Code 46

Wasn’t there a Michael Winterbottom film out just last Tuesday? I’m starting to believe this man sleeps while propped up behind a camera on set. Not that Winterbottom’s profuse output (Jude, Welcome To Sarajevo, 24 Hour Party People, In This World) and generic promiscuity has ever been to the detriment of his work, as this dreamy, low-key sci-fi quietly demonstrates.
Set in the near (post-Bush III?) future, when much of the planet resembles a dustbowl and admittance to cities is restricted to those with papelles (passports), this intriguing film casts Tim Robbins as an empathic investigator on the trail of a papelle forger in a smog-deadened Shanghai. His efforts are hindered somewhat when he falls for chief suspect Morton, but when he shows up for that all important second date, he finds she’s been arrested for a violation of Code 46 – the statute outlawing unauthorised get-togethers between genetically incompatible mates.
With few special effects and little by way of flashy futurism, Code 46 lives very much by its wits. The brilliantly evocative use of language – like a cooler, organic Esperanto – postulates an entirely plausible linguistic melting pot comprising English with flashes of Spanish, French and Mandarin. Generally speaking, though, the film’s world is not far removed from our own, excepting that things are now run by a government or corporation – if that’s a distinction you care to make – known as the Sphinx.
In keeping with this unassuming approach, Winterbottom refuses to get hysterical about genetic matters, preferring to mull over questions of fate rather than DNA. Like Chris Marker’s work or Solaris, this is proper, philosophical science fiction, though it’s sweet rather than overly cerebral.
This tenderness is largely down to the touching relationship between Morton and Robbins. True, the near femme fatale nature of Morton’s character may well have been enhanced by a more smouldering choice of actress (after all, ladies from Shanghai ought to look like Rita Hayworth), but her characteristically faultless performance is compensation enough. Meanwhile, despite his hip, lefty credentials, Robbins, as ever, looks awfully presidential in a bourgeois suit and tie.
My advice is to seek this movie out, then hit Ladbrokes with a Nader/Robbins running ticket prophecy. With teeth like that, a political career is surely predestined. Unless, of course, Michael Moore’s ego stages a coup first.