Orwell in Dubai

Italy is a peninsula that acquires the shape of a boot.

In his 2003 physique, Tim Robbins looks churlish naked. Perhaps he is supposed to look that way as Code 46 draws to a close, with Samantha Morton showing Deborah Winger how it's done if you you want to challenge ethnic types. There is a bit of Sheltering Sky to this speculative venture, one which doesn't add any additional spice with ad hoc contraceptives. Other than that, Winterbottom and Boyce paint a depressingly accurate portrait of our future, regardless of what we believe about the ability of neurologists to manipulate our minds.

There is also an aura of fatalism about European/American individualism invariability giving way to Asia's sheer mass. Was this intentional? The film ends with Morton's ironic glance of knowing the pleasures of defiance, enough to suicide by or take comfort in. In the past, Tom Reid and I would have talked about it for awhile; it's the type of film which would have interested him. I no longer have college friends, and but for digital props, it was as forceful as The Man from Earth, virtually free of anything but good acting and Tony Todd engaging in cream puff antics better suited to Forest Whitaker having a mood swing. There is depression, and there is the downer of an accurate portrait of where our societies are headed.