Given the astronomical expectations for James Cameron’s Avatar—his first narrative feature in a dozen years, and the launching pad for a purportedly game-changing approach to the use of 3D and performance capture technology—it’s not surprising that the movie has split critics and viewers into two unequal but similarly passionate camps. On the one, more populous, side, are those who feel that Cameron has revolutionized the art form, creating a visionary work that will forever alter the medium. The film’s detractors, meanwhile, greet its much-hyped visuals with a collective yawn, arguing that its questionable technical achievements are overshadowed by its thin characterizations, hackneyed plot and heavy-handed dialogue.
The latter complaint tends to stem primarily from the explicit connections Cameron draws between his futuristic plot and the present day, particularly with regard to the ongoing conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan and the depredation of the Amazon rain forest by heavy industry. (Intriguingly, Avatar’s attackers seem to be alone in recognizing the film’s political content. The Christian watchdog site Movieguide warns that the film “contains strong environmentalist content and… a strong Marxist overtone,” which is more or less on the money.)
The laudatory reviews devote the vast bulk of their verbiage to the film’s aesthetic pleasures—the New York Times Manohla Dargis called it a “trippy joy ride”—and technological achievements. In his Los Angeles Times review, critic Kenneth Turan compared the film to The Jazz Singer, an ironic compliment given that that lead-footed landmark is, by and large, remembered only for its historical import (and, more to the point, its commercial success, which proved that audiences could be drawn by the novelty of synchronized sound). The major reviews of Avatar make vague allusions to its underlying allegory, but fail to address its non-allegorical references to preemptive strikes and insurgent rebellion.
There is much to be said about Avatar’s visual achievements, but what impressed me most was how unimpressive they were. Rather than constantly drooling over the textures of the film’s alien world, I found myself quickly sinking into it, accepting its reality rather than remarking upon it. For what it’s worth, I should mention that I saw the film projected in 3D IMAX, whereas my understanding is that most of the nation’s critics saw the film either in conventional 3D or standard 2D, the IMAX digital prints were not completed until a few days before opening. I have no way of knowing what effect that may have had on their reactions, and there’s an argument to be made that a solidly constructed film should play at least passably well across all formats. But just as viewers who watch Terence Malick’s Days Of Heaven on DVD are missing out on a key component of the film’s artistry, so are audiences who see Avatar in less than its full immersive glory. It’s possible that the artificiality of Avatar’s computer-generated images is more pronounced in other environments.
That said, Avatar has much more to offer than eye candy. Immediately before watching Cameron’s film, I caught up with Robert Zemeckis’ version of A Christmas Carol, projected in the same theater and filmed using a similar motion-capture technique (albeit one turned towards very different ends). A Christmas Carol’s use of mo-cap is at times mightily impressive, largely overcoming the problems Zemeckis has had with characters who come off like dead-eyed automatons. But when the film was over, I was thinking about the technology. After Avatar, I was thinking about the story.
For those who have somehow managed to escape Avatar’s promotional onslaught, Sam Worthington plays a paraplegic ex-Marine hired by an unnamed corporation to take his dead twin’s place in an experimental project in which human minds are transferred into bodies created from a hybrid of human and alien DNA (i.e. avatars). The brainchild of tough-talking scientist Sigourney Weaver (basically a two-fisted Dian Fossey), the project was devised to smooth relations between the corporation and an alien race called the Na’vi, whose planet, Pandora, is home to vast deposits of a valuable ore known as Unobtainium. (That comically on-the-nose moniker is the first sign that Cameron is painting with an exceptionally broad brush). As a gung-ho jarhead taking the place of a dedicated researcher, Worthington is woefully unprepared for avatar duty, yet he clumsily stumbles into a connection with the natives his brainier colleagues have been unable to forge. But while he pushes for a diplomatic understanding with the Na’vi, who have violently responded to the corporation’s encroachment, Worthington is also covertly funneling information to Stephen Lang’s bloodthirsty colonel, who is eagerly awaiting the opportunity to wipe out the Na’vi. At first, Worthington’s allegiances are evenly split, but as he grows to know the natives, particularly Zoe Saldana’s slender-hipped warrior princess, he gradually shifts his sympathies, eventually leading a full-blown attack against the unwanted invaders.
So far, so schematic. Cameron has never been a blindingly original storyteller, and Avatar is no exception to the rule. There are few surprises in the plot, few characters we don’t know entirely at first glance, and even those that do change do so in predictable ways, like the skeptical Na’vi warrior (Laz Alonso) who eventually comes to respect Worthington’s prowess on the battlefield. It’s fair to say that Cameron put more effort into refining the textures of Pandora’s plant life than the subtle nuances of his characters. But given that many of those characters are 10 feet tall and blue, it’s safe to say that emotional nuance is not where the movie’s interests lies.