I, Robot

It’s now an established fact that Will Smith hasn’t the faintest idea what real science fiction is. Nevertheless, claiming to be a fan of the genre, he persists in serving up empty action flicks with slick, big-budget packaging, and doesn’t think twice about plundering the classics only to systematically suck every ounce of profundity out of them. What’s more, it’s rather disturbing to notice how the actor’s high-octane star power drains Hollywood directors of all their creative juice, even those with a decent measure of artistic talent (Proyas, Shyamalan, etc.), sucking them into the camp of loud and frenetic, the favorite style of Smith’s true mentors: Roland Emmerich (“Independence Day”, 1996) and Michael Bay (“Bad Boys”, 1995).

“I, Robot” should have drawn more from a sci-fi legend such as Isaac Asimov (“should have” because beyond some of the characters’ names and a few unfortunate allusions to short stories such as the excellent “Little Lost Robot”, this cinematic lemon is to Asimov as Michael Bay is to Ingmar Bergman).

So we’re stuck watching the crude adventures of a mumbling, garrulous, sarcastic police officer who struts around like a drug pusher or an arrogant suburban bully (it’s scary how he acts like a little dictator when he bursts into Dr. Calvin’s house, as well as how he goes off on the robot during the interrogation), all the while spouting scatological lines such as: “I’m getting sick of doing this shit by myself” and “I’m just […] here to kick another civilian’s ass” or “Let’s do an imitation of protecting our asses“.

When all is said and done, it basically boils down to watching a boring, movie-length commercial relentlessly plugging shoes and cars. Orgy of digital special effects (mostly mediocre at best). We’ll close by quoting a character who asks Spooner: “We all have a purpose, don’t you think, detective?“. Will Smith’s purpose seems to be to butcher good science fiction.

Noxious.