What makes us human? It’s a question science fiction* has long explored, particularly through stories about robots and artificial intelligence. The new film Klara and the Sun, based on the novel by Nobel Prize winner Kazuo Ishiguro, offers an intriguing take on the subject. Unfortunately, while the movie has some lovely moments and compelling ideas, director Taika Waititi never quite captures the depth of the material. And that’s a shame, because there’s a very good movie somewhere in here.
The story takes place in the near future, where the Internet has disappeared but technology has advanced to the point that Artificial Friends (AFs) provide companionship to children, while a process called “lifting” allows parents to genetically enhance their offspring. One such child is Josie (Mia Tharia), who spots Klara (Jenna Ortega) in a store window and chooses her despite the AF’s quirky behavior and outdated model. Josie’s mother, Chrissie (Amy Adams), is reluctant but eventually gives in. The transition isn’t easy for Klara, though. AFs learn through observation and experience, much like toddlers imprinting on their caregivers, so you can imagine how a grown-up toddler would adjust to new surroundings; Klara also finds herself less than welcome in her new home, particularly by Chrissie and the family’s housekeeper, played with a fierce combination of sass, sharp edges, and surprising heart by Taika Waititi regular Rachel House.
Ishiguro is especially well-suited to this kind of story. His novels tend to be quiet, introspective works, often featuring characters who don’t fully understand their circumstances or the people around them. The emotions build through small moments, ordinary conversations, and the things left unsaid. That’s certainly true of The Remains of the Day, a favorite of mine, and it’s part of what makes Ishiguro such an exceptional writer. Waititi, meanwhile, is almost the opposite kind of storyteller, known for combining eccentric humor with heartfelt storytelling. Both artists are interested in loneliness, relationships, and what it means to love, but their approaches are very different.
And I don’t think they work particularly well together here.
From the opening scenes, Klara and the Sun has a strange, almost 1960s-inspired aesthetic, with bright colors and a deliberately artificial quality to its world. It’s an interesting approach, but unnecessary. The film also leans heavily into Waititi’s particular brand of humor, and much of it just isn’t very funny. The dialogue is awkward, the jokes don’t always land, and the characters sometimes behave in ways that seem designed more to create an amusing moment than to serve the story.
To be fair, the humor improves as the film goes on, partly because we as an audience grow accustomed to a world full of cringey dialogue, but mostly thanks to Ortega. She’s shown herself to be a gifted physical comedian before, most notably through viral moments in Wednesday, but here she crawls, hops, and skips in awkward, stretchy ways that remind me of greats like Molly Shannon and Carol Burnett. She’s convincing as a being constantly observing and adjusting to the world around her. Her movements and facial expressions are pitch-perfect, communicating Klara’s artificial nature while also making her a sweet, appealing character.
The film also does some interesting things visually with Klara’s perspective. When she calibrates, her surroundings shift and come into focus in an unusual but compelling way, sometimes appearing as separate fragments of a larger image. These are among my favorite directorial choices, giving us a sense of how Klara processes the world differently from the humans around her and setting up key scenes later in the film.
The supporting cast is generally strong as well. Amy Adams is good, as expected, and is given a few scenes of quiet restraint that keep her character from becoming a caricature of a workaholic, grieving mother. The young actors portraying Josie and her boyfriend are natural and appealing, and Natasha Lyonne makes an impression in what’s clearly intended to be a scene-stealing role. Steve Buscemi, meanwhile, is almost criminally underused. There’s plenty of talent here, but the writing doesn’t give these actors enough opportunities to shine.
And for a movie so concerned with relationships, Klara and the Sun doesn’t spend nearly enough time developing them. That’s particularly frustrating given the source material. I haven’t read the entirety of Klara and the Sun, so I can’t speak to how faithfully Waititi adapts the novel, but having read other Ishiguro works, I know how effectively he can develop relationships through restraint and subtlety. Here, that process feels rushed. The dialogue doesn’t help either, frequently spelling out ideas that would have been more effective if left for the audience to discover. By the time certain revelations arrive, they’ve already been telegraphed so clearly that they don’t have the intended impact.
There’s also something oddly unoriginal about the movie. That’s a strange criticism to make of a Waititi film, since his style is so distinctive, but Klara and the Sun often feels like it’s trying too hard to be quirky and different. The humor and unusual visuals seem designed to remind us that we’re watching a Taika Waititi movie. I don’t mind directors putting their own stamp on an adaptation, but here, his sensibilities overwhelm the material rather than enhance it. The best scenes are those that walk that narrow line between Waititi and Ishiguro, like one involving Chrissie and Klara at a lake, which elicited some of the only genuine laughs in the film, and the prayer scenes, which become increasingly liturgical as the movie progresses.
What makes that so disappointing is that the story has some genuinely profound things to say. One of the central ideas in Klara and the Sun concerns what makes humanity special. In this world, children can be genetically enhanced while artificial beings can fulfill roles traditionally reserved for humans. If intelligence can be improved and personalities reproduced, what makes an individual irreplaceable?
The film offers a beautiful answer and is constantly connecting that question to ideas about creation, a creator, and the created. From the opening scene, we learn that Klara believes the sun not only has the power to charge her but also to give and restore life more broadly, a conviction that becomes increasingly important as she grows closer to Josie. She prays to it, trusts in its power, and believes it can intervene in circumstances beyond her control. The parallel to faith in God is obvious, though Klara’s understanding is incomplete and sometimes misguided. Indeed, I think Christians will see the fingerprints of the gospel all over the film, particularly in its treatment of brokenness, prayer, God’s seeming silence and response, and the nature of true love. The film’s ultimate conclusions don’t quite reach the spiritual depth these ideas suggest, and the storytelling doesn’t always do them justice, but there’s plenty here worth considering.
I found Klara’s devotion moving, particularly because her faith is inseparable from her love for Josie. In a story populated by humans who are frequently confused, frightened, and uncertain about how to love one another, it’s an artificial being who demonstrates some of the clearest expressions of faith and devotion. This is the bread and butter of AI stories, but admittedly, it gets to me every time.
There’s also plenty to discuss about how we parent our children, the choices we make for them, the burgeoning possibility of altering a child’s genetic makeup, and the ways we process grief. The film approaches these subjects with sincerity, even if its whimsical tone and underdeveloped relationships keep its biggest moments from having the impact they should.
And perhaps that’s what frustrates me most about Klara and the Sun. The movie asks whether humanity’s value can be measured by our abilities or replicated through technology, and it offers an answer that deserves to be felt as deeply as it is understood. But too often, I found myself appreciating what the film was trying to say rather than being moved by how it said it. Still, I left the theater with plenty to think about—particularly when it comes to love, sacrifice, and the value of imperfect people. There’s something special here, even if Waititi never quite brings it into focus.
Klara and the Sun is in theaters beginning October 23rd.
We don’t typically review live-action films at Beneath the Tangles, but we occasionally make exceptions for works connected to Japanese culture or that explore themes familiar to anime fans. Earlier this year, for instance, I reviewed Anima, another science-fiction film dealing with questions about humanity and technology. Klara and the Sun fits comfortably alongside it, particularly with its Japanese-born author. I’m also a longtime admirer of Ishiguro, whose The Remains of the Day remains one of my favorite novels.