A woman is born in an underground bunker. It is the only
life she’s ever known and her caretaker, a robot named Mother, is the only
other being she’s ever encountered. Enter another woman from the outside world,
one ravaged by an extinction-level event, who finds her way to the bunker. As
the two humans interact, what is shared between them makes the first woman
question what Mother has been telling her. In light of this dilemma, what does
the first woman do?
Taking place primarily within the bunker, with only three
characters (Mother, Daughter and the woman from outside), it utilizes a similar
mode of sci-fi scriptsploitation as Alex Garland’s Ex Machina, using very few
visual tricks and mostly dialogue and performance to delve into incredibly
complicated scenarios to do with humanity’s connection to technology and to
itself.
However, one of the things that doesn’t translate directly
when it comes to these ethics hypotheticals is the barrier between logical
probability and human rationality. Hell, the entire practical basis of these
questions is predicated on the idea that the people involved are rational and
capable of making their own decisions. It isn’t exactly a groundbreaking
critique to say that humans are many things, but reliably rational isn’t one of
them. It’s the difference between something like the Prisoner Dilemma as a
hypothetical scenario, and actually putting it into practice, as two University of Hamburg economists did in February earlier this year.
On one side, we have Daughter, played with phenomenal
efficacy by Clara Rugaard. Mother has trained her to think along these ethical
lines, proffering thought experiments like Judith Jarvis Thomson’s Transplant
Problem to weigh up her ability to look at ‘the bigger picture’ and preserve as
much sacred human life as possible. And on the other, we have the woman from
outside, played with remarkable nuance by Hillary Swank, who has seen what the
robots have done to the outside world and, most importantly, how they’ve dealt
with the presence of humans. Both find themselves in need of social
interaction, same as any other human, and while their own internal debates fuel
a lot of the film’s drama, it takes on a new dimension when put into context
with the title character.
Between Rose Byrne’s eerie vocal performance, Luke Hawker’s
effective physical performance within the robot suit, and the suit itself
supplied by special effects wizards Weta, Mother represents a lot of best- and
worst-case scenarios in regard to the relationship between man and machine. As
previous classics like 2001: A Space Odyssey have shown, there are few things
more unnerving than the idea of an artificial intelligence with the capacity to
lie.
And when combined with Michael Lloyd Green’s amazing
scripting, constantly drip-feeding the audience clues to what’s going on
without outright declaring any of it, the story nestles into a highly complex
moral labyrinth in terms of figuring out whether this caretaker is as truly
benevolent as it lets on. What makes things trickier is that, much like 10 Cloverfield Lane, the true thrills come out of questioning which scenario is
worse: The doomsday-addled outside world, or the one inside the bunker.
As someone with a real thirst for this kind of smart yet
emotionally-salient science fiction, I am quite impressed with how well this
one turned out, and it being an Aussie production only endears me to it even
more. I won’t pretend that I’ve dialled down every single nuance to this
production, as it’s the kind of fare that seems designed to be re-watched for
the retrospective, but with how cleverly it’s presented and how utterly
fascinating its ideas are, I see no problem in the idea of watching this again.
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