in the absence of women

01/04/2016

INTRODUCTION

‘Ex Machina’, released in 2015, was a film not only praised for its ingenuity in special effects (for which it achieved an Academy Award) but for its daring leap into such complex issues as technology, engineering and, perhaps controversially, gender. The film is a legitimate study of gender, but not in the way that may be initially assumed. The character of Ava, the exposure to her feminised body, is a smokescreen, a diversion, as the female gender is curiously absent from the narrative and represented by a puppet upon which the male characters project their own insecurities and passions. Unfortunately for these male characters, Ava is not a puppet that remains entirely passive, waiting until the last moment to strike them, using their collective masculine hubris as a weapon.  The film is not a study of gender conflict. The film is instead a study of the male gender and what it can do in the absence of women. Gender inspected by the way that men understand women, the way that they desire to manipulate them, the way that they can be manipulated by even the mere suggestion of them, without a female viewpoint. Instead, there is a mirror, in the form of Ava, a reflective form upon which masculinity is tested, judged, and ultimately destroyed.  

‘Ex Machina’ confirms that it is based in a universe that takes place ‘in the next five minutes’ of our own, advanced only in a way that we would see as logical or inevitable. If Apple were to unveil a fully functional A.I. at one of its next exhibitions, we would be shocked, yes, but not totally surprised. We are well aware of the concept that ‘higher’ advanced technology is probably in current development, shielded from the general public.

To further acknowledge that ‘Ex Machina’ is set within our own, slightly fast-forwarded future, there are plenty of contextual references, both in the narrative and the mise en scène. We are well acquainted with the texture rich setting, the clothing, everything seems naturalistic. Even the innovative technology isn’t a surprise to our sensibilities; used to the silicon valley ‘nu-tech’ blend of the organic and the advanced, the smooth Bauhaus curvature and simplistic, clean interface of the iPhone 6. The homogenously modern Ikea-esque Scandinavian design – apt as ‘Ex Machina’ was shot on locations in Norway, is a welcome symbol of the wealthily hip. Even the many securities cameras and screens, an obvious ode to the phallic ‘male gaze’ of popular discourse, seem commonplace[1]. The only piece of technology that may alarm is the very body of the cyborg, an anomaly even among our informed understanding, despite the comforting familiarity of her design. 

This grounding, anchoring, does as much to stabilise the audiences understanding as it does to complicate it. For example, at one point in the dialogue, Nathan refers to the film ‘Ghostbusters’ and flaunts his probably priceless Jackson Pollack, revelling in both high art and low pop-cultural knowledge. Does this mean, then, that Caleb is, using the assumption that he too is a consumer of the media forms that his ‘average man’ persona implies, informed by media such as ‘Blade Runner’, a film that shares many themes with ‘Ex Machina’ (also another film within which there exists no human woman), in his interactions with Ava? Does he envision himself in a gendered, saviour role?

According to the director, Alex Garland, Ava is the protagonist of this film and, in a twisted way, the one that we should be supporting as an audience. However, there are always huge differences between creator intention and audience understanding, especially when this personal act of favouritism is not totally apparent within the work. Garland stated that he was interested in creating ‘Half a story’[2], allowing the viewers to fill the place where there would be blatant emotional manipulation in favour of a certain opinion with their own subjectivity, focusing on what they personally prioritised (this would be a good explanation as to why the subject of gender identity/theory is generally ignored/skimmed over in contemporary reviews of ‘Ex Machina’ as they are perhaps not deemed as important as the Big Evil Android discourse that ‘scientific’ males may find more compelling). For me, this concept of Ava as the bona-fide ‘hero’ of the piece is not an apparent one. Garland seems to have a history with this type of misinterpretation, however, once explaining that he intended his first work ‘The Beach’ to be an ironic criticism of the western, middle-class world traveller lifestyle, as opposed to the celebration that it so readily can be seen as, a celebration that was amplified in the subsequent film adaptation (The Beach, Dir. Danny Boyle). I believe that Garland himself sees Ava as genderless, more of a force than anything; one that once created cannot be destroyed.

