District 9 starts with an incredible original documentary feel.  Exposition is revealed via interviews and shown in clips compiled from fake news footage.  Eventually, the movie takes on a Cops feel, as a cameraman trails the characters as they explore the alien camp.  Unfortunately, as the movie progresses, this documentary footage is replaced by very standard action cinematography on regular film.  Whereas the presence of the news crews or surveillance cameras fit into the narrative style, the sudden apparition of an omnipotent camera simply doesn’t fit.  Whenever interviews suddenly come back on the screen, it becomes terribly ambiguous what the film is trying to be.  Cutting between surveillance footage and regular camera work similarly makes no sense.  Within the first half hour, the Cops vibe is gone, and the presence of a film crew ceases to be justified or explainable.

Redemption seems to be a central theme of District 9.  The lead character is essentially an oppressor, then because of situations beyond his control he must ally with the oppressed against the oppressors he previously belonged to.  This device has been used countless times.  Unfortunately, this time it is completely missing any contemplation, and therefore any potential pathos.  At the beginning of the movie is a scene where Wikus happily destroys an entire nest of alien larvae.  After he has “seen the light,” there is never again any mention of his past sins.  He fights with the aliens out of necessity, and it’s very obvious that he hates doing it.  There really isn’t any redemption for Wikus.  There is only convenience and Sun Tzu’s principle: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Any film about internment camps is obviously going to have some type of political message.  I believe the entirety of District 9’s political message is summed up by a quick comment from an interview early on: “If [the aliens] were from another country, we’d understand.”  I get it.  They’re aliens.  But they’re people too.  There’s no statement really here to make, aside from the obvious, “discrimination is bad.”  Ideally, writer-director Neill Blomkamp could have extrapolated and gone on to explore such complex ideas as the necessity of repression for the effective policing of certain groups, or even shown more (or any) of the alien backlash, or even actually show their “dehumanizing.”  At most, there were a few “no aliens allowed” signs, but no real interactions between mainstream humanity and the aliens were shown.  A few testimonials at most were meant to convey any possible message the film had.  (Unsubstantial as it might have been.)

District 9 is actually based on a six and a half minute short film from 2005 written and directed by Blomkamp.  Alive in Joburg has a nearly identical setup, but uses its limited time to interpolate on a modern apartheid that is revealed by the narrative completely in medias res.  Incorporating these themes into a sci-fi movie is an incredibly original idea, and provides a new take on a story that’s been around since H.G. Wells first published The War Of The Worlds, 111 years ago.  It’s a tragedy that District 9 just devolves into yet another overblown action cliché.  Each chase scene alternates with a firefight, and they seem to occur on such a smoothly planned rail.  In a tight spot, a character glances over to a table, grabs a conveniently placed bomb, and blows out a wall that happens to lead to a parking garage.  Endless climaxes make way for increasingly comical escalation.  By the movie’s end, our once lovely dimwit is in a conveniently found mechanical exoskeleton, fighting off a dozen bald tan men with machine guns.  A nice, entirely human antihero was established, only to be lost amid an orgy of blood and brain remnants splattering onto the camera lens.

-Paul Brinnel

The movie starts with Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) alone, finishing up the last two weeks of a three-year stint with a lunar mining company.  His only companion is a computer, Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey).  Sam of course has the occasional hallucination, but such is moon-cabin fever.  After an atypical event interrupts his established routine, Sam ends up finding himself trapped inside his humble abode with a sickly doppelganger.

At this point in the story you’d really expect some twists.  Unfortunately, none ever come.  The conspiracy is figured out halfway through the film, and the rest is spent boringly pacing around the outpost trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the movie.  Interestingly, the biggest twist is when we find out that a single element isn’t ripped off from another movie.  (SPOILER: Gerty isn’t just HAL’s younger brother, he’s a boring, motiveless computer.)

I can only assume Duncan Jones’ original outline to his producer read something like: “Start with 2001, add a half cup Silent Running, a pint Wall•E, and a pinch of Alien.  Whisk until The Sixth Day starts to take form then just keep pouring in Solaris until you hit the 90 minute mark.  (And if you’re feeling particularly festive, you can even garnish it with a single leaf of Midnight Cowboy.)”

Sam Rockwell tries really hard to build two individually interesting characters that have an inherently conflicted dynamic.  Unfortunately, the movie just doesn’t give him an opportunity to build their relationship in anything more than staggered uninteresting dialogue.  There’s an elephant in the room as soon as the two characters meet, and it’s addressed with complete casualness.  If someone meets an identical version of himself, chances are, they aren’t going to treat them like the new kid on the playground.

In the end, Jones tries to tie everything together with a profound statement, an apparent conclusion we should all draw from this movie: (Sam to Gerty) “We’re not programmed.  We’re people.”  This attempt at dramatic social commentary falls flat.  This whole movie falls flat.  Moon is nothing more than a tepid retread through familiar yet emotionally devoid waters.

-Paul Brinnel