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Greg Pak's Film 'Robot Stories' Embody Human Predicament
In film school we are warned against anthology films, the wisdom being that three or more separate segments are unlikely to add up to a cohesive whole. If "cohesion" is an indisputable criterion, Greg Pak’s Robot Stories has some hurdles to jump for the simple fact that it starts over again every twenty to thirty minutes. But the film’s anthology format also allows Pak to explore a broader scope and evoke a deeper meaning than might otherwise have been possible. In four segments, Pak’s vision of the future mirrors the sequence of life-- a mother’s love for her newborn child; a mother’s love for her grown child; a young man’s love for a young woman; and an old man’s love for his departed wife. Four of these characters store memories on CPU’s rather than brain tissue, but this is a film that celebrates humanity even as it contemplates technology’s endeavor to replace it. Robot Stories is a discerning, poignant, and insightful commentary on the encroachment of technology on the human predicament. In "My Robot Baby," an adoption agency requires Marcia (Tamlyn Tomita) and Roy (James Saito) to demonstrate their parenting skills on a robot baby before being awarded a human one. Roy watches, elated, as Marcia lifts a bottle-shaped battery to the robot baby’s mouth. It responds with a funny little robot suckling sound, melting the heart of its adoptive father. But Marcia remains fearful of the robot baby’s sudden movements and sounds. When Roy is called away on business, Marcia is forced to care for the robot baby on her own. She thinks she’s beaten the system when she enlists a computer whiz to break into the robot baby’s hard drive and fool it into thinking it is being loved. One of the saddest moments in the film is when the robot baby is tricked into making its funny little robot suckling sound while sitting alone in the dark, plugged into a desktop computer. Later, the robot baby seems to know it’s being cheated, and acts out with sudden porcupine pokes and destructive temper tantrums. Marcia’s challenge is to find it in her heart to love the robot baby, and prove to herself she’s capable of loving a human one. If a robot cannot substitute for a baby, neither can a desktop computer substitute for a mother. In "The Robot Fixer," when a car accident severs the life of a 20-year-old man, his mother Bernice (Wai Ching Ho) and sister Grace (Cindy Cheung) are summoned to New York City to say goodbye. When Bernice discovers Wilson’s treasured collection of plastic robots, she finds herself hunting through toy stores and sidewalk sales for missing wheels, missing rockets, and missing wings to make the robots whole. She is desperate to mend the toys because she cannot mend her son. In most movies that dramatize human tragedy, ubiquitous close-ups, tearful monologues, and condescending music serve as gentle reminders that, however unhappy the situation may seem, it’s only a movie. But the subtle dignity in Ho’s performance, and judicious restraint in Pak’s directing offer no such reprieve. At times, they fill the screen with such heartbreak, you almost wish it were just a movie. In "Machine Love," humanoid robots are portrayed by Asians of mixed ancestry while normal humans are portrayed by mono-racial actors. Writer/director Pak, who is half Korean and half Caucasian, portrays the android I-Person "Archie."
At the outset of the piece, Archie delivers himself to his employers by way of the New York subway. While sitting on the train, with perfect robot posture and perfect robot poise, he notices a female I-person (Julienne Hanzelka Kim, also half Korean) sitting in another car. She glances at him briefly, but her perfectly chiseled, perfectly sad-looking robot face does not show recognition. Archie is put to work in a very small cubicle in a very large building-- just like the human cubicle inmates that surround him. But Archie speeds through his work ten times faster, with no need for lunch, coffee or cigarette breaks. Archie is shut down at the end of each day. And he is rebooted in the morning. Archie’s human office mates are often rude to him, and exclude him from social conversations and gatherings. They decide to leave him without a shirt so that his interface connections are easier to access. When no one is looking, two female employees take the opportunity to feel him up. As they purr sarcastic sweet nothings into Archie’s ear and rove their hands over his chest, Archie’s eyes search the walls and the ceiling for some hint or explanation as to why this is happening to him, and why he feels humiliated by it.
One evening, everyone leaves the office and neglects to shut Archie down. So, he decides to explore the world beyond his cubicle. He finds a window, and gazes across the dark cityscape, spying another lighted window, in another building half a mile away. In it, the female I-Person sits at her computer with perfect posture, hard at work. Archie’s robot eyes zoom in hard. His right palm thrusts itself against the window in an effort to get her attention. Of course, she’s too far away to hear him. But Archie slams his hand against the glass wall with muted passion and anxiety. The next day, Archie finds it difficult to concentrate. Perhaps he’s in love. Or perhaps he’s obsessed with the very idea that someone else is experiencing the same loneliness, the same isolation, and the same objectification that he has experienced-- in fact, the next time he sees the female I-Person, she is subjected to a parallel sexual assault at the hands of two men. Soon, Archie will escape his office building/prison in an attempt to find her. This beautifully abstract portrayal of human loneliness is made all the more powerful by the fact that the writer/director portrays the male android himself. The social isolation and sexual objectification depicted in "Robot Love" is not unlike that of ethnic minorities growing up in homogenous communities-- Hapas in particular come to mind because of Pak’s and Kim’s mixed heritage. Many biracial children grow up, not just a minority, but a singularity among their peers. When they escape to a larger city or to a university, they at last encounter others who have similar ethnic make-ups and similar life experiences. The stir of emotion that can result is not unlike Archie the I-Person banging his hand against that glass wall. "Robot Love" is my favorite of the four accomplished vignettes that make up Robot Stories, and the most poetic expression of biracial isolation I have ever seen.
In the final segment, "Clay," a world-renowned sculptor named John Lee (Sab Shimono) faces a momentous decision in the last days of his life. Thanks to the wonders of technology, John still nurtures and maintains a relationship with his late wife Helen (Eisa Davis), and thus has never truly mourned her death. Because Helen’s mind was downloaded into an international supercomputer, John’s life companion is a walking, talking holographic image of Helen in the prime of her life. She not only remembers everything that happened during her life, she remembers everything that has happened since her death. Free to roam the wonders of the cyber-universe, Helen tells John of her travels and chores, all of which involve direct interaction with the real world. Their visits are filled with tenderness, laughter, and sensuality. They are the highlight of John’s day. But somewhere deep down, John knows that his wife is no longer alive. When John’s doctor tells him he has only a few weeks to live, he is pressured by all to download his mind as Helen did and continue his career as a famous sculptor. But John’s love of art and his fear of death are not so great that he can make this decision easily. "I like to feel the clay in my hands," he explains. His connection to life is the clay he pulls from the riverbed, the slick wet grime that smears over his skin and dries in his hair. For John, art imprisoned in digital purgatory would not be a satisfactory encore to a lifetime of creating in the flesh. As with the film as a whole, it is love—- not art or technology-- that takes center stage. The emotional crux of John’s dilemma is the fact that his imminent death forces him to deal with Helen’s death as well. If he is to follow his heart and refuse digital immortality, he will need to finally say goodbye to his beloved wife and explain to the woman he loves why he must banish her to an eternity without him. Although set in the future, I have rarely encountered a film as relevant to present day life as Greg Pak’s Robot Stories. When I graduated from high school, e-mail was as strange an invention as Archie the I-Person would be today. Robot Stories shows us machines taking the place of babies, office workers, departed loved ones, and finally supplanting life itself. But in the closing moments of the film, as John rejects immortality, choosing to accept his death and affirm his life, he also affirms that humanity is something to embrace, not replace, even if it means embracing our mortality.
Also of Interest @ Asian-American Village
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