Yikes! Welcome to a future so dystopian, we’ve forgotten what emotions are. I see The Giver as what happens in the post-Terminator world after the machines have taken over. Everything is polite, neat, orderly and gray. It’s pretty, but colorless and unimaginative. It’s not unlike the world of Pleasantville … or Utah.
A great ceremony marks the passage from one nothing state to another. 9-year-olds are given bicycles to teach them responsibility. The “elderly” are released to “Elsewhere.” (Boy, that’s a euphemism if I ever heard one) and just like Divergent or City of Ember, those passing into the adult realm are assigned. “You’re a nurturer.” “You’re a firefighter.” “You’re a rodeo clown.” Well, they’d never have rodeo clowns; there is no fun here, just vacant smiles. Those passing into their new world get the haunting and fairly disturbing acknowledgment, “Thank you for your childhood.” Don’t think about that one too long; you’ll go insane.
The whole jobs thing is weird because it seems so arbitrary. See, all members of society are required to take mind-numbing drugs on a daily basis. These effectively curtail the urge to do anything even mildly rebellious, like blaming a fart on the dog. Doncha know? Lying is forbidden! Well, that’s not exactly true. One guy gets to lie — The Jiver (Jeff Bridges). Actually, he’s officially The Giver of memory as Jonas (Brenton Thwaites) has been promoted to receiver of memory. Only one guy (well, two) in the whole set-up get to actually know stuff, feel stuff, Double Stuff. They totally make Jonas sweat it out at the ceremony, too. For a society that craves equality, that’s kinda bullshit.
So, think about this — no emotions. The world of The Giver has eliminated all the things people might fight over; of course, with it go all the things people live for, too. No reason for emotion. There’s no love or sex or advancement or family (as we know it). There’s no color, no weather, no holidays, no places to visit, no dreams, and nobody realizes this isn’t what is supposed to be. The Jiver does some weird hand meld with Jonas and *poof* memory — a sled, a winter’s day. What could be so threatening about such a memory? This is where The Jiver works — when allowing us to consider the threat of color, emotion. And once Jonas gets a taste, he starts seeing in color, too. At first, just individual objects, like Sin City, without t
he sin. Before long, however, the entire scene changes, man. Like, he’s seeing on a whole new level. The Jiver has bestowed the one eye in the land of the blind.
Now what I don’t get about The Jiver is there’s huge ceremony about how Jonas has all the qualities of a good new memory guy. But the memory guy has this blotchy birthmark on his wrist — he’s selected as soon as he’s born. It’s the same reason memories can pass from Jiver to preJiver through an intense high five. Is it pre-ordained? Is it magic? I’m asking the wrong questions. Suffice to say there are a lot of questions here. Period.
I was distracted for much of the film by Jeff Bridges’ cotton-mouthed accent — is that wizened or are you still in Rooster Cogburn mode? Brenton Thwaits makes a likable preJiver. It’s a good set of roles for young actors — just be stiff and pretend you’re a Vulcan. Yeah that’s not too hard. Even when Brenton is asked to be emotional, we can chalk up anything he doesn’t get by saying his character is new to the game.
If The Jiver feels derivative, well, that’s not exactly its fault; it’s just a matter of poor timing, but, let’s face it, similar material has been covered in recent days (in films mentioned above). Heck, films from my youth like Soylent Green and Logan’s Run dealt with hideous dystopian population control. I like Jiver for the questions it raises — has our society emotionally flattened itself as well somehow? Is the world of The Jiver where we expect to end up? Or will we continue to pile that sled into a tree and end up on “Tosh.0?” Your move, world.
♪People call me Gabriel
They call me it because it’s me name
Not an ounce of imagination here
Everybody’s all the same
People talk about me, baby
Using language that’s precise and bland
Well, don’t you worry baby
Don’t worry
Not that you would; there’s drugs in your hand
I’m a Giver
I’m a Jiver
I’m the one true liver
I play my music all alone
I’m The Dude
Kinda crude
Baby, don’t be rude
Gotta part? I got a phone♫
Rated PG-13, 97 Minutes
D: Phillip Noyce
W: Michael Mitnick and Robert B. Weide
Genre: Our literally mind-numbing future
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Teens, rebels
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: “Children should be seen and not heard”
♪ Parody inspired by “The Joker”
