This rather loose adaptation of Isaac Asimov’s anthology I, Robot dispenses entirely with the author’s philosophical preoccupations in favour of car-chases involving Mr. Smith and giant motorised thermos flasks or some such. After all, who needs to ponder the intricate relationships between man and machine, consciousness and emotion when there’s video-game thrills to be had?
Set in 2035, robots are now as ubiquitous as toasters and electrified nipple clamps, and everybody loves them. Everybody, that is, but quip-dispensing, paranoid detective Will Smith, who remains convinced that the battery-operated drones are capable of bypassing their directives to not harm human life. As quick as his burly commander can say “Just let it go, man,” his implausible theories are lent credence by the death of robot-techie James Cromwell. Cue tricky investigation, lots of running around and supposedly humourous snoring and slurping noises from our eager-to-please lead.
Though very much assembled from the spare parts of superior sci-fi movies – the fairy-story motif from AI, bullet-time stylings (yawn) from The Matrix, the Bladerunner-inspired production design by Patrick Tatopoulos, Tom Cruise’s dental bleach from Minority Report – the slick futuristic atmospherics are not without their charms, and though the film is merely sci-fi veneer, I, Robot’s simple plot and competent blockbuster set-pieces provide plenty of titanium kicks. Shame about the crass product placement – the future’s bright folks – the future’s got Converse sneakers, Audi cars and JVC stereos.
Still, a fully-functional, reliably operational unit, even if it is as slavishly formulaic as its high-tech, tin-can stars.