There are few sadder things than a dumb movie that’s trying so, so hard to be smart. I Origins aims to be a somber meditation on the intersection of science and faith. The problem is its “meditation” is of the variety taught in strip malls by pony-tailed white guys who posture and chant. The movie is boring when it wants to engage, funny when it wants to be serious, and cringeworthy when it wants to be profound.
Michael Pitt plays Ian Gray, a biologist who also has a thing for taking pictures of people’s eyes. He’s struck by one pair of eyes in particular, those belonging to a beautiful stranger he hooks up with at a party. After an extraordinarily dumb coincidence reunites him with the girl, Sofi (Astrid Bergès-Frisbey), the two become lovers. He’s a diehard skeptic, while she is a dreamy woman of (vaguely-defined) faith, but they make it work. Ian and his lab partner Karen (Brit Marling) have made a scientific breakthrough with massive existential ramifications, but a random tragedy leaves him adrift. Years later, he and Karen make yet another discovery with massive existential ramifications, and have to go on a journey to pursue their findings.
That plot summary gets very, very vague towards the end, which is a necessity both to avoid spoilers and to keep this article at a manageable length. I Origins takes a really long time to get to what it’s actually about, and once it does show its hand, any intrigue it might hold until that point goes out the window. The movie’s attempt at generating conversation about the relationship between science and faith is based on a silly premise that’s made all the sillier by its po-faced presentation.
“What-if” scenarios are hard-pressed to challenge the viewer when the what-if is thoroughly preposterous, and I Origins is so committed to feeling like hard sci-fi that it can’t pull off its conceit. The bizarre dedication to trying to remain plausible even as things get increasingly crazy just makes the movie laughable, and the story ultimately comes firmly down on one “side” of its central debate, meaning it has no effectiveness as a think piece.
Despite its philosophical pretensions, I Origins is mainly a love story, and had its romantic elements worked there might be at least some draw. It’s standard artsy indie stuff, with lots of edge-of-the-bed-level camera gazes that swoop around cuddling and pillow talk, all bathed in soft light. Ian is a stiff cliche of an atheist, speaking in unbelievable pronouncements about logic and such, and Sofi is such a floaty romantic ideal that she seems more realistic when the plot reduces her to baffling fits of jealousy.
There’s one scene in I Origins that’s jarring and upsetting in all the ways it does not intend. Around midway through, it suddenly becomes a horror movie, and then a shockingly violent death is played as if it’s a dreamy passing of tuberculosis in a period piece. It’s a perfect encapsulation of film’s complete tone-deafness and the messiness of writer/director Mike Cahill’s script. This artsy, ponderous sentiment belies serious incompetence.
