The
titular Zoe has long been enamored with her colleague Cole, the
celebrity-scientist in charge of the company’s robotics program, but when she
contrives a way to test their compatibility, they score a nearly impossible
zero percent. That is because he knows something about her that she does not.
Zoe is the very first “synthetic” that he programmed. Unlike those that followed,
she was not designed to be aware of her own artificial nature.
When
the truth comes out, Cole spends a good deal of time helping process and accept
who and what she truly is. Lo and behold, they fall in love, or into something
that sure looks like it. Zoe even passes an informal Turin test, when Cole
introduces her to his child and his former lover, Emma. She understands what
Zoe is, whereas their son does not, but both are charmed by her. It is all
lovey-dovey until a sudden turn of events vividly illustrates Zoe’s technical lack
of humanity. This is where the romance ends and the brooding angst begins. It
is also where the drugs come in.
Note
the lack of diacritical markings. Zoe is indeed pronounced like “Zo,” as in
Alonzo Mourning. Hearing her name pronounced so weirdly truly makes us wonder just
what kind of weird dystopian world is this, anyway? Regardless, synthetics can
clearly get just as depressed and self-destructive as humans, judging from the
agonizingly long self-pitying portion of the film. Character-driven science
fiction can be a wonderful thing, but in this case, Zoe the film is undermined by its maudlin wallowing. Ironically,
had Richard Greenberg’s screenplay been more cerebral and more interested in
exploring the relationship between artificial intelligence and emotion, the
payoff would have hit home much more forcefully. Instead, the film is sort of
like Love Story, if Ali MacGraw had a
hard-drive in her head.
Still,
Léa Seydoux gives a remarkable performance as Zoe, portraying some profoundly
human pain and confusion. In fact, she might even be too good, because the
depth and passion of her feelings is so blindingly obvious, it is hard to get
what Cole’s problem is. As Cole, Ewen McGregor is stuck with some motivation issues
that he never fully sweeps under the rug, but he develops some potent chemistry
with Seydoux during the film’s good times. Theo James also stands out, managing
to be both sensitive and destabilizing as Ash, the synthetic carrying a torch
for Zoe.
Frankly,
Doremus’s Equals was considerable
better than critics gave it credit for, but perhaps the emotional reserve mandated
by the film’s Big Brother rather helpfully forced the filmmaker to exercise restraint.
In this case, Doremus dips too deeply into melodrama, undercutting his very
premise. There is some good stuff here (Seydoux and elements of the
world-building), but the vibe is too dreamy and gauzy. That makes Zoe so frustrating, because we don’t
want to throw it all out with the bathwater, but it is hard to recommended the
whole, flawed package, which is what viewers will pay to see. Proceed with
caution, after Zoe premiered at this
year’s Tribeca Film Festival.
