etective Ross Sylibus has hated robots ever since a rogue killed his
partner and destroyed his leg, effectively turning him into a cyborg. As a
result of the artificial leg, his hatred of mechanical people is aimed in
part at himself.
Not that he has time to appreciate the irony. Arriving on Mars to join
the police force there, he's barely set foot in the spaceport when he finds
himself in the middle of a firefight between an unconventional local
supercop and a psychopathic serial killer. The cop is his new partner,
Naomi Armitage. The killer is a flamboyant Luddite who seeks out and
murders "Thirds"--new third-generation robots externally
indistinguishable from humans, and living incognito in Martian society.
The murderer doesn't bother keeping a low profile. He broadcasts graphic videotapes of his killings, "outing" prominent Thirds and urging the citizenry to follow suit in destroying them. Mars' humans leap to comply, and Armitage, a Third herself, finds she has a very personal stake in tracking the provocateur down and stopping him.
But when the killer's captured, he immediately resurfaces elsewhere to cut an even bloodier swath through Mars' secret robot population. His repeated re-emergence doesn't make any sense, any more than the Thirds' mysterious heritage, or the fact that all but one are female. The killer's identity is no mystery, but his motivations and origin are only a small part of a much more complex puzzle--one that touches on Armitage's past as well as her threatened future.
What's missing here?
Armitage has all the ingredients of a basic American
mismatched-buddy cop story, but it never turns into one. The characters are too grim, their interaction too choppy. It's not the usual
they're-effective-but-don't-get-along cliche; it's more like they live in
completely different worlds for most of the film. Sutherland's gravelly,
emotionless voice-over doesn't evoke much of a personality (not that
Sylibus is necessarily meant to have one), and Berkeley mostly sounds
whiny.
But the lack of character chemistry isn't much of a barrier, considering
the other offerings. This is a first-class visual film, with the deep, rich
backgrounds and magnificent color range usually reserved for theatrical
releases. Armitage's relationship with Ross may be irritatingly vacuous,
but her interactions with others--particularly her reclusive creator and
the single male Third--are laced with intricate depths. The story
certainly speeds along at breakneck pace through a variety of unexpected
twists and turns, into and out of a series of monumentally heroic,
beautifully choreographed battles.
But exactly like last issue's Macross Plus, this newly
edited release loses quite a bit in the transformation from Pioneer's 1995
four-part, 140-minute series to the current 90-minute movie. Its erratic
pacing and cryptic, abrupt ending detract significantly from the film's
lavish visual successes. On its own, this is a great movie--but it's
difficult to let it stand on its own. Every triumphant image or thrilling
moment is just a reminder of how much is missing.
