Ambitious science-fiction
films tend to age two ways: like fine wine, or like chicken salad left out in
the sun. In that respect, history has been kind to Gattaca, Andrew Niccol's 1997 writing
and directing debut. Eleven years later, genetic engineering remains a hot
topic, and the film's fussy production design remains classic yet timeless, with
its chilly grays, blacks, and blues, heavenly sunburst golds, and sleek,
metallic surfaces lacking even the faintest trace of human warmth. It's a world
borrowed largely from previous science-fiction classics, an icy, minimalist
universe Niccol never quite manages to make his own.
Ethan Hawke stars as a
doomed "natural birth" in a genetically engineered near future where those who
haven't been scientifically enhanced qualify as second-class citizens with
limited prospects. Hawke dreams only of traveling to space, an occupation his
lowly birth renders virtually impossible. So he borrows, at a steep cost, the
identity of Jude Law, a wheelchair-bound alcoholic who has thoroughly
squandered the privileges that come with being born a genetically engineered
superman. A distressingly robotic Uma Thurman co-stars as Hawke's co-worker and
love interest. Together, Hawke and Thurman generate enough sexual chemistry to
power a small nightlight for several seconds, while doing nothing to disprove the
conventional wisdom that offscreen paramours invariably make the worst onscreen
lovers.
Niccol writes juicy
supporting roles for Alan Arkin as a dogged shamus in a snappy fedora, and Law
as a self-loathing aristocrat luxuriating in bitterness and ennui. But there's
a fatal charisma vacuum at the film's center. Gattaca burdens an overmatched,
miscast Hawke with a solid half-hour of unwieldy, overwritten voiceover early
on, and his stilted delivery makes it even clumsier. Hawke's reputation has
lately been on the rise, following impressive turns in Before Sunset, Training Day, and Before The Devil
Knows You're Dead,
but Gattaca serves
as a reminder of how wooden the Gen-X poster boy could be. Hawke's mania for
visiting the stars is played for maximum schmaltz, and the film's fusion of
Kubrickian detachment and Spielbergian sentimentality is unpalatable and inert.
Just because a film explores a world where science works to eliminate the flaws
that make us human doesn't mean it should look and feel like it was made by
androids.
Key features: Fawning featurettes, a dry
documentary on DNA narrated by supporting player Gore Vidal, and a mixed bag of
deleted scenes.