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The problem is that no one told Vincent; from the moment that he can read, Vincent is drawn to the dream of space travel. Even though the Gattaca Corporation accepts only the most perfect examples of humanity, Vincent lusts after its hallowed halls. When employed as a cleaner, Vincent uses the time to gather inside information; what he must do to defraud the Corporation. Since they reject Vincent, he is forced to become someone else. Through German (Tony Shalhoub), a gene-broker, he links up with Jerome Morrow (Jude Law). A wondrous specimen, Jerome had his back broken by a cruel twist of luck. Thus, for a fee, he'll lend his identity to Vincent.
Such a simple idea, yet the implications are incalculable. What if medical science advances to such a degree that parents can choose children whose genetic inheritance they know utterly. What then? Gattaca poses this question and approaches the answer from every direction, without quite committing itself. For writer-director Andrew M. Niccol, a judgement is in itself not interesting; it's the moral conundrums and bitter stratification of such a society that catch his attention. Can people continue to have free will with their future not only encoded in every cell but easily available on a cheap printout? Is the reduced uncertainty of fate sufficient to nourish the human spirit? Even though Gattaca fails to fully explore the issues raised, it does make you think about them.
In bringing his vision to life Niccol is inestimably aided by Slavomir Idziak and Jan Roelfs, Gattaca's cinematographer and production designer respectively. Together they create a minimalist landscape of high ceilings, perfect white walls and antiseptic chrome. The chosen few inhabit buildings that match their perfect physical purity; Vincent and Jerome's staircase is DNA influenced, twisting towards the sky. The visuals really are occasionally excellent, particularly when matched to Michael Nyman's score. The quality that stands out in his work here is that the music doesn't, stand out that is. In harmony with Gattaca's quiet tone, Nyman consolidates Niccol's amusingly twisted themes.
This is, however, fortunate because the cast is pedestrian and relentlessly average. Hawke, central protagonist and sometime narrator, is walking a very fine line. Yet for someone who's spent years evading detection and submerging his identity, he seems remarkably inept when Loren Dean (as Anton Freeman, a police investigator) applies a little pressure. When we expect him to tense up and sweat, Hawke misses the mark; it may be Niccol's fault that Gattaca lacks suspense but Hawke doesn't do much to help. Law is slightly more interesting, being a man whose destiny allows no scope for second best, but not by much. The performances are serviceable and no more. Even when Uma Thurman, as recruit Irene Cassini, saunters onto the screen the passion thermometer hovers near freezing; lifeless dialogue has leached the cast dry.
What rescues Gattaca from turgidity are its pretensions -- it has none. Niccol doesn't try to make profound comments on the nature of society or harbour epic ambitions for his debut, instead realising that these ideas deserve to be told straight. The concepts underlying his tale are extremely timely, even though the scientific foundations are suspect; you'll never be able to extract an exact photograph (including glasses!) from a blood sample. The point that being born flawless may mean losing the impetus to succeed is made, though hardly forcefully enough; maybe Niccol expects us to infer this interpretation, being products of natural procreation ourselves. Whatever his aim, this is where Gattaca wins and loses; Niccol's subtle touch complements the film but, unfortunately, to the extent that he avoids a crucial state of resolution.
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