The Poppies of Terra #35 - Dreams and Oddities

Summer is here, flexing and in full force, bringing with it the animated titans, the blockbusters and tentpole movies, like Inside Out 2, Despicable Me 4, Bad Boys: Ride or Die, A Quiet Place: Day One, Twisters, Deadpool & Wolverine, and the forthcoming Borderlands and Alien: Romulus. These films have received, and are receiving, a good deal of attention in the general pop culture discourse, but today I’d like to look at two smaller pictures largely eclipsed by the shadow of these behemoths and easily overlooked by all the box-office brouhaha. Their theatrical release windows in my area have been admittedly small, but if you check your listings, you may still be able to catch them, or see them later via streaming.

The first is Pablo Berger’s animated Robot Dreams (based on a graphic novel by Sara Varon and not to be confused with the same-titled short story collection by Isaac Asimov, one of my favorites. [I typically don’t much enjoy collections that combine fiction and non-fiction, but Asimov's Robot Visions, a later thematic companion to his Robot Dreams, is an exception to the rule, along with his other hybrid collection The Edge of Tomorrow, which preceded both of those books, and incidentally bears no connection to the 2014 film inspired by Hiroshi Sakurazaka’s All You Need Is Kill. {I wonder, what will be the next Asimov book title to be used for an unrelated film–maybe Nemesis? Nevermind, that was already conscripted for a 1992 science fiction movie, and re-used other times since. Perhaps To the Ends of the Universe?}])

The premise of the charming and ultimately poignant Robot Dreams is disarmingly simple: in an alternate 1980s Manhattan in which animals rather than humans run the show, Dog lives a quiet, routine life, sees a television ad for a robot companion, and decides to order it. He assembles it much like one would prefabricated furniture. The robot comes to life and soon adapts to his owner’s rhythms, so that the two end up developing a heartfelt bond. As summer comes to a close, Dog decides to take Robot with him to a place that has unexpected consequences for them both–I won’t say more. I went in knowing very little about the film, and was surprised by the story. It won’t spoil anything to reveal that the title is meant directly, referring to the dreams experienced by Dog’s robot; I’ve seldom seen dream sequences used so effectively to illuminate the psyche. The passage of time itself is also beautifully handled, practically becoming a supporting character in its own right.

The film’s animation style is artful without being showy, crafted in an artisanal but unpretentious style that soon becomes utterly immersive. The clarity of the visuals, which pop with color, complements neat directing and thoughtful compositions that prize specificity of tone and emotion over style and eye candy. This is particularly important because Robot Dreams contains no dialogue; all expressions of personality, thought, intention, and emotion derive explicitly from action and reaction, whether in the waking world or while dreaming. Bolstering the narrative’s ingenious way of depicting the rich inner lives of its protagonists is Alfonso de Vilallonga’s playful, jazzy score, along with a truly memorable use of Earth, Wind & Fire’s famous song “September.” Such is the power of art that I’ll never be able to hear this tune again without thinking about the fates of Dog and Robot. In my particular screening, as soon as the credits started rolling a young woman stood up and said, “This movie just traumatized me.” I choose to believe that was meant as praise. If you’re an adult, trust in Robot Dreams’ ability to take you on a meaningful journey. There may be times when you wonder where you’re headed, and why the story might seem to be spinning its robot gears, but I guarantee you it’s worth sticking with.  

Also on the smaller budget front is Damian Mc Carthy’s Oddity, which I almost wish had been released during the October spooky season. Like Robot Dreams, this movie is minimalist in its storytelling approach, unfolding largely in a single location, and with only three principals (well, four, but one is soon deceased). These are psychiatrist Ted Timmis (Gwilym Lee), his wife Dani (Carolyn Bracken), Dani’s blind twin sister Darcy (again Carolyn Bracken), and an orderly named Ivan (Steve Wall) at the hospital where Ted works. Unlike Robot Dreams, whose complete plot can be summarized in two sentences, Oddity is stuffed with story, with essentially every scene providing a cog and lever in the narrative’s sneaky, well-oiled machinations. Additionally, events are shown non-linearly, not in an abstract, artsy way but rather in the precise manner that maximizes dramatic impact. Like Olin Boole, the man with one artificial eye who in the opening sequence shows up late one night at the house Dani is renovating and warns her that someone is inside with her, the film’s narrative consistently sees and knows more than we do–but does eventually reveal all.

In terms of horror conventions, Oddity is like one of those collections I was mentioning earlier, a well-crafted chimera. I won’t reveal exactly what subgenres it leverages for its chills and thrills, but I will say it knows the tropes well and mixes them better. As with Robot Dreams, tone is crucial to the experience. Damian Mc Carthy knows how to wring every drop of suspense from his Gothic infusion of B-grade urban-legend psycho-ward melodrama. The performances are uniformly engrossing, with Carolyn Bracken delivering the standout(s). Brian Philip Davis’s editing strongly supports the film’s tight-knight assembly and sense of forward charge, while Richard G. Mitchell’s score colors in exactly the right shades of aural dread and relief. I would advise against watching the trailer, which gives away far too much. Instead, for greatest effect walk into the film, so to speak, like Darcy.