Critical Perspectives on Wall-E (v.1)

Disney, in their unending efforts to dominate the American culture industry, has long served as a barometer for common views and hot topics. Wall-E is no exception, and its messages about environmentalism and the future of human thought have been discussed plenty since the movie’s release early this summer. True to form, however, what is most interesting are the implications, the complications, and the subtexts.

On the one hand, Wall-E proposes the classic twentieth-century machine-turned-human, and on the other hand, the human-turned-machine. The people in the movie are single-minded, autonomous, and appear to have “directives,” just like the new robots. The only difference between the humans and robots in the new world is that the robots are productive. We can only imagine the prequel: a vast corporation works tirelessly for centuries to set in motion a reality where the robots are entirely self-sufficient, apparently self-replicating and -engineering, and humans no longer need to concern themselves with reproducing the modes of production. Of course there is the problem of where more humans come from, and the movie omits any kind of frightening revelation of a vast robot-run people farm á la The Matrix. This omission raises another question: Why are people necessary? Simply put, nothing is being done, there is no progress toward any end, and the entire human race has reached slothful contentment. How anti-capitalist! For this reason, the viewer has little understanding of the passage of time between present day-like conditions, the rise of overt corporate rule, the abandonment of Earth, and the new role of humans as autonomous, un-desiring blobs. It’s a dystopic vision on two levels: no one wants to live like the people in the movie, and what’s worse, the people in the movie seem to have no idea what happened. Furthermore, whatever did happen to create the perpetual motion machine of the space station seems to have happened for no reason. Who benefits from such a world? Is Disney proposing a capitalist society run so far out of control that the machines and people simply continue going through the motions without any goals, without producing anything except the persistence of the conditions of their agreed-upon existence? We start searching the movie for any trace of a ruler, any entity whose power depends upon these conditions. And we come up empty. There is the vision of the former CEO/dictator, but why would a capitalist ruler of the past have any concern with what happens in the future? And why would he not seek to replace himself? Simply put, there is no more competition: Buy’N’Large is the last remaining supplier of goods and services, and so the corporation does not need to progress. There are no threats to the order because Buy’N’Large has eliminated any and everything that existed outside of its apparatus.

(A side note: There is a disturbing American-supremacist undertone to the world of the Axiom that seems to have gone undiscussed so far. The racial demographics of the Axiom correlate to present-day middle America, more or less. We learn about the origins of the space-colony through advertisements playing in a continuous loop over the ruined Earth, and these imply that the original purpose of the Axiom was as a luxury vacation. Here is a blatant lacuna in the exposition: Was leaving Earth reserved only for the privileged, and, if so, did everyone else on the planet just die? The answer, of course, is likely an ominous yes, because we have no reason to believe that Buy’N’Large would have extended its services to those who couldn’t pay.)

We can turn to the figure of the captain, the only human who maintains an illusion of authority over the machines. Presumably chosen for superior qualities or ties to former leaders, the man lacks any features that truly distinguish him from the other humans. He is privy to the activities of all robots, and seems to hold some delusion that he has control over them. This delusion of control stems from his access to information: merely knowing what is going on, at this point in history, is equivalent to power. The only implication that the machines would have any independent motive at all comes from the movie’s overt references to 2001: A Space Odyssey (which move from thematic, then visual, then musical, just in case you didn’t get it).

Given Wall-E’s implied messiah status—not only is he responsible for the re-colonization of Earth, but he alone was, at some point, singled out to be the last functioning machine—it is fitting to discuss his physicality. For starters, we can hardly assign a gender to the robot, and yet viewers are intended to look for any and all clues. We require any anthropomorphized being to take on a human gender role, and Wall-E obliges. But the movie complicates the degree of anthropomorphisis: Wall-E replaces parts of himself, has clear on-and-off states, and lives in a world that is bound by mechanical—not bodily—restrictions. Of course there is something uniquely transcendent about Wall-E’s being-a-robot: he develops spontaneous emotions, attachments, and goals. We can identify with his loneliness, his altruism, etc., but not too much. That Wall-E is not human provides a convenient escape from any guilt we might feel, any responsibility the movie assigns us as the wreckers of the planet: If Wall-E was a human hero, he might be too much a role model.

That said, it’s easy to miss a certain requirement of the plot: Wall-E is himself a product of the Buy’N’Large corporation, which we understand is to blame for the state of humanity. Are we to assume from this that the evil force of consumerism is capable of producing its own salvation, however inadvertently? Nothing in the world of the movie exists without the implied consent of Buy’N’Large, so they must have designed both Wall-E and EVE. The supposed hypocrisy of the movie’s very existence has been exposed already: there are already countless Wall-E branded plastic products, and Disney is hardly distinguishable from a mega-corporation like Buy’N’Large. But is this simple plot loophole an attempt on the part of Disney to redeem itself? If the fictitious corporation was the accidental producer of an altruistic, messianic robot, can Disney follow in lock-step simply by releasing a movie that questions the morality and end result of rampant capitalism? Obviously not, because there is no direct material change following the release of a children’s movie. And, thanks to Disney, it is the nature of today’s child to pass out of his environmentalist phase the moment he realizes the consequences of sustainable living— namely, he has to give up his Wall-E branded stuff. Disney has trained its audience to understand that the goods are more valuable than the services, that no moral or political message can erase the desire for more things.

