing a broken bone. Many would probably react poorly to this, thinking that the machine's lack of a lighter touch to those moments demonstrated a lack of feeling, both on its part and the storytellers'. But I found it to be perfectly in tune with the story being told, not least because Alma's whole career was about trying to show the underlying beauty of functional script in clay from 5000 years ago. The message there was not only that humans from ancient times had emotions and conveyed them in writing, but also that the past is, in many ways, just like the future. The human condition doesn't stray too far from its origins, whether you're communicating with shaped mud or AI. In the end, as with most relationships, there are no simple solutions and everyone has to find their own answers for how they define them. Along the way, the film remains very funny and leaves us always eager to see what's next; kind of like a good relationship. Highly recommended.