Steven Spielberg's futuristic tale (a project taken over from the late Stanley Kubrick) of the first robot programmed to love. Not, let's be clear, one of those old-hat technological advances on the porn-shop inflatable love-doll, equipped with "sensuality simulators" and such. But rather, a "mecha-child" (short for mechanical child), placed in the home of a young couple whose only flesh-and-blood child lies in a coma on life-support. Once we get past the husband's gaucherie of bringing home the boy-toy as a surprise gift ("I can't accept this! There is no substitute for your own child!"), the questions, the issues, the possibilities sprout like mushrooms. These, even if not actually articulated in the script, are nevertheless legitimately aroused by it. For one, there's the matter of a novel approach to the Peter Pan theme (the director had taken the literal approach in his Hook), the boy who will never grow up. Then, as a natural extension of that, there's the matter of risk-free parenting, with the child arrested at the cutest and most adorable stage of development (i.e., Haley Joel Osment), no long-range rearing required, no awkward-age rebellion down the line, a devotedness of almost canine dependability — in short, a sort of Stepford Kid. Then there's the matter, as a further extension, of isolating and highlighting the selfish element in parenthood, the possessive element, the ornamental element, the needy-greedy element. And then there's the matter of love as a commodity, a thing that can, after all (or at last), be bought — something you might have suspected Spielberg, that notorious big spender, of believing all along. There are in truth so many issues, so many possibilities, that you could very well envision a sort of multi-plotline sci-fi soap opera in which different but identical robots would be distributed to different households with different results. Spielberg, however, has something else in mind. And after the stimulating first fifty minutes or so — first third, that would be — he switches tracks from the Peter Pan theme to the Pinocchio theme, the toy who wants to be made real. And — here's where the big spender reaches for his bankroll — he transforms the story into (what else?) a quest: a ghastly, gaudy, overblown, rambling, ridiculous, pretentious, self-conscious, academic "myth." With Frances O'Connor, Jude Law, William Hurt. (2001) — Duncan Shepherd