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I should preface my comments with a disclaimer: I think Stanley Kubrick is one of the most talented directors in the history of cinema--in a league with Renoir, Hitchcock, and Eisenstein. I wrote an undergraduate paper on __2001: A Space Odyssey__ and I am reading a friend's Ph.D. thesis on that film right now. It is possible, therefore, that my expectations for this film were inflated because of its touted connection with Kubrick. _A.I._, however, bears only the most casual mark of a Kubrick film (and then, only in the opening scenes). Instead of Kubrick's genius, we witness a truly bizarre blend of Steven Spielberg's shockingly obvious Oedipus complex and his equally shocking, un-ironic worship of Walt Disney films. I am not exaggerating. An important climax of the film hinges on the frankly oedipal question of whether a boy will get to climb in bed with his mother or not. Much of the story also involves a character's protracted hunt for the "Blue Fairy," directly referencing Disney's version of _Pinocchio_ in a crude, ham-fisted way. Lest the pathology of this trainwreck attract viewers looking for camp-humor, I must caution the reader that while the film begins to resemble Ed Wood's __Plan 9 from Outer Space__ more and more as it rattles along, it does not do so in a good way. The budget for _A.I._ allows for slicker production values than Wood's film, of course, but the narrative structure is remarkably similar in its disjointedness. The most obvious parallel between the films, for example, occurs when an anonymous narrator breaks in to tell _A.I._'s audience a concocted story full of the most inane sort of Sci-fi cop-outs in order to excuse a further 30 minutes of obliquely related, mind-numbingly boring footage. I distinctly recall sitting in the theater, realizing that the voiceover narration sounded exactly like the alien ship captain in _Plan 9_ describing the silly, convoluted plot behind Wood's film. A number of critics have named _Plan 9 from Outer Space_ "the worst movie of all time." There is a certain exuberance and ingenuousness behind that film that redeems it, however, and so makes it enjoyable on a level the director may not have intended. There is virtually nothing redeeming about _A.I._, so, perhaps, it is the better candidate for the worst movie of all time.

"I'm talkin' about friendship. I'm talkin' about character. I'm talkin' about--hell Leo, I ain't embarrassed to use the word--ethics." So Jon Polito, as crime-boss Johnny "Caspar," describes to his overlord, Albert Finney as "Leo," his point of view while seeking permission to kill a double-crossing underling (played by John Turturro) in the opening lines of __Miller's Crossing__. Had the script sought only to explore the power relationship between the two chief mobsters (one the rising Italian, the other the diminishing Irishman), this would have been a very good gangster film. It portrays an earlier era in the nation's history of organized crime (perhaps Chicago in the late '20s), and one can imagine Leo as the Irish predecessor of __The Godfather__'s Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando).

Just as __The Godfather__ was really about family relationships and the ethical complexities arising when familial loyalty collides with the business of violence, however, __Miller's Crossing__ is actually about, as Caspar tells us, friendship and character put under the enormous strain of that same business of violence. The film, therefore, centers on Leo's trusted adviser Tom (played flawlessly by the Irish actor Gabriel Byrne). Tom is not a gunsel, but the brain behind Leo's muscle. His decisions carry life and death consequences, however, and we watch him try to live with himself, to preserve his character, as he works out a code that will help him and his friends survive brutally violent upheavals. Critics of the film have cited its graphic cruelty and the seeming coldness of its characters, yet these are essential features in developing the film's theme.

Sentimentality might get any of the major characters killed, and one notes the pathos and dark humor that underline an ironic distance that each character, especially Tom, cultivates as a tool for survival.

Clues abound as we wonder what Tom will do next. Follow, for example, the men's hats over the course of the film. Who "keeps his lid on," so to speak, and who loses his? Note the number of times characters exclaim "Jesus!" or "Damn!" when saying the name "Tom." What has he sacrificed? Has he damned himself?

Spectacular action sequences, beautiful production values, top-notch camera work by Barry Sonnenfeld, a haunting musical score, and the best dialogue ever written by the Coen brothers make this a great gangster film. The fascinating and complex theme of friendship, character, and ethics make it one of the great films from any genre.