Su
Dirigida por Spike Jonze
EE.UU., 2013
Publicado originalmente en Letterboxd, where I misspelled the director’s last name. This review has gotten the most likes of all my reviews. But that’s no great accomplishment.
I can’t imagine anyone who reads sci-fi more than casually, or even someone who’s seen a decent number of Star Trek: La Nueva Generación episodes, and especially anyone who’s read Richard Powers’ prescient and emotionally rich Galatea 2.2 [Amazon] or perhaps a reasonably informed average user of modern computers, doing anything but scoff and laugh at Spike Jonze’s superficial attempt to speculate about artificially intelligent agents in, what? The near future? An alternate universe? Inside his head? Every time someone said “operating system” or “OS,” I cringed.
Pero dado que Jonze no se toma en serio las fuentes de ciencia ficción que copia, pensar en el género y la forma no es probablemente la mejor manera de acercarse a esta historia sentimental de un "escritor" solitario, alienado y antisocial (creo que todo y todos están entre comillas en esta película) que se enamora de un agente artificialmente inteligente incorpóreo o programa de software (un término que nunca se utiliza, por cierto, aunque es el más apropiado, incluso para los idiotas) que parece estar en todas partes a la vez, sin el beneficio de la tecnología del mundo real (como los altavoces, por ejemplo) y que está en camino de evolucionar a un estado superior de existencia.
Samantha’s big monologue, such as it is, when she’s announcing her departure, is lifted nearly verbatim from a much more serious work of imagination, Greg Bear’s Música de sangre [Amazon]. Probablemente lo tomó prestado de otra persona, que es lo que hacen todos los autores de ciencia ficción, salvo que se espera que lo hagas mejor, no peor.
Yes, it’s all really that simplistic and predictable or else we’re supposed to ignore all the nonsensical details because, you know, it’s a metaphor. Or a simile. One of those. And it’s about love which makes everybody stupid, apparently.
Por lo menos con algo tan seriamente arqueado como El sol eterno de la mente sin mancha había algo de experimentación formal y estilística para distraer de un tono emocional igual de cursi, y al menos podías atribuir esas emociones a los adultos, más o menos. En Su, a revelatory moment of clarity is provided by a session of…cybersex. This supposed sophisticated and brilliant “OS” ponders the diverse morphology of existence and ends up wondering why our assholes aren’t in our armpits. But she’s just like those 40% of dumb Americans who don’t believe in or understand evolution; so I guess eso es no es gran cosa.
It doesn’t take long to get the feeling that we’re not really dealing with adults in Su, neither the artificially programmed kind nor the socially programmed kind. Instead, everyone’s treated like a big baby, but maybe that’s really Jonze’s vision of the future, in which case maybe this is a brilliant piece of satire.
So what’s really being explored here explicitly is greeting-card, chatroom grade “emotions” and “ideas” about relationships and how really really fucking hard they are for people weaned on the ultimate value of their own narcissism and we can either choose to attribute this sophomoric philosophizing to the filmmakers or to ourselves. Neither is palatable and whatever courses of action we can infer from the proceedings are sure to fail.
Me, I’m going to opt out.
¿Realmente quieres desinstalar a Scarlett Johansson? Sí. Vacía la basura.