Garland has a real knack for forming ‘Ballardian’ protagonists in his Sci-Fi works. These characters are, by my own definition, the least self-aware antagonists to exist in literature. They are seemingly benign almost-narrators, framed as audience inserts, but constantly frustrating and confusing those who they are set up to be identified with by their insane, reckless decision making, performed in a strange modesty and calm that belies the extreme nature of their actions. They are the main perpetrators for most of the action of their respective pieces, but seem to not be able to identify with this fact. In ‘Ex Machina’, Caleb functions as this ‘Ballardian’ character.

They are the instigators of the fates of every person involved, pulling them into a vortex of disaster, but fail to acknowledge their culpability completely, often focusing (intentionally or not) both their and the audience’s attention on a more ‘threatening’, often more masculine and aggressive ‘enemy’ figure, who is in reality a far less harmful character than we have been led to believe by our ‘innocent’ protagonist. For Ballard in ‘Crash’, it is Vaughan. For Laing in ‘High-Rise’, it is Wilder.  For Caleb, this is Nathan. There is interesting gender questioning here, too. The film displays two sides of masculinity – an enigmatic, physically and mentally superior side, arrogant and misogynistic and the more subtle, sensitive and empathetic side. Unlike many films, it manages to show how both of these sides, although constantly warring, trying to best the other, are equally complicit in the subjugation of women.

ABJECTION IN EX MACHINA

‘A certain anxiety concerning the technological is often allayed by a displacement of this anxiety onto the figure of the woman or the idea of the feminine. ‘ [3]

As detailed by Kristeva in her seminal work ‘The Powers of Horror’, a fear of a woman’s productivity and assumed duplicity is fundamental to both the literary and film institution, as well as our current societal structures. The bible contains elements of this, Eve, the snake, the destroyer of paradise. Garland has admitted that he originally planned for the cyborg character of ‘Ex Machina’ to be called ‘Eve’, but decided that this decision would be too ‘prosaic’. Mary Ann Doan notes  ‘Reproduction is that which is, at least initially, unthinkable in the face of the woman-machine. Herself the product of a desire to reproduce, she blocks the very possibility of a future through her sterility.’[4]

I feel that there is a differencing of this point in ‘Ex Machina’- the fear derived from Ava’s sterility has very little relation to her. In fact, her robotic sterility, and the sterility of her previous incarnations, including Kyoko, Nathan’s current cyborg concubine, seems to be almost celebrated by the characters within the narrative. They are wholly unconcerned by her lack of reproductive capabilities. They know that they can conduct sexual intercourse with these cyborgs, this fact is explicitly and rather distastefully stated, and the knowledge that this interaction can never bear fruit does not disgust, but excite.

Even Caleb, the supposedly rational, caring male archetype, does not even consider Ava’s fertility, only his own pleasure.  Her lack of fertility is frightening due to the implications of her position and the position of her fellow members of Nathan’s robotic harem, is purely that of a masturbatory object. Not only are the robots masturbatory physically, as they are programmed to satisfy Nathan sexually, but their mentalities are also a form of masturbation on Nathan’s part. He has created a pleasure vehicle in his mental image exactly, they are coded with ‘Bluebook’, his own creation, and they are the manifestations of the most narcissistic fantasy. The most revolting detail of this extent of reproductive control is that according to Nathan, these A.I.’s are not only fully functional, but coded to ‘like it’, he is in charge of their own, invented pleasure. The only creation and fertility allowed to exist within this microcosm is Nathan’s. Therefore, the fear of the sterile robot is now transferred – it has become a fear of the very male fertility of the creator-controller, who limits and abuses life as he sees fit. The false, self-obsessed, disturbed fertility of the misogynist. With these developed A.I.’s, what exactly is the necessity for the human female?

