No author serves as better example of this paradox than Isaac Asimov. One of the most prolific writers, of any stripe, in history, he penned in his seventy-two years 300 books and thousands of stories and articles, over 2500 for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction alone. His "Laws of Robotics" are learned rote by any lens jockey seeking to touch on things cybernetic (Lucas had C-3PO quote the First Law in the original Star Wars: "I cannot through action or inaction allow harm to come to a human being."). But until now none of his works had been brought to the screen by anyone with a budget bigger than your average prom.
Bicentennial Man, based on an Asimov story and its later expansion into a novel-length collaboration with Robert Silverberg, stars Robin Williams as an android on a two-hundred year quest to evolve from servile household appliance into flesh-and-blood man. In "the not too distant future," an affluent industrialist (Sam Neill) takes delivery of the latest conspicuous expression of fad consumerism, an anthropomorphic servant he christens Andrew. But unlike other examples from the production run, this one, encouraged by its thoughtful owner to read the family's books and participate in daily conversation, and perhaps fortuitously furthered by a childish prank at the hands of the older, petulant daughter, takes on an anomalous personality of his own. Equal parts RoboBuddha, stainless steel Pinocchio, and Threepio on Zanax, Andrew takes up art, business, and the pursuit of a less mechanical, more expressive visage for himself. His emotional attachment to the younger daughter (played as a child by Pepsi waif Hallie Kate Eisenberg, as adult by Embeth Davidtz) also gradually grows into something outside the plane of friendship.
But while he's so engaged, the family grows older, children marry, and people die. Granted freedom, he embarks on a crusade to track down others of his series, whose production was long ago discontinued following worn-out novelty and labor union protestations. This trek leads him to a cybercottage inventor (Oliver Platt) whose research facilitates Andrew's further upgrade into a form that can pass as human (and allow Williams to bring his own animated countenance into play). Meanwhile, he reconnects with the descendants of his owners, and a whole new round of complications arises, culminating in an earnest plea to have his now evident humanity legally recognized.
Too bad this wistful tale is frequently misserved by screenwriter Nicholas Kazan, who has such previous good-to-great work to his credit as Fallen and Matilda, and director Chris Columbus, who tries to combine the slapstick inanity of his first two Home Alone movies with the tearjerk nudging of his 1998 holiday release, Stepmom. Carefully set-up, thought-provoking moments are punctuated with humor that when it works brings welcome respite from the grave subject matter, but too often sounds like Andrew downloaded a copy of Milton Berle's Joke Encyclopedia somewhere in his travels. Still, good supporting performances, especially from always-entertaining Oliver Platt, and interesting photography and production design make Bicentennial Man a generally worthwhile view.
WARNING The closing credits feature Celine Dion singing "My Heart Will Go On -- and On, and On, and On…" or something like that. B-
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