Klara and the Sun is a disaster of a movie, though on paper it was promising.
The film's source material is Kazuo Ishiguro's popular sci-fi novel. Its content taps into the emerging conversation around artificial intelligence, as the titular Klara is an Artificial Friend, designed to be the perfect companion for a lonely teen. In the lead role is rising star Jenna Ortega, who aims to show range from her hardened Scream character and devotedly monotone Wednesday by playing a smiley robot who's scorned for being "too empathetic."
Joining her are celebrated actresses like Amy Adams and Natasha Lyonne. And at the helm is Taika Waititi, who previously adapted Barry Crump's book Wild Pork and Watercress into the beloved coming-of-age action comedy Hunt for the Wilderpeople. However, it's been 10 years since Waititi gifted audiences with the winsome and weird tale of "bad egg" Ricky Baker.
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Since then, Waititi earned mixed reviews for Jojo Rabbit, his adaptation of Christine Leunens' Caging Skies in which he cast himself as Adolf Hitler. Following the fun of Thor: Ragnarok came the blunder of Thor: Love and Thunder. And most recently, Waititi took the inspirational soccer documentary Next Goal Wins and turned it into an awful sports comedy of the same name.
Going from What We Do in the Shadows and Hunt for the Wilderpeople to Next Goal Wins was a warning that Waititi had lost the spark that made him an exciting filmmaker. Klara and the Sun confirms the spark is gone.
What is Klara and The Sun about?
Post-World War III and post-internet, AI Friends are the must-have accessory for any wealthy household. Among a gaggle of older models, Klara is considered an oddity because she prays to the sun and stands "like a flamingo" with one leg raised. If someone doesn't buy her soon, she'll be sent back to the factory and scrapped for parts. So, when a gloomy teen named Josie (Mia Tharia) chooses her, Klara declares she's been saved from "certain doom."
Far away from the soot-covered city where the Artificial Friends store sits, Josie lives amid wheat fields in a big house, overdecorated by her smothering mother Chrissie (Amy Adams), who works tirelessly as an interior designer. It's a house full of things, but frozen in mourning. Years before, Josie's older sister Sal died, and then her father left, leaving her and her mother to stare at each other for years of failed connection. Thrust into this dynamic, Klara is a polarizing presence.
Josie is happy to have a friend devoted to hearing her out, as her mother is constantly criticizing or away at work. For Chrissie, Klara is meant to be a baby monitor who can watch over Josie. But why does Josie need watching over? Well, neither Chrissie nor her fiercely protective maid Melania (recurring Waititi collaborator Rachel House) will explain that to Klara, even as medicines are hooked up via IV and Josie begins experiencing violent fits.
As Klara tried to calibrate her surroundings and do her best by Josie, she meets new friends, like Josie's robo-curious crush Rick (Aran Murphy) and a scarecrow robot called Scarecrow (Jesse Griffin in a Rhys Darby-coded role). But most of all, when in doubt, Klara talks to the sun, convinced it is a benevolent god who has the power to heal her sickly human friend.
Klara and the Sun is a movie for no one.
The premise sounds like a children's story at first, where a child-like robot learns from the world, even when it's cruel. (See also Steven Spielberg's AI.) However, as the contemporary conversation of AI is getting heated, with parents worrying about the negative affect chatbots can have on their children's mental health, Klara and the Sun feels achingly dated, presenting Klara as a wholesome, sentient servant, devoted purely to making her owner happy and healthy.
Beyond that, Waititi's approach to Ishiguro's novel is confounding. The first act is set in the AF store where a kindly manager (Natasha Lyonne) reads bedtime stories to her robot wards. Here, Klara seems eccentric in the way of Roald Dahl's Matilda, with an earnest curiosity and plucky resilience. With simple diction and a hiking outfit that recalls Dora the Explorer, Ortega's character seems suitable for a children's movie. But soon, Waititi's screenplay, co-written with Dahvi Waller, injects darker elements, including violence, blood, death, arson, and suicide.
Of course, Tim Burton has touched on those elements in spooky movies and in Wednesday, which families watch together. But I can't imagine families will be tempted to sit down in such a way for Klara and the Sun. It's not irreverently funny like Beetlejuice, whimsical like Edward Scissorhands, or fun amid its darkness. It's dreadful, bland, and mean. Klara is repeatedly called an "idiot," while the humans around her are thinly sketched scoundrels who lie, seethe, shout, and make selfish demands. Even the kindly store manager is cruel, locking Klara in a dark closet, away from the sun, which — as she is solar-powered — is tantamount to starving her.
In Matilda, there is abundant cruelty around its eponymous heroine, but there is also a beacon of hope in Miss Honey. Klara and the Sun has no Miss Honey, only Josie, who is caricature of an angsty teenager, fitfully sarcastic, cheerful, and sulky. Tharia is resigned to brooding silently as plot happens around her. With such flimsy roles, all of the actors struggle. Lyonne is amusing, but one note. Even six-time Academy Award nominee Amy Adams can't bring depth to Waititi's charmless movie.
Klara and the Sun is a story of faith with no soul.
In a world full of fears and pain, Klara looks unblinkingly to the sun. She prays, goes on a pilgrimage, and even offers a sacrifice in hopes her god will answer her plea to fix Josie. But Waititi's vision shows no belief in her convictions. Sure, Ortega brings a bright smile to the role, but she seems unmoored in this clumsily constructed world that doesn't reflect her whimsy — even though the film is told from Klara's perspective.
Waititi's color palette is muted by an overcast of sickly yellow/green, which makes the whole world reminiscent of the glum, genderless uniform the AFs wear upon purchase. The costumes across the board are ghastly. Josie dresses haphazardly, with nothing worth noting. Adams is wedged into drab dresses that work against her curves and natural beauty, while Klara is eventually slapped into a '80s soccer mom look, with high-waisted jeans and an asymmetrical jersey. The whimsy Ortega offers in her performance is swallowed by such bland choices, and mocked by a bob that is clunkily cut to look like Temu Amélie.
Bizarrely, the most interesting fashion choices come in a second-act sequence where Josie meets her soon-to-be schoolmates. All rich, entitled, and vicious, these teens are all dressed in garish textures, vibrant colors, and/or outrageous silhouettes meant to suggest they're wealthy and shallow. A curious choice from a filmmaker who has attended the Met Gala.
Otherwise, the score by Michael Giacchino is cloyingly sentimental, desperately flagging to the audience a scene is meant to be moving when even on the page it must have been flat. For instance, Waititi and Waller set up that Josie might be jealous of Klara. But rather than a moving scene of conflict, they dodge it twice, including a disturbing revelation sequence that should hit harder.
Simply put, Waititi utterly fails to adapt this book into a compelling movie. His screenplay is childish and plodding. His visual storytelling is lackluster and baffling. His leading lady throws herself into physical comedy and a taboo topic to show her range. But Waititi's direction makes Ortega look like she's auditioning for a Disney Channel TV movie from the early '90s.
The best Ortega's fans can do for her is to politely look away and forget Klara and the Sun ever happened.
Klara and the Sun opens in theaters on Oct. 23.