Love Machina – had it been an hour shorter – could have been a compelling exploration of Martine and Bina Rothblatt, two lovers who wish to overcome the limitations of our mortal bodies.
Instead, the film (clocking in at 90 minutes), is a repetitive and horrifyingly saccharine experience that says nothing about the many subjects it touches on, functions as product placement for questionable companies, and leaves the audience to uncomfortably and frustratedly infer the worst about what it actually does say.
Martine and Bina are the leaders of The Terasem Movement. They hope to make death an option (not a conclusion) through A.I., robotics and technology. Their primary focus is Bina48, a robotic iteration of Bina, whose A.I. consists of “mindfiles” (created via thorough interviews/details about Bina in data form).
Before the film screened at The Sundance Film Festival, director Peter Sillen made a statement claiming that the movie isn’t saying, “A.I. is good or A.I is bad, but says that it’s here, and asks how do we shape it?” While, to this writer it seems that this statement is essentially saying that A.I. is good, his documentary does next to nothing to criticize how Terasem might “shape” A.I.; painting them in a near unanimously positive light.
Making a documentary a puff piece for a tech company didn’t have to be a problem. This puff piece could have been informative. This puff piece could have inspired questions. This puff piece could have delved into how systemic issues could influence A.I.
Love Machina does none of this, at least not in any substance.
Grazing over the basics of how the technology works, you will not leave Love Machina with reason to believe death will one day be an option. You won’t leave thinking of Bina48 as anything but an approximation of Bina’s likeness. A talking robot like Bina48 is a feat in its own right, but if there’s a new step to be taken, Love Machina doesn’t even bother to hint at it.
The systemic issues the film confronts? It does so by interviewing a black woman, bringing her in to look at Bina48 and say “This robotic interpretation of a black woman doesn’t look and sound like a black woman.” There’s also a brief moment where Bina48’s designer says how he, as a white guy, is super nervous and trying really hard to make sure he doesn’t mess it up. These moments take up all of two, maybe three minutes, and seem to only exist to convince you of Terasem’s humility. The signular clever moment in Netflix’s Don’t Look Up is a testament to this, where after repeatedly dismissing Leonardo Dicaprio’s Dr. Randall Mindy concerns about human extinction, The President (Meryl Streep) reassuringly tells him “I’m listening, I hear you” to shut him up. Love Machina is here to tell you the good people are Terasem see your concerns about systemic issues and they’re listening, they hear you, and they’re just doing it to shut us up.
Even positive reflections on identity and technology feel sleight of hand, giving you the impression the film is saying something beautiful, when it’s just surface level nonsense, and sometimes has troubling inferences. There’s a scene where Martine relates being trans to futurism, which seems inspiring at first glance, but those in the queer community may find troubling inferences when they dig beneath the surface. Trans critic Drew Gregory says: “I found myself frustrated with the framing that Martine’s transness is somehow a signifier of her futurist perspective. Trans people are not a sign of the future. We have always existed. Humanoid robots, however, have not.”
Martine has undoubtedly financially contributed to help trans people, but it’s deeply uncomfortable to see a billionaire attempt to romanticize her being trans through a futurist lens. Trans people don’t need Star Trek like technology so that they may exist. They already exist.
The closest Love Machina comes to asking questions is, and this is not a joke, at one point bringing in a philosopher to…tell us there are questions to ask. (Or were they a theologian? Their presence is so limited and contributions so vague that it’s difficult to recall what their specialty was.) It could be argued that it’s on the audience to ask the questions, but it’s also on the film to inform the audience on the subject so they can start asking questions. The film spends 90 minutes saying next to nothing about a subject and has the gall to tell us “now ask questions.” For all its saccharine platitudes, it’s the documentary equivalent of saying “Google is free.”
Of course, the film is a puff piece, so it almost certainly didn’t have any interest in inspiring questions, any more than it has any interest in “listening.” In saying so little and putting the vast majority of what it does say in a saccharine light, the film outs itself as fraudulent, and any critical questions the viewer may ask could put them in an extremely uncomfortable position. After all, if the movie really wanted us to ask questions, what questions do they have in mind? Can we ask questions about the film’s purported trans-inclusivity, when Martine proudly dons merchandise and drives cars from Tesla, a company owned by someone whose trans daughter wants nothing to do with him? How about the potential toxicity of Martine and Bina’s relationship? Bina is treated as little more than a prop in the film, so that Martine can look at her with doe-eyes, saying how much she loves her, and then use that love to advertise their friend’s companies.
If these women wanted to prove their love for each other, was futurist product placement a healthy expression of it? The film concludes one moment (out of many) of Martine and Bina emptily talking about their love for each other with a comment about how, when the other dies, they’ll immediately start helping their friend who owns Alcor, a cryogenics company, followed by a montage telling us about how great of a company Alcor is. This unsettling moment is practically telling us “This eternal love for the ages is brought to you by today’s sponsor!”
It is especially unsettling for those who have seen the Season 3 finale of How To With John Wilson, who may recognize the owner of Alcor as the man who unnecessarily castrated himself. To clarify, he did not only have two unnecessary surgeries to cut off his sex drive, he performed them on himself. This episode is required viewing before you dare watch Love Machina. Frankly, pointing out the film’s positive promotion of Alcor could have been the beginning and end of this review.
Even putting aside the unsettling romantic endorsement, the Alcor plug-in is one of many efforts to appease fellow sci-fi dorks. It’s telling us that cryogenics is here, that the sci-fi thing is real, and Star Wars will eventually be a reality. It’s not a problem to relate the imagination of science fiction to the real world, but it’s arguably more effective to hear writers or filmmakers make that relation, because fiction and film can reflect that possibility in their form. Philosophers and Gene Roddenberry alike can ask questions like “what would happen if two people swapped brains” and contemplate the possibilities. Cinema-defining special effects extravaganzas can inspire thought about math and science, as the visual effects artists behind those wonders use math and science.
On the other hand, it’s embarrassing and a little vile to see a CEO talk about how their spaceship is just like the one from Babylon 5 or whatever. Love Machina falls into the latter category. Martine may have been responsible for marvels like satellite radio, but the documentary that focuses on her does nothing to inform its audience about the actual technology in question. We learn nothing about A.I., about the potential for immortality, the obstacles that await us in those pursuits, nothing. Instead, the film treats its audience like idiots, showing us a glimpse of the current technology and saying nothing of the path that awaits, only telling us that the end of the path will be just like your favorite science fiction author or franchise.
All you have to do, through this hollow vanity project, is trust that companies like Terasem and Tesla will take you there, and if there are any systemic issues along the way, don’t worry, they’re listening.
