Death and Rebirth on Film

No other film, perhaps, better captures the seemingly miraculous than "Children of Men." The power of it is in taking the most everyday occurrence in living history of childbirth. The depiction of a future dystopia is subtly reflexive, of film as itself a process of death (still images of the once moving and living) and rebirth (as projected moving images) and accentuated by the rise of digital cinema, as motion pictures went through its own process of the death of film, reborn as something different and new digitally. The filming of "Children of Men" reflects this, too; shot on film, as a few, if continually fewer, pictures even to this day continue to be, it, nonetheless, goes through many of the same digital intermediaries as other films do and before, ultimately, largely being viewed as a digital product, whether by projection in a theatre or at home through disc or streaming. The standout, seemingly long tracking shots here are part of this--combining the power of continual filming, but also largely broken up by sly edits and computer generated imagery. Everything in "Children of Men," including the sci-fi dystopia set in the near future, is both familiar and novel--futuristic computer screens next to gray looks at long-standing landmarks of London; war and pestilence, religious and political zealotry beside others going about their daily routines; death and life.

Indeed, "Children of Men," then, is a great technical achievement at the least. In a history of the greatest shots and scenes ever in film, the seeming one-shot of the attack on the car here would certainly be worth including, as would the later tracking shot of the blood-splattered camera, which in following, but keeping some distance from, Theo (Clive Owen) becomes something of a character itself--visibly included within the action as marked by blood, sometimes dazed in joining Theo in avoiding the battle surrounding them, but also displaying curiosity by looking around and elsewhere besides him. For pure emotional power, the more conventionally edited-together sequence of the cease fire is remarkable, as well. The shaky, hand-or-body-held camerawork, grit and experimental nature of the cinematography, editing and effects here remain more impressive in a way, too, than similar set-ups, including long framings and trackings, but which are more antiseptic in director Alfonso Cuarón's acclaimed and admittedly-still-spectacular subsequent pictures, "Gravity" (2013) and "Roma" (2018).

Beyond technical and stylistic bravado, I also love what Cuarón and company did here in underscoring the loss of procreation and by inverting some familiar tropes--all of which goes a long way, too, towards accepting the usual white-male savior plot. In this artfully-created world, the loss of children is highlighted well from the beginning with the news footage of the youngest person in the world's murder. Later, in one of the best such twists since "Psycho" (1960), there's the murder of the then-lead female character, who also happens to be played by one of the biggest stars and brightest talents in the business, Julianne Moore. This loss of children is doubled by mentions of the loss of a child to a flu pandemic by Julian (Moore) and Theo. The loss of mothers, and by extension fertility, furthered by another mother figure being comatose. Fathers die, too. Besides that, this is the best use of Michael Caine and his iconic status as the ultimate father figure I've seen outside of a Christopher Nolan feature.

It's all the better that "Children of Men" also keeps its distance from religion, especially because of its miraculous content. The funniest line in the otherwise dramatic picture is when Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey) jokes of being a virgin, with the obvious allusion being to Mother Mary and the birth of Jesus. Although ironically played by a real-life English actress, Kee's status as a refugee also well exploits the white-savior plot and the anti-immigrant dystopia in the film. That the camera keeps its distance, with few close-ups, and retains some independence from tracking Owen, and that characters aren't overly fleshed out and relied upon offers a greater view of society as a whole. Theo is provided habits of drinking and smoking since losing a child, but, otherwise, specific character details matter less here, as do the ethnic, political and religious battles, as all seems to stem from the shared existential crisis. A smaller inversion that works well, too, is that of the gypsy woman and her rebuking the old trope of them stealing babies.

Tropes inverted, as with all else in "Children of Men," things are familiar but reborn. It's what makes the future dystopia, gray and unflashy, more striking, as a believable extension of the real world (then, in 2006, and perhaps even more so today, as I reviewed it during the real-life pandemic of 2020). It's why the filmic metaphor of life-death-and-rebirth, especially in the age of transitioning from film to digital cinema and effects, is effective. The story of the film is the same as the making of it: ending life to start (again, still images in filmmaking), but through innovation, work, or sexual reproduction, creating life anew. It's why "Children of Men" is a miraculous and hopeful picture, as well. People and films ultimately die only when there is no future. The many lost silent films, for instance, vanished because of careless lack of foresight of a future market for them (plus nitrate is inflammable, but that's beside the point). The inclusion of the art collector in the film is a brilliant touch in this respect--of a character collecting famous artworks--Michelangelo's sculpture of "David" and Picasso's "Guernica"--despite the common belief that nobody in the film's world will be alive to appreciate them in 100 years. As long as their are children, there's a future, and great art, including films such as "Children of Men" may continue to be appreciated.