IF SIMONE seems too perfect, that's because she is.
In "Simone," Andrew Niccol's coolly observed, savvy satire, this film actress with gorgeous blond hair, hypnotic blue eyes and lips that ought to be bronzed, is nothing but zeros and ones.
Al Pacino stars in "Simone."
(New Line Cinema)
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She's a computer creation, the invention of technological whiz-nerd, Hank Aleno (an uncredited Elias Koteas). When he dies of a brain tumor (from sitting too close to the computer screen), Hank wills his software to his all-time favorite film director, Viktor Taransky (Al Pacino), maker of pretentious arty movies.
The timing is perfect. Viktor's career's going down the toilet. So is his personal life. His ex-wife, Elaine (Catherine Keener), the head of Amalgamated Studios, has dumped his picture deal. And Viktor's lead, Nicola Anders (Winona Ryder), just quit his latest production in a tizzy.
Viktor pops Hank's hardware cartridge into his computer. And after a little scalpel work, Viktor creates a brand-new leading lady. The glorious result: Simone (derived from Simulation One, Hank's system), a digital amalgam of the world's best acting faces and voices, from Hepburn to Streep. (Canadian model Rachel Roberts plays Simone, but with digital enhancements. Don't ask me where.)
Digitally inserting Simone into his shelved movie, Viktor transforms a troubled project into a media phenomenon. In short order, Simone becomes the most sought-after personality in the universe and Viktor (who immediately signs her up for his next umpteen projects) becomes her spiritual handler.
Desperately holding on to his secret, Viktor tells the Amalgamated suits, the press and fans, that Simone is so committed to Viktor's vision and her work, she doesn't want contact with anyone. This only fans the flames. And tabloid journalists (Pruitt Taylor Vince and Jason Schwartzman) resort to every sleazy trick in the book to get dirt on Simone.
Viktor (a wonderfully harried, world-weary Pacino) plays a strong defense. No one is allowed entry to his soundstage, where he and his computer create Simone's legendary performances. And the director fakes a hotel room tryst between himself and Simone, which attracts a frenzy of photographers.
Writer-director Niccol (who wrote and directed "Gattaca" and scripted "The Truman Show") uses disarming, but wicked lightness to damn the celebrity-worshiping culture and Hollywood's beyond-the-looking-glass filmmaking. (Incidentally, digital enhancement is a well-established activity in Hollywood moviemaking, ranging from the removal of unsightly blemishes to digital body doubles.) When Simone is "spotted" at a Hollywood wrap party, the coiffed and gowned set stampedes in her direction like wild bison, forcing scores of partygoers into the pool. And when Simone "speaks" to her fellow actors by video hookup, explaining her artistic need not to interact with them during filming, the performers accept this ridiculous request with nary a question. In Hollywood, what Simone asks, Simone gets.
In the film's darkest moment, Viktor attempts to quell Simone mania by casting Simone in what he assumes will be a disaster: A movie called "I Am Pig," in which the siren beauty is seen groveling in the muck with pigs. It proves to be enormously successful.
Niccol's light approach also adroitly avoids the trapdoors of credibility. For Viktor to get away with his Simone scam, the script needs some narrative sleight of hand: an ellipsis here, a narrative fast forward there.
As with "Tootsie," which this story passingly resembles at times, we don't want the world checking too hard on whether or not Simone is real. Under the protective aegis of satire, everyone's allowed to be just a few points lower on the IQ scale than they would be in a serious film. After all, they're mostly Hollywood types, including Jay Mohr as Simone's vacuous co-star. And like Viktor, we want the illusion to work. So it does.
SIMONE (PG-13, 117 minutes) – Contains momentary nudity and some minor sexual situations. Area theaters.