AN OEDIPAL TALE

The Sterile ‘Mother’ – Ava –  ‘makes’ Caleb into a man by forcing him out of passivity – into a perpetrators role. He takes action at her behest – becoming, for one short moment, more powerful than the father figure that is embodied in Nathan. Nathan is not only the obvious father figure of Ava, he created her entirely unaided, he is the father figure for Caleb also, being not only his boss but a far more knowledgeable, virile, masculine and powerful version of himself. Both work in the same field, whilst Caleb is merely a programmer, one of many, Nathan is the uncontested genius. He also wishes to nurture Caleb through the experiment, sometimes acting almost paternally with his odd advice and the way he comforts Caleb after assuming his defeat in their battle of the wits. Therefore, there are Oedipal traits to Caleb’s journey through this narrative.

This again recalls the question of gender portrayal within this film. Although Caleb is supposedly embodying the ‘moral’ aspect of man, he is merely the other side of the coin from Nathan, another figure who wishes to assume control of her autonomy. Just because his wishes for her may seem ‘better’ or ‘kinder’, this does not make them any less controlling. He is still disturbingly patriarchal in his interest towards Ava, desiring not to subjugate her, not directly or consciously at least, but to place her on a pedestal, celebrating his position as her saviour. 

SEX IS THE WEAPON

‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power’ – Robert Michels [5]

Both created in the past five years, extremely recent additions to the Sci-Fi/Horror genre, both experimental in their own ways, both with iconic and exciting ‘Females’ in arguably antagonistic narrative roles, ‘Under The Skin’ and ‘Ex Machina’ are far more similar than one would imagine when first examining the plot points. They have both evolved as films from fertile literary backgrounds, with ‘Under The Skin’ acting as a very loose, abstract adaptation of a book of the same name and ‘Ex Machina’ being the latest brain-child of Alex Garland, wunderkind novelist, author of ‘The Beach’ and frequent collaborator with Danny Boyle, penning screenplays for ‘Sunshine’ and ’28 Days Later’.

Another similarity between the two films is the relationships between their main characters, whom also happen to be the main antagonists of their respective pieces, use their female sexuality to their own gain, despite not really being legitimately female. In ‘Under The Skin’, Johansson’s disguised alien seduces men for an unknown sinister collection, only to submerge them in a strange liquid, processing them for consumption. ‘She’ has no sexuality, her female form is merely a disguise and her only interest, at first, seems to be tracking down her targets.

Sex is the weapon, but only as suggestion.  In neither of the films do the main antagonists actually engage in any kind of physical intimacy with their targets. Instead, it is in the promise, in the intonation where their power lies. It is also in their targets obsession with the act. They are using the male preoccupation with bodies and flesh to manipulate. In fact, ‘Under The Skin’ goes to even greater lengths to stress the impossibility of sex for the character – ‘she’ discovers, in a bizarre sequence, that she does not in fact have functional genitals, or any genitals at all.

THE FEMALE BODY/DISPOSABLE SKIN

The motif of flapping, loose, unfettered skin is repeated in both ‘Ex Machina’ and ‘Under The Skin’, but in different contexts. In ‘Under The Skin’, the twirling human pelts that we see belong to the human males targeted by our female creature. In ‘Ex Machina’, the skin is a focal point for the camera and the eye, a natural, organic palette in comparison to the unsettling, shiny chromes and whites of the surrounding environment. It is also an extremely import narrative device, as the skin shields the robotic body of the A.I., blessing it with authentic life. The skin is a highly important feature or symbol within this piece, not only as a visual element but as a narrative one also. The only way to truly expose a completely assimilated A.I. in ‘Ex Machina’ is for them to peel back their silicon skin to reveal the complex machinery below, something that Kyoko readily volunteers in one of the most iconic sequences within the film. The skin seen in ‘Under The Skin’ swirls and floats in a thick, viscous mulch. It too represents the veneer of humanity that can be so easily stripped off to reveal what lurks beneath the surface.

