It is like cinema has burst forth into the full flower of distinctly new genre, this one about the zeitgeist’s paranoia about AI. Never mind it taking jobs. The very worst it can do is infantilize us into a state of perpetual psychological impotence. The emergence of this genre was a slow build from the intersection of Cold War paranoia and a computer’s passive ability to destroy the world with FAILSAFE, then moving gamely through a murderously well-meaning HAL in 2001, then COLUSSUS: THE FORBIN project, in which supercomputer’s developed by the world’s then two superpowers got in touch and deduced, perhaps in a well-meaning way, that they could run the world better than the superpowers, then on to WESTWORLD, putatively the one where AI became murderously not well-meaning, and then, of course, the whole premise of the Terminator series. This isn’t a comprehensive list, but it does trace the evolution of our latest existential dread in the rollicking form of GOOD LUCK, HAVE FUN, DON’T DIE, a hellzapoppin’ flight of terrifying fantasy with some clever and erudite twists.
Our anti-hero is The Man from the Future (Sam Rockwell), who disrupts the peace of Norm’s, a retro diner in present day Los Angeles. He’s a forceful man in grubby apparel that includes dangling tubes, assertive headgear, and what he claims to be a bomb under the plastic raincoat. He assures the crowd he isn’t there to rob them, but rather to recruit a team from the 47 occupants to save the future. Met with the expected skepticism, he begins to tell the diners about themselves individually, a feat he can perform because this is his 117th try at saving the future. There isn’t, alas, a lot of time for the 47 to ponder this, what with the SWAT team arriving and TMFTF not having the right answers about how to escape, only the options that haven’t worked before. Oh, and he must accomplish his mission before sunrise, which is less than six hours away.
The particulars of what he has to do matter less in the scheme of things than how the future got so very messed up. He doesn’t use the word “messed” when describing it, nor when explaining how cell phones were the root cause for bookstores to disappear along with the human ability to interact. He makes a tidy indictment that the individual backstories of his team prove. From a woebegone substitute English teacher (Michael Peña) facing down 11th graders for whom doom scrolling is the only reality that matters, even during a shooter lockdown, to an oddly dressed Gen-Zer (grunge-tastic Haley Lu Richardson) with rarified allergies and a boyfriend who dumped her in a novel way, to the grieving mother (Juno Temple) offered a simulacrum of her dead son with a peculiar discount option. What Gore Verbinski brings to surreal life is a present where the population is distracted then entrapped by a shiny virtual reality of constantly changing entertainment, leaving hulking husks where their personalities used to be that wander the world with eyes glued to a screen, willingly surrendering to tech. Adding the personification of collaboration, there is a wonderful jab at the supercilious salesmanship of a seasoned purveyor of a brighter future through technology.
Rockwell evinces the world-weariness of life on repeat with a reset button, a piquant combination of droll irony and righteous impatience with the people stuck living just the one life. At his counterpoints, Temple and Richardson keep the emotional stakes thoroughly grounded with sadness that transcends mere tears. As THMFTF takes on obstacles, a few he wasn’t expecting, he remains unruffled as he barks orders and dodges certain death while AI defends itself from him by lobbing the improbable at them all. Those are brought to life with an impudent spirit that reaches into hitherto unexplored subconscious nightmares to stop him.
The suitably ragtag team of GOOD LUCK, HAVE FUN, DON’T DIE are taking a hero’s journey to save humanity operating on duress, faith, and the chaos of being swept up in an adventure before the higher cerebral processes can kick in. With a dénouement as nifty as it is startling, this is a high-energy romp with even higher-stakes and an unexpected heart that does nothing to detract from its puckish impudence.
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