In Brief: De-Mystification of the Modes of Cinematic Production

The means of media production filter quickly to consumers: print, music, and recently, video. We've had affordable video cameras for decades—already grainy home movies from the sixties have a nostalgic air, and we all remember the rise and fall of mini-DVDs. But what happens when the consumer-level camera starts to rival those used for low- to medium- budget movies and television? The aesthetic watermark of the homemade begins to evaporate, and anyone with an interest in filmmaking can produce a movie that looks "professional." Editing software gets shipped with consumer computers, and the whole process is brought home and made accessible. For less than the cost of a new car, anyone can purchase studio-grade cameras and professional software. All you have to do is figure out how to use it, and as the technological vernacular filters through the populus, even this last step gets easier and easier.

Clearly the home movies and self-produced documentaries stay solidly confined to YouTube, at least for now. But what's interesting is the effect on the way we see major release films: If I can produce a formulaic romantic comedy at home, for what do I turn to Hollywood? The magic of cinema is intertwined with the mystery of how the film is made, of what it is, of what the filmmaker can do with a given set of tools. We want special effects, complicated tricks of the camera that almost mirror real life and yet do not, a sense of escape into a world that must be at least somewhat fictional. And when it comes to science fiction or fantasty films, we demand a long and dramatic flight away from the familiar. When the limits of cinematography inconveniently make themselves known, most moviegoers will feel somehow failed or betrayed by a director who couldn't quite pull off the illusion.

I've been thinking a lot about the overwhelming success of The Dark Knight, and how every New Yorker seems to have seen this movie in the space of three days. Here is a movie that probably maintains all its illusions, and reminds us of the immortalizing power of cinema: Heath Ledger is dead, and here is our last chance to see him in action. For the would-be filmmaker with a few thousand dollars worth of equipment, The Dark Knight is one summer blockbuster he couldn't have made himself. So the fabled magic of cinema holds up, and maybe it always will concerning dead actors on display, but it can't hold up in every case. We look at such a movie and know we couldn't pull off the CGI at home, couldn't hire stuntmen to jump from buildings. But it wasn't long ago that high-quality, high-density video production was out of reach, so we can guess that animation capabilities will someday be in our hands as well.

When you hand everyone a camera, when you show them how easy it is to produce something that "looks like it could be on television," how long before they stop being impressed with what is on television?

Is there a nerd in the house?

We've always gone to the medical professional on the periphery of the social circle for advice; similarly, the dude who knows about cars. And if you're fainting on the train or there's smoke pouring from your engine-thing, it's good to know that such professionals are wandering the streets. It's always been like this: we've all got bodies, but only a few people know how they work. It used to be like this: a few of us have sophisticated technology, and we have it because we understand it. So if the advancement of technology puts more and more devices in the hands of a public that barely knows how to operate them, let alone troubleshoot or service them, nerds slowly join the inner circle of civilians who may be drafted by the masses to fix the printer/computer/Internet.

But the nerd's new value is unique in its rise to prominence: we created a demand for ourselves. We knew how to build a product that you can almost use, but that only we can fix. We never meant to sell you back your independence. The consumer is an afterthought in the production of consumer electronics. And best of all, as these devices become as vital to your livelihood as your body, we join the ranks of doctors. Most of us have no formal training.

Is this an overt example of capitalist greed and intellectual elitism? Or is it an earnest belief in technological progress, at the cost of leaving behind some of the people? We love our tools, appreciate the power they give us, the power we are capable of giving ourselves. But we must at the same time accept the privilege and the complications that go along with our skills. Do we continue to build inaccessible products because we believe they are the best, most useful, or do we build them to preserve status for ourselves? Do we want to become the new medicine men and women, or did it just happen that way?

Disclaimer: I include myself in this "we" as if I can fix or build anything. I can't, though I'm not helpless. I just thought it carried more rhetorical weight that way.

1776, or, booze and explosives.

Like most Americans, I'll be celebrating the birth of my country by getting sloshed with co-workers on a roof somewhere. Most Americans, however, will not have Siberian huskies, nor will they face the distinct possibility that the people on the next roof will look at our assembled party and think, "These people can fix my computer."

Huskies are understandably averse to the sound of fireworks, which leads me to a contemplation of our tradition of explosives. Another contributing factor may be that last year, my boyfriend's amateur pyrotechnics almost killed us all. I'm sure I'm not the first person to consider that the only technology we have for entertaining literally millions of people at once is so closely linked to the technology we use for blowing them up. It's the cycle of beauty and destruction, which bears striking resemblance to this, the second in a series of three nights of heavy drinking.