SUBSERVIENCE. I want to be a better person but I evidently don’t want it enough to scroll past the schlockier movies and series cranked out by streaming platforms as Gladiator II and Wicked pull in everyone willing to leave the house. And yes, if a domestic horror/thriller or a creepy AI robot movie pops up, I’ll at least look at it. If it’s a combination of the two, the popcorn is already in the microwave.
Subservience is another sci-fi thriller in which a family lets too-powerful tech into its lives for convenience, this time starring Megan Fox, whose demonic teen performance in Jennifer’s Body (2009) will forever have me rooting for her to return to the comedy-horror genre. I knew this wouldn’t be it, but irrational hope wouldn’t let me abandon the possibility. But director S.K. Dale, who has helmed only one other feature, Till Death (2021), also starring Fox, can’t find the fun here, schlocky, thoughtful or otherwise. Every era has its boogeyman and at least one of ours is definitely AI when paired with human shortsightedness. While a handful of smart movies have handled the scariness and complexities of the subject deftly (2014’s Ex Machina springs to mind), are a few winkingly clever B-movies too much to ask for?
In an intro of remarkable efficiency, we learn our hero construction worker Nick (Michele Morrone) has lost his perfect wife, Maggie (Madeline Zima), with whom he shares young children and an effortless sex life. Oh, wait, she’s still alive and awaiting a heart transplant. Phew. But while she’s in the hospital, Nick is in the market for one of the Kobol Corporation’s hyper-realistic nannies, all the rage in households these days. These evidently come in gym twink, Instagram model, non-threatening old man and assistant track coach lady, all of them dressed in some variation of Wednesday Addams’ day dress. For cooking, cleaning and childcare duty, they naturally settle on the mini-skirted and lip-injected one with the trendy talon manicure (Fox), not the Mrs. Doubtfire model they’d agreed on. Alice, as daughter Isla (Matilda Firth) names her, is a new unit designed to mimic human emotion. As she helpfully informs Nick, “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” And when she’s not minding the house and kids, she spends her free time standing stock still with her back against a hallway wall, recharging, or, you know, casually talking to Nick in her skivvies, or trying to give him a hand-job in the garage. Nick is also grappling with upper management having replaced the construction crew he manages with robots. The crew members, too, are growing angrier by the minute. But it’s Maggie’s request to Alice to take care of Nick, even if he refuses help, that is the catalyst for things going off the rails.
The pacing is dreadfully slow and the tension doesn’t rise much until an hour in. The story, which is simple enough, drags and the writing goes from pedestrian exposition to boilerplate robo-speak when Alice parses what is logical or of benefit to Nick. As common as these robots are supposed to be in this reality, Alice struggles to pick up on some basic concepts. That would be fine if we were headed straight to sensational mayhem and an amped-up version of The Hand that Rocks the Cradle from 1992. (Oh, you forgot about/missed that Rebecca De Mornay video-rental classic? You’re welcome.)
But Dale seems to want to make a serious film, which isn’t possible without some nuance or raising some interesting questions. Nick is ambivalent enough about AI robots to fight with his boss, but when it comes to sex with Alice, he puts up all the resistance of an un-ridged potato chip on its second scoop of onion dip. Not breaking any new ground there. There’s no hint of the old “what is it to be human” chestnut, nor do we upset the trope of men in charge of female-bodied robots. Despite the title, there’s no curiosity about what role subservience plays in a human household and elsewhere with paid labor. And at no point does the movie question whether a being of incalculable intelligence might have ambitions beyond the affection of an arguably attractive but otherwise mediocre married man.
Despite Fox’s Real Doll frozen face and mechanical head tilt, we’re left with neither Stepford campiness nor clever surprises. Moments that should have a little humor fall flat, as when a robot bartender asks, “What’s got you down? Woman problems?” Neither the acting nor the action can overcome the pervading flatness of it all. R. 106. NETFLIX.
Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the arts and features editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400, extension 320, or jennifer@northcoastjournal.com. Follow her on Instagram @JFumikoCahill and on Bluesky @jfumikocahill.bsky.social.
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This article appears in Sculpting Community.
