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Gods, Machines, & Monsters: Feminist Zeitgeist in Ex Machina
What is the Turing Test, who passes it, and why?
Posted May 1, 2015
It’s May 2015, and we are surrounded by artificial intelligence, or A.I., in the cinematic universe. Avengers: Age of Ultron, the much hyped sequel to 2012’s 1.5 billion dollar juggernaut, has arrived, and the second resurrection of the Terminator series is soon upon us (he said he’d be back, and Arnold is back). There’s plenty of testosterone to go around as lots of male robots with consciousness, and many with no conscience, take over the world by mostly military means. But the slyest and spookiest film featuring A.I. in years is Ex Machina, written and directed by Alex Garland (writer of 28 Days Later, Sunshine, and Dredd). No sequel bloat to be found here; it’s sleek, smart, and seductive, a character driven film with no excess hype to live up to. The premise? A test. If one interacts with a cleverly disguised A.I., and one doesn’t realize it was an A.I. throughout the exchange, then that artificial intelligence passes the Turing Test. But what if you knew you were interacting with a robot, endowed with A.I., and you still experienced that entity as having consciousness, of being “alive”, human, or post-human? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate Turing Test?
So says Nathan, the billionaire mogul with a trillion dollar ego (brilliantly played by Oscar Isaac), who has invited meek and mild computer programmer Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson) out to his remote estate ostensibly to “hang out” but is really there to participate in an experiment. I do not want to give anything away (this review is practically spoiler free), but suffice to say that both men are enthralled, as is the audience, by Ava, a fantastic creation both in the movie’s narrative and in terms of a cinematic realization of a concept. Played by relative newcomer Alicia Vikander, Ava is simultaneously flesh and machine, both a familiar sight (a young woman) and something unique (an artificial lifeform, or synthetic). The effects are so seamless that the viewer accepts that she is both/and, a living machine. Throughout, Ava passes our Turing Test. How does she do with Nathan and Caleb? She performs so well, that Caleb develops feelings for her, and undergoes a bit of an identity crisis, and Nathan fancies himself a god: Creator, and destroyer, of worlds. In a sense, he is the deus ex machina (shout out to my Latin professor).
During my viewing of the film, I heard echoes from Metropolis (1927), Westworld (1973) and Blade Runner (1982), not because Ex Machina was derivative in any way (it’s quite original), but because it, too, was groundbreaking, effective, and provocative. It asks profound questions, such as “What is consciousness? Can a man fall in love with his creation, or a machine? Is superintelligence something we human mortals should reach for, or fear?” Last night, sharing a drink and conversation at Harvard Square (I hear that this is the human thing to do), the research fellow to my right spoke of Nick Bostrom, a scientist who extols the dangers and strategies associated with machines who could rise up and destroy humanity. Does Ava embody such a threat? Is "she" an A.I. femme fatale, a robotic maneater? Some reviewers might say yes. Some might be repulsed, rather than fascinated, by Ava’s careful choices of chic clothes, milky skin, and ample curves, as she stands before an unusual wardrobe at the film’s conclusion. My take away is that Ex Machina does not veer down the well worn path of misogyny in sci-fi, but resonates with a basic truth: That most human beings’ perceptions are only skin deep, that seeing the superficial outside of what appears to be a young, attractive, white woman is about all that registers for most people in their day to day existence as they stare at their cell phones (News flash: The machines have already taken over) and hurry to their next appointment. On the bustling street of any metropolis, Ava would pass thousands of Turing tests per minute. Being clothed in appealing, young and light skin (i.e., the “right” color and texture) goes a long way to convincing most folks of one’s inner humanity, value and trustworthiness. It reminds me how much privilege, safety, and security comes in a white package, and how some of us “pass” as normative, non-prefixed, pleasing, even soothing in their skin, while others are viewed as intimidating, conspicuous, threatening menaces to be shadowed, controlled, and quite often, neutralized. Who “passes” through society’s gaze of surveillance and inspection, and why? Profound questions indeed.
Kyle D. Killian, PhD is author of Interracial Couples, Intimacy & Therapy: Crossing Racial Borders from Columbia University Press.
