Lucy is such a terrible film that in the end even the amazing Scarlett Johansson cannot save it. It is sloppily made, and here I do not mean its adoption of the old popular-culture truism that we only use 10 percent of our brains. (The fuss created by that premise is quite wonderful.) There is just no eye for detail, however important. The blue crystals that make Lucy a superwoman are repeatedly referred to as a powder.
|Not powder. (Ask Walter White.)
Morgan Freeman speaks of the “mens” he has brought together to study her. Lucy is diverted from her journey as a drug mule by persons unknown and for reasons never even remotely explained. And I defy anybody to make the slightest sense of the lecture Freeman is giving that introduces us to his brain scientist character.
But it does have An Idea at its heart. This idea is the new popular-culture truism that evolution is a matter of acquiring, sharing, and transmitting information — less “pay it forward” than pass it on. So the great gift that Lucy gives to Freeman and his fellow geeks at the end of the movie is a starry USB drive that, we are presumably to believe, contains all the information about life, the universe, and everything that she has gained in the course of her coming to use her brain to its fullest time-traveling extent. (Doesn’t she know that a Firewire connection would have allowed faster download speeds?)
Why this gift is necessary is a little mysterious since it looks like we now know how anybody could gain the same powers Lucy has; the dialogue does not give us any reason to believe that her brain-developing reaction to the massive doses of the blue crystals she receives, administered in three different ways, is unique to her. That might just be more sloppy writing. But then again perhaps it is just as well that others not try to emulate Lucy, because it turns out the evolutionary imperative to develop and pass on information is, as one might expect from a bald evolutionary imperative, exceedingly dehumanizing. Of course given that most of her interactions in the film are with people who are trying to kill her, this should not be too much of a surprise. But although she sometimes restrains rather than kills, she shows little regard for any human life that stands in her way, a point made explicitly as she is driving like a maniac through the streets of Paris. Yes, she uses her powers to tell a friend to shape up and make better choices (as if somehow knowing the friend’s kidney and liver functions are off would be necessary for such an admonition). And early on she takes a quiet moment while she is being operated on to call her parents to say how much she loves them. (Pain, as the virulently utopian H.G. Wells understood, is not something supermen have to worry about.) That loving sentiment is couched in a lengthy conversation about how she is changing, a conversation that, without having the context explained, would surely convince any parent that the child was near death or utterly stoned — both of which are in a sense true for Lucy. But it looks like using more of her brain does not increase her emotional intelligence. (Lucy Transcendent can send texts; perhaps she will explain everything to her mother that way.)
|Warming up for piano practice.
So what filmmaker Luc Besson has done, it seems, is to create a movie suggesting that a character not terribly unlike his killer heroine in La Femme Nikita represents the evolutionary progress of the human brain (as Freeman’s character would see it), that the goal of Life is to produce more effective killing machines. Given what we see of her at the start of the film, I think we can suspect that Lucy has always put Lucy first. A hyperintelligent Lucy is just better at it. The fact that early on the film intercuts scenes of cheetahs hunting with Lucy’s being drawn in and captured by the bad guys would seem to mean that all this acquiring and transmitting of information is not really going to change anything fundamental. Nature red in tooth and claw, and all that. I’m not sure Besson knows this is his message. The last moments of the film, which suggest that the now omnipresent Lucy, who has transcended her humanity and her selfishness, wants us to go forth and share the knowledge she has bequeathed us, have atmospherics that suggest a frankly sappier progressive message along the lines of information wants to be free.
I wish I could believe that by making Lucy so robotic as her mental abilities increase Besson was suggesting that, whatever evolution might “want,” the mere accumulation of knowledge is not the point of a good human life. I’d like to think that even if he is correct about the underlying reality, he wants us to see how we should cherish the aspects of our humanity that manage, however imperfectly, to allow us to obscure or overcome it. But I think someone making that kind of movie would not have called crystals powder.