It is 2027. A baby has not entered the world in 18 years. For unknown reasons, the human race has become infertile. Devoid of hope, of perpetuation, of any perceivable future, many countries have collapsed. Societal institutions have been dismantled. All that is left is a wasteland—a bank in ruins, an abandoned elementary school, a bombed coffee shop, a burning, polluted countryside, trash-lined city streets. In the crisis of barren wombs, the possibility for the most basic, most comforting form of human organization, the possibility for family, has been eliminated. England stands as one of the only countries left with a relatively stable government. But even England, dealing with severe immigration problems, is plagued with violence and police brutality. A militant revolutionary group, the “Fishes,” who advocate immigrant rights, threaten to unleash an uprising. England is on the brink of anarchy.
This is the dystopian world that director Alfonso Cuaron shapes in his 2006 film, Children of Men. Theo Faron (played by Clive Owen) is our unlikely hero. Theo, an unshaven, rumpled alcoholic who works a government desk job has a defeatist outlook on life; his philosophy on existence being, “why bother if life’s going to make its own choices?” We later learn this is the result of his son’s death and consequent separation from his wife, Julian Taylor (played by Julianne Moore). Unexpectedly, Theo is reunited with Julian, who, since their separation has become the leader of the Fishes. Julian requests his help in acquiring transit papers for a young “fugee” (illegal immigrant) girl named Kee, in exchange for money. Theo obliges but is soon sucked into the backwards politics of the Fishes. Responsibility is forced upon him, as he is the only person trusted to carry out Julian’s plan.
Children of Men has a chilling realism. The film’s visual style is distinct; it is handheld and relies heavily on long takes. The most impressive of the single-take scenes lasts 247 seconds and is shot entirely from a swiveling camera mounted in the interior of a moving car. In the scene, a car carrying Theo, Julian, and Kee, is ambushed on a country road. A gang comes running out of the forest, clobbering the car with bludgeons. An armed motorcyclist leaps from out of the trees and begins chasing them down. A shot is fired into the car and blood spurts everywhere. All the while, we are anticipating a cut, anticipating release, but Cuaron does not give it to us. The action is real. The chase is real. The violence is unhindered and the camera rotates to capture the characters’ trepidation and desperation.
Cuaron, the same director that brought Gravity to the big screens this year, has a knack for building alternative worlds with precise realism. 2027 is not a distant future and the reminders of this a present throughout the film. The characters dress in the same way we do and technology has not made much progress. Children of Men’s apocalyptic landscape is constructed to present a scary possibility. Our deepest fears are realized as England devolve before our eyes. We see it become a place where the playful giggles, high-pitched cries, and cheerful chatter of children are replaced with the moaning of the hungry, the wailing of the injured, and the whimpering of the afraid. Humanity is in utter shambles, in violent, emotional, and irrational confusion. The tragedy, in the form of bombs, brutality, and machine gun fire, is ubiquitous and equalizing. Everyone is subject to it; white flags and innocence lose meaning.
But in the midst of this chaos, Theo finds stability in unwavering human bonds, in the power of trust. The meaningful relationships he once lost are made up for; he rekindles his romance with Julian temporarily and serves as a surrogate father for Kee. It is in his constant fight for survival, that Theo is jolted out of fatalism. His mission gives him purpose and courage and restores his hope for humanity.
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