Minority Report (USA, 2002)

Directed by: Steven Spielberg. This is almost the exact opposite of My Dinner With Andre. Why would someone my age watch this? Because I never saw it before. Yes, but why now? Eh. Because I just saw My Dinner With Andre, mind your own business. Like a lot of examples in that genre of late-90’s mind-blowing alternate reality movies that aren’t The Matrix, like Truman Show and Vanilla Sky, I probably would have gotten more out of this one if I’d seen it in 2002 when it came out, but by then I was a fancy pants—I’d discovered Kubrick—and I was too cool for Spielberg. That being said, this is a half-decent movie. Maybe I deferred seeing it for so long because I lumped it in with Paycheck, another disposable future-world Philip K. Dick adaptation from the era that I did see and that was actually pretty blah. And now that I’ve seen this, it’s also pretty blah, and I probably didn’t need to see it. But it’s not terrible, either. I’m trying to be fair, but it’s amazing how unremarkable this movie is. I mean, even the weird, squirmy stuff with Peter Stormare and the eyeballs, and the little robot spiders and everything—it’s all just The Matrix. Sorry! I mean, you can’t blame Hollywood for cashing in on a big thing like they always have, but now that the moment is over and the cash is grabbed, I have to say that this is one of the lower points of Spielberg’s filmography for me. His stock in trade, emotions, are decidedly absent here. Between meathead Tom Cruise and the space case girl played by Samantha Morton (very well played, but this role is very alien and robotic), there’s not a ton that a viewer can sink their teeth into. And all the action sequences, the jet pack stuff, it looks like Paul Verhoeven trying to take itself seriously, and I super duper don’t get it. Maybe there’s more to be said about this movie, and maybe it hits on some really deep and interesting things in the culture, but I guess I missed them. Next!

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