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The Mangled Tones of Klara and the Sun

Taika Waititi was not the right person to make Klara and the Sun. There were several moments while watching this adaptation of the bestselling novel by Kazuo Ishiguro that I could see exactly what Waititi was going for and how it would work in the hands of a director like Steven Spielberg or Guillermo del Toro, Jean-Pierre Jeunet or even Wes Anderson. Hell, Hirokazu Kore-eda proved this year with the similar Sheep in the Box that he was capable of handling a sentimental story about a child-like artificial consciousness. But Waititi, who does have real strengths as a director, is not convincingly capable of the required level of earnestness here and he can't help himself when it comes to certain proclivities with his dialogue and characterization -which have their place in his other films but feel quite inappropriate here.
For one thing, Klara and the Sun is set in a dystopia that is never treated as such by the narrative, merely alluded to on a few brief occasions and as quickly dropped without comment. There is a darkness on the corners of this world that the primary story never touches as it fixates on its core thematic tenets that do indeed have value but don't exist in a vacuum. Yet Waititi's scope is very narrow and there is a level of dishonesty to it, in among the competing flavours of staunch emotionality and preening humour.
Jenna Ortega stars as Klara, a solar-powered 'Artificial Friend' in a dystopian, genetically-stratified world. Marketed in a 'Friend Store' as a product for lonely teenagers, she is an older model, from prior to an apparently dangerously defective line of androids, and so she has a harder time being sold -until she catches the eye of one girl Josie (Mia Tharia) who determines to take her home in spite of the disapproval of her stern mother Chrissie (Amy Adams). Josie lives a privileged though isolated life as a 'lifted' girl -genetically-engineered for greater intelligence, and is friendly towards Klara though also haughty and irresponsible. Klara, for her part, attaches onto Josie very quickly, while also preoccupying herself with her religious devotion to the sun, which rises bright over the open farm home and in her mind speaks to her.
From this premise, the film proceeds on a very slice-of-life trajectory for some time, as Klara learns more about her surroundings and goes on occasionally rash outings with Josie, to which her mother and resentful caretaker Melania (Waititi regular Rachel House) blame on her, looking for whatever excuses they can to get rid of Klara. Their antipathy towards her doesn't have much solid foundation and often comes off as needlessly cruel -and it becomes especially puzzling later in the movie via a choice by Chrissie that rather contradicts such an attitude. Klara is unremittingly buoyant in spite of this however. For Ortega’s part, it is a very consistent performance but its effect varies drastically by context. In some moments, where the movie takes itself seriously, it is genuinely charming and even a little heartfelt towards the end; in other instances though the bubbliness and particularly the awkward adjustments to human movements come off as exceptionally grating in how overplayed they are. One beat, meant to be humourous in which Klara watches Josie sleep you might think would be creepy in practice, but in actual effect with the mug Ortega is meant to maintain it is actually just uncomfortable and painful to watch. It comes out evenly for her by the end, but you can’t help but feel if Ortega, in running as far in the opposite direction of Wednesday and her usual typecasting as possible, overcompensated in her zealousness.
However she undoubtedly would have fared better with a stronger script and less winking take on this material. The movie is saccharine, glaringly so in places as though desperately trying to convince its audience of its earnestness. This isn't the problem so much -some of the sentimental material here can and is pulled off. The problem is it exists in relief to Waititi's ironic tone and style of dialogue that halts sincerity and hurts the capacity to take its context seriously. I never agreed with this strain of criticism towards Jojo Rabbit, which was more restrained in its severity against its broadly satirical overtones (and included a barrier of imagination). But here it is the worst of both worlds, while at the same time Waititi's voice has gotten weaker. His brand of astute, mock casual New Zealand smarminess registers less authentically and more like a gimmick, especially when coming from non-Maori accents. In this film, against these contexts it is decidedly unfunny -specifically when it is used to deliberately undercut a serious beat such as the reveal of the early death of Josie's older sister or Chrissie's attempt to murder Klara.
There are also things such as an exhausting though short-lived jealous love triangle subplot wherein a misunderstanding prompts Josie to suspect Klara is engaged in a romance with her boyfriend Rick (Aran Murphy); and a complete undercutting of what ought to be critical supporting themes around class and eugenics. The world outside of Klara’s orbit is often implied to be an unfair and difficult place for people not as privileged as Josie, yet the movie never openly addresses it nor examines Klara’s or Josie’s place within it. It feels quite shallow as a result. And there is a similar disinterest in reckoning with some pretty horrible actions and intentions of Chrissie’s in the last act, seemingly sacrificed for the sake of heartwarming resolution. One minor twist of a concept is brought up and then brushed under the rug so haphazardly with regards to the general attitudes of the characters, and especially concerning Chrissie, whom the film can never decide if she is an outright villain.
Nonetheless, this section of the movie is notable for its abundance of sentimental warmth in both the text and filmmaking -indeed the whole movie is very warm and visually appealing; it would have to be given how important the sun is. And for what it is worth, there is something effectively wholesome to Klara’s dedication to Josie in this section when there are massive stakes for her, and the sweetness of Klara’s actions do come across to a degree. The story even ends on a seemingly mature and bittersweet note -that is until it is once again undermined by  an epilogue of more of Waititi’s lame schtick. Like the ending of Spielberg’s A.I. if it were written by the Farrelly Brothers.
That is the overarching frustration through Klara and the Sun -the resemblance several of its beats bear to analogues in better stories but let down by wholly arbitrary choices in the script or the tone. And it feels a little insulting even in this case specifically. Ishiguro is a source that demands a certain gravitas -he is a Nobel Prize winner after all, and movie adaptations of The Remains of the Day, Never Let Me Go, and A Pale View of Hills do a fine job of reflecting that. But you would never believe this film was from the same source as those. If I squint I can see a little of his mark, but its concealed behind all the poor choices of this translation. Klara and the Sun does have points where I momentarily believe in it, in a spark of performance or an emotional cue or a particularly nice visual motif, which I think Waititi really intended to demonstrate his capacity for here. But his other instincts are so wrong and the movie on the whole feels like it forces itself into its desired shape. Ortega’s wide-eyed rapture is not enough to save it.

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