One of the most visually arresting and unsettling moments of the film comes when Caleb finally makes it into Nathan’s bedroom, revealing the quite literal skeletons in his closet, an homage to the classic Bluebeard narrative. Inside the many, upright display cases that Nathan keeps within his own private space, claiming ownership, are the bodies of his previous female androids, all in similar states of semi-completion or undress. The most notable element on show is skin, a plethora of different shades of smooth, soft looking female skin, like a page from a risqué fashion magazine, as shot by Terry Richardson. This callous display of a disembodied female body brings to mind the ‘freezer’ scene in ‘American Psycho’. Ironically, Nathan’s last name, Bateman, is the same as the sociopathic lead character of ‘American Psycho’, so this could have been an intentional pastiche.

Another comparison that could be made to another recent film that combines new aesthetics and film techniques to a fairly standard story of female A.I. – ‘Her’, directed by Spike Jonze (2013). Although this film is largely ambivalent, almost positive in tone, there is something to be said about the way that it frames the act of ‘loving’ a cyborg. There are similarities between ‘Her’ and ‘Ex Machina’, both of these ‘women’ long to be free and partially manipulate their male companions to meet this end. However, even in mise-en-scene, there are huge contrasts, particularly the constraints of the environment. Almost all of ‘Ex Machina’ takes place in sanitised, claustrophobic interiors, lending it an extremely pressurised atmosphere. ‘Her’ celebrates open, colourful vistas, wide exteriors in pastel hues, further amplifying the loneliness and unusual alienation of Joaquin Phoenix’s lovesick protagonist. Another huge difference is in the ‘bodies’ of the A.I’s, in ‘Ex Machina’ the body of Ava is incredibly vital, in ‘Her’ the very bodiless-ness is an incredibly huge factor to the plot.

IS ABSTRACT ART A ‘MAN’ THING?

One of the most interesting and perhaps the subtlest way a gender difference is highlighted within this film is through the use of art, both in display and in practise. Only two works of art are shown within the film, the Jackson Pollack hanging in Nathan’s living room and the drawings that Ava makes in her own prison-like bedroom. This establishes a direct correlation between the Pollack and Ava’s art. They are both abstract pieces, visually busy with strange, electric activity. They both come from a place of ‘semi-consciousness’ in the artist.

When making her ‘drawings’, Ava reveals, although this may be a ploy, that she doesn’t know what she is drawing or why she is doing it. Is she therefore reaching this hallowed ‘semi-conscious space’ that Nathan so eloquently bestows upon Pollack? This begs the question - is the ability to create art that is not a direct photographic imitation a signifier of further life?  Is the very concept that Ava may be able to tap into a semi-conscious, creative space proof in fact that Ava has a consciousness?

Much like the concept that a robot could reach a semi-conscious, free-flowing state is not even regarded as possible or considered by the narrative of ‘Ex Machina’, this has been true of women also. Like a robot, programmed without consciousness, a woman has also been programmed, but instead with an almost unavoidable, societally fabricated hyper-consciousness. In his vital work ‘Ways Of Seeing’, John Berger explained ‘A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. And so she comes to consider the surveyor and the surveyed within her as the two constituent yet always distinct elements of her identity as a woman.’ [6]

In the historic canon of abstract art, where the stars such as Pollack and Rothko are overwhelming male, women have often been ignored. An example of this is Lee Krasner, Pollack’s wife and constant collaborator, who seems to share very little of his fame and prestige.  It is entirely amusing and ironic, too, that Garland chose to use Pollack’s ‘drip paintings’ as an important prop/expositionary tool within ‘Ex Machina’, considering both the implications of the artists persona (the genius, mercurial, all-American male) and his work itself, with its paint drips spattering the canvas in an extremely ejaculatory manner. Perhaps a little on the nose, if used as an analogy of Nathan’s character and narrative path.

