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![]() That's the sort of neo-romantic blindness we've come to expect from Bruce Sterling and the late Timothy Leary, but Tilda Swinton? Sad, but true: Swinton seems to have this thing for Lynn Hershman-Leeson that keeps her from recognizing just how idiotic Leeson's ideas for movies are. Of course, to say Swinton is actually in this movie is a little deceiving. She does get a bit of face time, if ghostly and barely visible (because she's translucent) count. Swinton plays Ada Augusta Byron King, Countess of Lovelace, the daughter of the poet Lord Byron and the inventor, more or less, of computer programming. Ada worked with Charles Babbage on his analytical engine in the mid-19th century, developing an algorithm that is generally recognized as the world's first computer program. Which is a cool story all by itself, one which science fiction writers William Gibson and the aforementioned Bruce Sterling put to great use in their 1990 novel, The Difference Engine. By 1997, when Leeson's film was released, Ada had become an object of worship, especially among feminists. The problems with Leeson's film are legion, and they stem from the worship of Ada as well as the romantic idea that somehow the computer was here, like a god or alien, to save us from ourselves. Thus, in Conceiving Ada Sheeze. Add to that Emmy doing things like asking Timothy Leary for advice. Leary, the late great lecherous old bastard, was certainly capable of giving advice to women, but it tended to be rather monocular, as in, "Sit on my lap, baby, that's what you need to do." (At least that's the advice my ex-girlfriend got from him one day when she ran into him in a Haight Street bookstore.) The science is certainly wack enough to make this movie flop quicker than a dead man's dick, but add to that the feminist gambit and this film is, to use a Timothy "Speed" Levitch phrase, the anti-cruise. We just don't care about Emmy and her jerky boyfriend because we're robbed of any possible emotional connection due to the filmmaker's insistence on ramming female enterprise and braininess down our gobs. The film is not so much a story as a wish list of cameos and camera tricks tossed together like a poorly thought-out salad. John Perry Barlow, one-time lyricist for the Grateful Dead and long-time electronic activist, makes a cameo, as does Bruce Sterling as himself as played on TV - and all this sends the movie down a rabbit hole of post-modernist pretension, self-referentiality and artsy-fartsy-ness that ends with this recommendation: watch something else. |
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