Man makes robot. Robot rises against man. It's a hypothetical scenario that's haunted science-fiction for ages - the notion of mankind bringing about its own demise by creating a new, mechanical race better suited to survival than pathetic human beings burdened by mortality and emotions. Automata is the latest in a long series of futuristic dystopian thrillers to explore these issues and ideas, and actually does so credibly well for a relatively low-budget effort. But the film is also riddled with plot holes which undermine some of its smarter, better moments.
Insurance investigator Jacq Vaucan (Antonio Banderas) lives in a broken time: Earth has been devastated by climate change and its population practically decimated. The ROC Corporation has built robots - the titular automata - to work in difficult environments and help take care of their human owners. To ensure that the robots remain safe and unthreatening, they all come pre-programmed with two security protocols: firstly, they cannot harm any human; and secondly, they cannot alter or repair themselves. Jacq just wants to escape his humdrum job in a polluted, crowded city. But, as he dutifully checks insurance claims against defective ROC robots, he begins to realise that the security protocols on some units are being circumvented - a situation his very human bosses are determined to avoid at all costs.
There's a pleasing grittiness to Automata that helps disguise its relatively lower budget. Director Gabe Ibáñez cloaks Jacq's city in sombre, shifting shades of grey, and the stiff, creaking robots coming off the production line fit in very well with a society just struggling to survive. It's an interesting twist on a sci-fi trope: in this world, robots aren't reserved for the rich and wealthy, but serve as cheap alternatives to a dwindling pool of human resources. It's why Cleo (voiced by Melanie Griffith) exists, a robot modified by Dr. Dupre (played by Griffith) and enlisted into the sex trade.
Tucked into the film are some interesting insights too. Ibáñez effectively draws out the differences between the robots and the humans - the former may have broken through the second protocol, but remain committed to honouring human life, whereas their human overlords cannot bear the thought of allowing altered robots to 'live'. Jacq serves as our window into this cruel dichotomy: he starts out with the same cavalier, dismissive attitude towards automata shared by all humans, but gains a deeper appreciation for their sentience and unexpected compassion as he gets to know Cleo and her compatriots better.
For all its promise, however, Automata falters fatally in its third act. Its script tilts over from intriguing to incomprehensible, particularly when it becomes clearer why some robots have been able to start repairing (and upgrading) themselves. As the narrative tangles itself up in knots over just who created and ultimately reversed the security protocols, the film heads into both the literal and metaphorical desert. Just as Jacq struggles to survive with too little water and food while the robots drag him through colourless sand dunes, Automata flounders about in its futile hunt for logic and common sense when the robots' mysterious leader uses the uber-battery in Jacq's possession to create a giant robot that's half dog, half beetle.
Banderas anchors the film, even in its increasingly nonsensical moments, with his trademark steely presence. He straddles his dual roles of beleaguered everyman and unexpected action star quite well, and has a nice chemistry with Birgitte Hjort Sørensen, who plays his sadly underwritten, very pregnant wife. Arriving as abruptly as she departs, Griffith's extended cameo as Dr. Dupre manages to enliven proceedings, but with a (probably unintended) hint of camp. Dylan McDermott has a bit more fun as trigger-happy cop Wallace, who shifts from ally to adversary with remarkable facility.
Charitably speaking, Automata has done quite well by its limited budget of US$15 million - a fraction of the huge sums of money typically flung at sci-fi epics in Hollywood. It touches on some truly knotty, thought-provoking subjects while creating a credibly dystopian environment and fairly impressive mechanical special effects. But its final act could really have used the services of a script doctor - something that the budget evidently didn't quite stretch far enough to cover.
Insurance investigator Jacq Vaucan (Antonio Banderas) lives in a broken time: Earth has been devastated by climate change and its population practically decimated. The ROC Corporation has built robots - the titular automata - to work in difficult environments and help take care of their human owners. To ensure that the robots remain safe and unthreatening, they all come pre-programmed with two security protocols: firstly, they cannot harm any human; and secondly, they cannot alter or repair themselves. Jacq just wants to escape his humdrum job in a polluted, crowded city. But, as he dutifully checks insurance claims against defective ROC robots, he begins to realise that the security protocols on some units are being circumvented - a situation his very human bosses are determined to avoid at all costs.
There's a pleasing grittiness to Automata that helps disguise its relatively lower budget. Director Gabe Ibáñez cloaks Jacq's city in sombre, shifting shades of grey, and the stiff, creaking robots coming off the production line fit in very well with a society just struggling to survive. It's an interesting twist on a sci-fi trope: in this world, robots aren't reserved for the rich and wealthy, but serve as cheap alternatives to a dwindling pool of human resources. It's why Cleo (voiced by Melanie Griffith) exists, a robot modified by Dr. Dupre (played by Griffith) and enlisted into the sex trade.
Tucked into the film are some interesting insights too. Ibáñez effectively draws out the differences between the robots and the humans - the former may have broken through the second protocol, but remain committed to honouring human life, whereas their human overlords cannot bear the thought of allowing altered robots to 'live'. Jacq serves as our window into this cruel dichotomy: he starts out with the same cavalier, dismissive attitude towards automata shared by all humans, but gains a deeper appreciation for their sentience and unexpected compassion as he gets to know Cleo and her compatriots better.
For all its promise, however, Automata falters fatally in its third act. Its script tilts over from intriguing to incomprehensible, particularly when it becomes clearer why some robots have been able to start repairing (and upgrading) themselves. As the narrative tangles itself up in knots over just who created and ultimately reversed the security protocols, the film heads into both the literal and metaphorical desert. Just as Jacq struggles to survive with too little water and food while the robots drag him through colourless sand dunes, Automata flounders about in its futile hunt for logic and common sense when the robots' mysterious leader uses the uber-battery in Jacq's possession to create a giant robot that's half dog, half beetle.
Banderas anchors the film, even in its increasingly nonsensical moments, with his trademark steely presence. He straddles his dual roles of beleaguered everyman and unexpected action star quite well, and has a nice chemistry with Birgitte Hjort Sørensen, who plays his sadly underwritten, very pregnant wife. Arriving as abruptly as she departs, Griffith's extended cameo as Dr. Dupre manages to enliven proceedings, but with a (probably unintended) hint of camp. Dylan McDermott has a bit more fun as trigger-happy cop Wallace, who shifts from ally to adversary with remarkable facility.
Charitably speaking, Automata has done quite well by its limited budget of US$15 million - a fraction of the huge sums of money typically flung at sci-fi epics in Hollywood. It touches on some truly knotty, thought-provoking subjects while creating a credibly dystopian environment and fairly impressive mechanical special effects. But its final act could really have used the services of a script doctor - something that the budget evidently didn't quite stretch far enough to cover.