This query of consciousness in art shares a connection with another of Garland’s works, an English language adaptation of ‘Never Let Me Go’, which also uses the device of art as an argument towards humanity. This seems to be a far more important factor in deciding genuine emotion/empathy in this work, it is largely ignored within ‘Ex Machina’, more by the characters themselves than by the actual film, whose skating touch upon the subject seems to imply the reason for this lack of emphasis. Perhaps the creation of art as a means of demonstrating qualities of humanity is a male-only domain?

It is ironic that Caleb chose to direct Ava’s artistic compulsions towards photorealism, as he has misinterpreted which aspect of art is the most telling. He believes that by analysing her chosen subject matter, he will understand her motivations better. He has ignored a vital and interesting communication from her, the ability to express semi-conscious and creative thought in the medium of abstract art, by doing this he has redirected her into a far more manipulative place.

THE FEMINIST MISINTERPRETATION

In recent years, due to a popularisation in contemporary culture of somewhat neutered feminist rhetoric, there is a compulsion to brand any film that features a ‘strong’ female character as a ‘feminist’ or woman-power piece. This can be said for both ‘Ex Machina’ and ‘Under The Skin’, immediately branded as healthy representatives of feminism for a modern era. Speaking outside of the narratives that these films present and focusing solely on the technical nature of their casting, they have both provided excellent opportunities for young actresses, Alicia Vikander and Scarlet Johansson, to showcase a challenging, impressive range in a rare interesting, headlining roles. Their characters are the film, their peerless visages are the ones that plaster the movie posters and it is their presence that is attracting the audience. However, these films are not feminist in message, I would argue, because the characters are not women.  Even if two female characters within the film were to exchange words for a substantial period of time (the most that the two ‘female’ cyborgs, Ava and Kyoko, communicate is long, meaningful gazes and an incomprehensible whisper), they still wouldn’t pass the ‘Bechdel’ Test.

There are substantial, canonical reasons as to why the female body was chosen as the robotic host in ‘Ex Machina’. Since the earliest introductions of robots in film, ‘Metropolis’ being the most obvious example, the sinister robot is almost always shown as female.  As Mary Ann Doane notes - ‘It is striking to note how often it is the woman who becomes the model of the perfect machine.’ 

Of course, there have been male robots in Sci-fi films. They tend, however, to be geared towards outright violence and destruction, with the most obvious version of this being ‘The Terminator’.  When considering more contemplative Sci-fi, more in the vein of ‘Ex Machina’, an iconic and much imitated male robot archetype is that of ‘Hal’ from ‘2001 , A Space Odyssey’. His ‘personality’ and purpose are quite maternal, quite conventionally ‘female’, that it could seem that perhaps Kubrick felt it would be too predictable to give ‘Hal’ a woman’s voice.

Considering current transgender discourse, it may seem cruel to deny ‘womanhood’ to anything. The difference in this specific situation is that ‘womanhood’, as it is currently understood, is born from the clear identification of being of this particular gender. A robot cannot make a gender identification. Ava had no choice as to how she was programmed or created. Ava is not a woman because she is not human. She does not, at least in the film; show any honest identification with even the concept of being a woman.

This does not mean that she does not exhibit the trappings and affectations of a woman throughout the films progression. Her coy manipulations through faux femininity are an important feature of the plot.  An important scene of this nature is the sequence in which ‘dresses up’ for Caleb, to show him how she would appear if they were to go on a date, an almost unbelievably blatant ruse on her part but one that he easily stumbles into.

WHO IS THE REAL ENEMY - CONCLUSION

There are many criticisms that could be levied against ‘Ex Machina’. Why use the female cyborg/alien as an ‘evil against evil’ – the true enemy is the man, yet we pity him. Why frame the narrative in this way? ‘Ex Machina’ is, effectively, using the female form to make a self aware statement, a self effacing statement, without actually including women in the narrative. Locking women out of their own discussions and discourse by instead representing woman hood in a forgery, a veneer, a pair of breasts and a disembodied face. Reducing women to myth, the symbolism.

