Photo by Touchstone Pictures-Disney, Stephen Vaughan
Bruce Willis is shown in a scene from, "Surrogates."
Imagine a future in which you can sit in the comfort of your reclining chair, virtually experiencing the world through an idealized pleasure-bot version of yourself.
If only the makers of “Surrogates” had. Instead they’ve crafted a superficial sci-fi film loaded with inconsistencies and cranial scratchers.
People are living their lives remotely from the safety of their own homes via robotic surrogates-sexy, physically perfect mechanical representations of themselves. It's an ideal ...
Rating: PG-13 for intense sequences of violence, disturbing images, language, sexuality and a drug-related scene
Length: 89 minutes
Released: September 25, 2009 Nationwide
Cast: Bruce Willis, Radha Mitchell, Rosamund Pike, Ving Rhames, Boris Kodjoe
Director: Jonathan Mostow
Writer: Michael Ferris, John D. Brancato
For instance, if the whole point of this surrogate society is to appear as a perfectly beautiful avatar, why would Bruce Willis choose that ludicrous blonde wig that looks like he plucked it off a mannequin?
He plays an FBI agent tasked with investigating some murders, a heinous act thought to have been eradicated.
Which brings us to another puzzler: If crime is nonexistent, why does Boston have such a large trigger-happy police force? Presumably their only duty would be traffic control.
For that matter, if a glamorous, free-swinging life is yours for the asking, who would choose to be a cop?
“Surrogates,” which borrows tone and content freely from “I, Robot,” is all wind-up and no pitch.
The premise has promise: young, nubile synthetic bodies cruise the streets, controlled by pasty, atrophied and usually unshaven old slobs sitting at home in their bathrobes. Think of a gallery of Dorian Grays. Or bloggers.
Meanwhile pockets of dissenters live on reservations. These Luddites, lead by a dreadlocked cult figure (Ving Rhames), refuse to participate in the virtual utopia. The surrogate majority refer to them as meat bags.
Having established this scenario, “Surrogates” doesn’t know what do with itself. So it sends Willis off to uncover a conspiracy that filmgoers probably will not understand. And wouldn’t care about if they could.
For no good reason, Willis is forced to undertake this loud, lengthy goose chase in his own skin, like a turtle without his shell. His diminished capacity and grizzled appearance are sources of some concern to his wife (Rosamund Pike) and his FBI partner (Radha Mitchell).
Willis gets the big bucks for that trademark squinty grimace, amply displayed here. He is forced to emote precisely twice, about par for his film work.
“Surrogates” will be quickly banished to the island of broken films, but allow us one more question before it disappears: if this is a future of technological wonders, why do all the cars look like they came from a used car lot in 2005?
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