Tomorrowland
Didactic, corporate film about hope, invention, and the world’s future.
There is some academic, archaeological interest in tying a Disney flick to the history of World Expos. Because Walt Disney (the man) was an inventor, took part in one such fair and so on. Tomorrowland starts at the New York World Fair in 1964, with a fictional kid presenting a jetpack of his own making; later the film shows that Eiffel Tower (a structure built for another Expo) is actually housing a spaceship (of sorts) below itself. None of these moments are really exciting; many feel like uncomfortable ads for theme parks of Disneyland; the same goes for the rest of the movie. Its plot is limp and empty — when not showing craftiness of art department and production design work (which is respectable, if not illuminating).
The young female protagonist was truly miscast (Britt Robertson). This allegedly smart, science-interested kid, designated as special by screenwriters, never seemed like one. She acted like an oblivious, easily distracted brat, often screaming and jockeying for attention in an altogether not amusing manner. She wore a NASA cap religiously, and tried to thwart the dismantling of a nearby space launch pad—such were her passions, as impersonated unconvicingly by the actress. The kid-robot, played by a freckled and self-possessed, ancient-looking girl (Raffey Cassidy), used strange facial expressions and rigidity of movement (as was required). The girl convinced as a droid, even if the character and her relationship with a grown-up George Clooney were decidedly odd. Both characters conjured a feel of traditional, sentimental family-oriented entertainment. Unsurprisingly, the best performer here was George Clooney, as a disillusioned, pessimistic inventor reluctantly leading the protagonist to Tomorrowland (which is a sort of a parallel universe for special people; its reasons for existence and dramatic pull never evident or compelling enough).
Tomorrowland is a bunch of space-age designs surrounded by corn fields; slick but not impressive. Skyscrapers in fanciful, fluid, curvy forms not normally seen in earthly cities (unless designed by Zaha Hadid), flying transportation, silly space fashion (capes worn by Hugh Laurie; utilitarian and tight-fitting uniforms elsewhere), big robots and mighty weapons. Sadly, it’s not like you haven’t seen similar projects in cinema before, and the vision is rather boring (though one does dutifully appreciate the craft that goes into making this). The land was depicted in two versions — early on, as a place of promise and advance of humanity (though it looked bland, shiny and commercial to my eyes), later — a sad, desolate location, covered in grey and clouds. Either way, nothing of interest was going on there — the most memorable was dying of a girl on the hands of Clooney; not the commercial tour of that space, nor battles with stock enemies or spherical-screen explanations of an environmental doom awaiting Earth.
The action was non-thrilling, poorly motivated, and suffused with Disney-friendly, much infantile sense of humor. Horrible, generic music (by Michael Giacchino) was a constant remainder of the movie’s poor tone. The bad guys (mostly robots, often in human bodies, with black suits and offensive smirks) were uninterestings and behaved as if they came from a puppet theater or an animation cartoon. Along the way, you laboriously noted the ideas (strange shop with playful souvenirs and eccentric assistants, Clooney’s tech lair with imaginative devices, the heroine quickly emptying two bottles of Cola after being transported somewhere) — but were left cold by them, and wondered why all the fuss for such weak a story of industrial optimism, fake amazement and brand-approved exhortation on the value of dreamers and utopias (the film lacked ideas to support these hollow notions).
Occasionally, Tomorrowland’s storytelling presented some break from linearity (briefly, for effect — as when Clooney and his talk were used as a framing device) — techniques which you acknowledged, but thought nothing of. The film was pushed and directed by Brad Bird (Ratatouille, The Incredibles) — which registers more than you’d wish. The content was filtered through the sensiblities of a successful, critically lauded family-entertainer. The flick’s proceedings and forceful messages were a drag and felt like work. To enjoy the movie on some level, you had to endure the young cast vying for kid-laughs (which they dint’t receive— on the screening that I’ve been on, at least). If you come for the futuristic designs, and are able to disregard the rest, then it’s an all-right if shruggable experience. One that cannot be called inspiring or truly cinematic.