What is the meaning of the female cyborg in ‘Ex Machina’? When approaching the gender issue, the film has developed in a nuanced way from previous incarnations of similar plots. As opposed to exploiting reproductive fears, it is an ironic imitation, a pastiche of tropes that are not subverted in parody but played strictly, canonically, fundamentally. It is the audience, then, who feel compelled to unearth subversions within the narrative – thrown into confusion by the conventional but self-aware way the film is unfurling itself. We are waiting for the twists, the turns to occur but the beauty of this film lies in its truth being just as it was initially presented, both within the narrative and outside it.

The picture first given to us, the one that we refused to accept, was the answer all along. What transpires after our first impressions serves as further trope-play – the egotistical creator-genius, whose honesty with humanity is concealed by his careless cruelty towards his robots, the naïve innocent, fooled by an Eve-like figure – the meticulously constructed cyborg, devoid of emotion, acting as its own shadowy puppet master. Nothing that hasn’t been seen before, just displayed with less dramatic flair and pathos than we are accustomed to from similar fables.  It is in irony that this film is elevated as a piece of gender discourse.

[1] Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Screen 16.3 (1975): 6-18. Web.

[2] "DP/30: Ex Machina, Alex Garland." YouTube. DP/30: The Oral History Of Hollywood, 22 Apr. 2015. Web. 10 Feb. 2016.

[3] Doane, Mary Ann. "Technophilia: Technology, Representation and The Feminine." Cybersexualities: A Reader on Feminist Theory, Cyborgs, and Cyberspace. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1999. 20-33. Print.

[4] As above.

[5] Seelig, Beth J., Robert A. Paul, and Carol B. Levy. Constructing and Deconstructing Woman's Power. London: Karnac, 2002. Print. Page 118. 

[6] Berger, John. Ways Of Seeing. London: Penguin, 1972. Print.

BIBLIOGRAPHY/FILMOGRAPHY

2001, A Space Odyssey. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1968.

American Psycho. Dir. Mary Harron. Lions Gate Films, 2000. DVD.

Ballard, J. G. High-Rise. London: Jonathan Cape, 1975. Print.

Ballard, J. G. Crash. New York: Picador, 2001. Print.

Berger, John. Ways Of Seeing. London: Penguin, 1972. Print.

Blade Runner. Dir. Ridley Scott. Warner Bros., 1982. DVD.

Doane, Mary Ann. "Technophilia: Technology, Representation and The Feminine." Cybersexualities: A Reader on Feminist Theory, Cyborgs, and Cyberspace. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1999. 20-33. Print.

"DP/30: Ex Machina, Alex Garland." YouTube. DP/30: The Oral History Of Hollywood, 22 Apr. 2015. Web. 10 Feb. 2016.

Ex Machina. Dir. Alex Garland. Universal Studios, 2015. DVD.

Freud, Sigmund, James Strachey, and Angela Richards. On Sexuality: Three Essays On The Theory Of Sexuality And Other Works. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1977. Print.

Garland, Alex. The Beach. New York: Riverhead, 1997. Print.

Ghostbusters. Dir. Ivan Reitman. Columbia Pictures, 1984. DVD.

Her. Dir. Spike Jonze. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2013. DVD.

Kristeva, Julia, and Leon S. Roudiez. Powers Of Horror: An Essay On Abjection. New York: Columbia UP, 1982. Print.

Metropolis. Dir. Fritz Lang. UFA, 1926. DVD.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Screen 16.3 (1975): 6-18. Web.

Never Let Me Go. Dir. Mark Romanek. Fox Searchlight Pictures, 2010. DVD.

Seelig, Beth J., Robert A. Paul, and Carol B. Levy. Constructing and Deconstructing Woman's Power. London: Karnac, 2002. Print.

The Terminator. Dir. James Cameron. MGM, 1984. DVD.

The Beach. Dir. Danny Boyle. 20th Century Fox, 2000. DVD.

Under The Skin. Dir. Johnathon Glazer. StudioCanal, 2013. DVD.