A quiet, excellent film that shouldn't be overlooked.
With so many big blockbusters currently in theaters, Never Let Me Go, an adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro’s 2005 novel of the same name, has fallen quietly in the shadows. Which comes as no surprise. The dystopian drama is slow, subtle and directed by Mark Romanek, who has only done one other movie (One Hour Photo). The lack of attention is unfortunate, though, and certainly no fair assessment of what may be the best kept secret of cinema this year. While sometimes too restrained, Never Let Me Go is vivid and captivating, and although it has a heavy, bleak tone—like any dystopia—the film ultimately paints a picture of hope in a rather hopeless world.
Spoiler (but not really a spoiler) ahead:
If you don’t already know, Never Let Me Go is a movie that deals with cloning. The studio chose to market it in a way that kept this a secret, but in all actuality, the aspect doesn’t function as a plot twist; it’s simply part of the premise. The world of Never Let Me Go, which doesn’t look much different than ours today, contains a smaller society of inhabitants called Donors. These young people are created in laboratories, in the image of real people, for the sole purpose of growing organs that prolong life for others. After a few donations and operations, the Donors become too weak and die—never able to grow old.
Never Let Me Go’s story centers on three of these Donors: Kathy, Tommy and Ruth. Raised at Hailsham—a seemingly ordinary boarding school, where the students sing, play and do what normal kids do—the three best friends learn of their fate at a young age, but because of their youth, they are too distracted and naive to fully grasp what they are. It’s evident, however, that they can love, feel and reason like any regular human beings, as Kathy and Tommy fall in love with one another as children.
After growing older, they leave Hailsham and move to a little bungalow in the country, where they do life with other Donors and are exposed to the outside, all while awaiting their impending destinies. During this time, Kathy (Carey Mulligan) becomes unbearably lonely as a romance between Tommy (Andrew Garfield) and Ruth (Keira Knightley) evolves: Living in the same house with them, she watches them flirt and hears them having sex in their bedroom, which forces her to move on and take her own path in life.
The story comes full circle years later when Kathy, who now works as a Carer helping Donors in their last days, finds herself in the same hospital as Ruth. They reunite and make plans to meet up with Tommy, who is about to prepare for another transplant. All together again, Ruth tells her friends of her realization—that she spent a majority of her life trying to keep them apart, and that she wants to make things right, and that it’s not too late, reminding them of the old rumor about Donors in love getting a temporary reprieve to spend time together.
Knowing their lives are quickly fleeting, Kathy and Tommy race to find out if the rumor is true, hoping to spend a few more years together now that their love is realized. Despite the outcome, however, it’s clear that nothing will end ideally, with Tommy’s health in question and only a few years of life to possibly delay. Their love is lost.
This part of the story, alone, provides criticism on consumerist societies by reflecting the love and relationships of people who are seen as nothing more than numbers or a resource to make product. The Donors—who come alive through convincing performances by the three leads—put faces, and essentially souls, on the oppressed. They remind us that these are people like everyone and have dreams, ambitions and hearts, calling society back to a place where human life is valued over control and capital. Such a message obviously penetrates into science, as well. How could any advocate of cloning sit through the story without being somehow touched or moved?
It wouldn’t be this effective, though, if it wasn’t for the work of Romanek. He could have easily turned the material into a sappy, preachy mess, but instead he underplays it and layers on melancholy both visually and thematically. Because of this, Never Let Me Go functions much like a modern French film—i.e. the work of Olivier Assayas and Claire Denis. It doesn’t lay everything out for the audience but forces us to observe—and work to gather meaning. And it’s for this reason that it will, alas, be dismissed as dull and lifeless.
As the lead and narrator, Mulligan keeps the subtlety and dreary tone intact, as do Garfield and Knightley. Their sadness, desperation and overall convincingness add to the grainy, greenish visuals that act as a haze over the entire picture, giving it a seemingly depressing feel.
While through and through Never Let Me Go appears to be drab and, perhaps, nihilistic—something Romanek nearly perfects—in the end that’s simply not the case, which makes it all the more satisfying. Just when the circumstances couldn’t seem any bleaker, just when they’re couldn’t be any less hope in the dystopian world, Kathy reminiscences on her life and puts things into perspective. She says that, despite her predetermined life, she is thankful for the time she was able to spend with the people she loved and that she felt a great fulfillment in helping others, and giving her life for the sake of someone else.
These powerful words recall the book of Ecclesiastes, in which the writer reminds us that, someday, we’re all going back to the ground from which we came, whether that be tomorrow or 50 years down the road. It’s a challenge that calls us to live for today—a life that’s about others and something bigger than ourselves—in thankfulness for what have already been given.
David Roark is a film critic for RELEVANT and Dallas Morning News. Check out his blog and follow him on Twitter.
