"Wait. So you’re telling me that none of the men in the movie have to give birth?”

That was the simple and surprisingly difficult question posed by my girlfriend. I think I’m not giving away too much when I boldly state that — in a strong rebuttal of the precedent set by Junior — no guys get pregnant in Children of Men. Which led to the following exchange:

“But the title is—”

“No. There are no male pregnancies.”

“Not even one?”

“Not even.”

“But then why—”


And so on. Which is not to say that Children is a bad movie — it gets a solid two-thumbs-somewhere-in-the-middle rating from this reviewer. The unfortunately titled film is set in 2027, when the world has more or less gone to hell. Some unexplained plague has left women infertile, and in the wake of this disaster follows nuclear war, riots, pollution, and all those fun things that happen when men and women have no future left to protect. Acute montage summarizes all this three minutes into the film, leaving substantial holes in the back-story that are never filled in.

In this mess of a world, we are introduced to Theo (Clive Owen), a former political activist who has become cynical. Your typical average-Joe-turned-hero, Theo soon becomes embroiled in a terrorist plot engineered by his long-lost love, Julian (Julianne Moore), and her guerrilla organization, the Fishes (yes, that’s really their name). His job seems simple enough: transport an important illegal immigrant, Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey), to the coast, where she can be shipped to a safer location. But after narrowly escaping from a countryside gang and a run-in with the police, Theo realizes that the Fishes are in the midst of their own plot — a plot with enormous political and social repercussions — and that he is caught in the middle.

At its best, the movie showcases a filthy and decadent kind of beauty. Filled with graffiti, shattered glass, and lots and lots of dirt, Children is a remarkably accurate depiction of… England. It’s a setting we’ve seen before in V For Vendetta and 28 Days Later: England in the future, disaster strikes, roving bands, corrupt and all-powerful governments, clothes covered in oil and cigarette burns, dirt. Children is the same deal, only more real.

The camerawork is impressive, too. Director Alfonso Cuarón makes grittiness a work of art. The dark lenses set the tone of the film; the shaking and moving camera is perfectly executed, not overdone, not overdramatic. I feel like I’ve seen this place before in other movies, but never as clearly. In Children, the metaphorical beer goggles come off and the sheer ugliness of the world comes into plain focus.

What takes the place of plot in Children of Men’s spotlight is the scenery. The basic premise is compelling: without children, the world breaks down. And it’s the setting that tells the story most powerfully. Halfway through the movie, there’s a scene in an abandoned elementary school, and the uselessness of the place (like the condom machine in the basement of the physics department) is telling. The armed security in bus terminals, the burning farms, the ruined and crumbling cities overcrowded with doomed refugees: these are the kind of moments that make the movie.

But let it be said that though the visuals are right on par, Children has none of the power of its predecessors. Its plot is predictable: if smoke and mirrors are your thing, bring your own. Though there’s action going on at all times — and Clive Owen can throw down when he needs to — it’s more like a backdrop to the film’s plot than Chuck Norris’s brand of fight-scenes-are-cool! ass-kicking. Which is fine, as long as there’s something to take its place. But its relationships are bland. Its drama, a kind of messianic build-up, is disappointing in its utter lack of climax. Children has potential, it has gravitas, but it breaks down under the strain of making a statement about the world in which it’s set. It’s a well-executed failure of intent, but a failure nonetheless.

Then again, like a Math 55 student finishing a problem set or a freshman girl at the A.D., it does what it’s supposed to do. Its most basic work is didactic. At heart, Childrenis a strange mix between liberal nightmare and liberal wet dream. On the one hand is the fear: illegal immigrants packed into cages, terrorized, killed. But then there’s the I-told-you-so moments, like when a newspaper clipping references Bush’s war on terror right next to another article describing the world’s downfall. Not to mention more subtle hints like the “Homeland Security” banners marking the sides of the prisoner buses.

The film’s most redeeming feature, outside its scenery and director, is Clive Owen. As usual, he acts his fine British ass off. He is easily the most believable character in the movie: his world-weary, self-destructive hero is far more convincing than any of the depictions of the overzealous, wannabe-revolutionary Fishes. Unfortunately, little time is allotted to his character development. After the first fifteen minutes, the profundity of Owen’s character is lost in an unexciting hide-and-go-seek plot. Only once, in the movie’s quiet central moment, is Owen’s acting complimented by brilliant screenwriting: in a moment of highest tension, day drinker Theo whips out his flask of booze, only to unscrew the top and, without hesitation, pour it all out to clean his hands. The scene is impressive simply because it is subtle. There’s no long pause to consider how Theo’s life has been uplifted by helping Kee, or to ponder the consequences of the moment, or any of those other hackneyed pauses we’ve become accustomed to. In fact, there’s nothing to suggest that this scene is any more important than another. That kind of simplicity, that lack of melodrama, is refreshing.

Unfortunately, there’s still the ending. It’s vague. It’s predictable. It’s just disappointing. I won’t reveal anything, except to say that I expected more. Cuarón and Owen make a masterful team, but they can’t overcome Children's weak plot and anticlimactic ending with pretty pictures. It was a good try, but in the end, it simply left me unmoved. Better luck next time, guys.



Jake Segal ’09 (jsegal@fas) may not be able to carry his own child, but he is man enough to admit to seeing Junior.



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