The Real Minority Report - Okay, so the movie didn't wow me. In fact, it kind of bored me. (Do all Spielberg movies have to end 20 minutes too late?) Yes, I know that the critics seem to have universally loved it. As they say, I respectfully dissent. The heart of the story, about a frame-up for a murder, broke no new ground. Being the wannabe geek and lawyer, I also have a very high trigger level for suspending disbelief when it comes to (a) future technology and (b) legal procedure and ethics. It didn't help that I find it impossible to believe a single human emotion eminating from that utterly terrifying Superior Life Form Tom Cruise. Frankly, the whole thing failed to make the leap from likeable, Twilight Zone-ish pulp fiction short story to Summer blockbuster. This is not Spielberg's best work.

Where to begin? How about the urban landscape? The future skyscrapers hardly "coexist" with famous Washington landmarks and nineteenth century rowhouses. I found the juxtaposition jarring and unbelievable (and not just because John Anderton's coldly modern condo was about 150 stories right above the cosy little garden apartment I live in). Cruise's salary must have soaked up a lot of budget, because I saw very little effort to update "the Sprawl" to place it 50 years in the future and tie it into the other scenic elements. Instead we seemed to hop from an underworld that was completely derivative of Blade Runner to modern skyscrapers paved with superhighways down their facades (why?) to elegant mansions and cottages (and Georgetown shops) with barely a wisp of futuristic style or sensibility. The idea that such things might coexist is certainly not groundbreaking futurism -- but try to make your segues a little smoother. If you want a much more imaginative and coherent sense of a future aesthetic, go watch A.I. if you can. On the brighter side, perhaps we should all give thanks that Hollywood had the optimism to believe the District won't be a smoldering pile of radioactive dust in 2054. Oh, wait, that's Baltimore.

If the movie's predictions of a complete breakdown in urban planning can be forgiven, it does little better in prognosticating technology. The movie scores easy points for "video" newspapers on soft, flexible screens, iris-scanning from public cameras and weapons firing a non-lethal "pulse" blast, but they will all be reality in 20 years or less. As for the annoyingly confrontational product placements, let the seller beware. The Gap is poised to follow the footsteps of Ma Bell and Pan Am, who were featured prominently in the granddaddy of all space commercials, but didn't live to see the day. The three-dimensional chase on rocket packs was enjoyable -- look for it to be imitated. The coolest gadgets in the movie were the "spiders" that did the police's dirty work in identifying the denizens of a tenement. I'm not sure that 50 years is enough time to see that kind of intelligent nanotechnology, and when we do I wouldn't expect the tiny creatures to have such cartoony puckishness about them. This Spielbergian anthropomorphism probably dulled the most striking feature of that scene -- the utter lack of resistance from the people whose most private moments were invaded by these police robots. It was once axiomatic that sci fi was about fear of technology. Now that same technology is being presented as a benevolent -- even cutesy -- intermediary between the state and the individual.

Which brings me to the much talked-about big issues of the movie. Spielberg has given us a morality play about pre-destination and free will, presented in the context of a local D.C. police state that knows when its citizens will commit murder and has the authority to arrest them to prevent "future" homicide. The gimmick that sets the stage is a threesome of pre-cognitive youths, who can see future crimes, but only if they involve murder. Besides a passing reference to the ACLU, the movie presents little public consciousness about the use of such evidence in criminal arrests. At least we observe some process, as Anderton's SWAT team must obtain a warrant before breaking in on the would-be murderer. Afterwards, however, we seem to have dispensed with the ideas of conviction and sentencing, skipping instead directly to a rather cruel and unusual form of imprisonment. How is it that there is no interest in rehabilitation after such lengths are taken to intervene before a "pre-criminal" does wrong? The movie doesn't really address these points other than in the context of Anderton, who is a blameless victim backed by the sympathies of the theater audience. (I'm ignoring the 30-second denouement of the movie, which puts everything right by Hollywood standards.) In effect, the weighty matters of original sin and redemption are raised but neglected.

On the other hand, we are given a bit more pathos for the "pre-cogs," who spend their days in a warm bath of nutrient liquid, connected by wires and sensors to the police computers. (Jamie asks: in the future why are people always living immersed in goo?) Apparently this is a better life for them than when they had no one to comfort them about their nightmarish visions. Is this treatment believable? I also found the setup for the Federalization of the Department of Pre-Crime to be rather flimsy. There are references to a national referendum on Pre-Crime and the influence of the Attorney General, but that backstory is terribly underdeveloped considering that it has important implications to the movie's final showdown. Not that the motivations of any of the characters are particularly understandable. Sure, Cruise's character would have been tortured by his son's death, but is the resulting behavior believable? His estranged wife's explanation for their breakup isn't easily swallowed either. Ironically, I found myself rooting for Colin Farrell's G-man, whose actions at least made sense.

All in all, I was reasonably entertained, but somewhat disappointed. This Spielberg-Cruise vehicle suffered greatly from the the curse of raised expectations. I'll give Minority Report a B+.