‘Children of Men’ Is A Miracle
The Scoop features personal essays on movie-centric topics.
By Kevin Prchal
In the opening sequence of Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men, the film’s antihero Theo (played by Clive Owen) makes a quick stop for a cup of coffee.
The patrons inside the cafe are glued to the TV because the world’s youngest human—known by all as Baby Diego—has just died at the age of 18. Diego was world famous for being the last baby born just before the global infertility crisis at the center of this story took hold.
Theo watches half-heartedly until he gets his cup of coffee, then leaves. Mere seconds later, he stops on the sidewalk to pour a little liquor in his cup, when *BOOM* that very cafe he was just standing in explodes. It’s a rattling moment, not just for Theo, but for anyone watching with a pulse. The scene cuts to black, the film’s title splashes across the screen, and then we’re back with Theo as he casually scans into work as if nothing happened.
In any other time, this would have been the signature traumatic event of Theo’s lifetime. But in Cuarón’s dystopia where chaos reigns, this was just another day. And as I consider the state of the world in 2024, I found this detail on a recent rewatch of the film (#1 on our Top 50 Movies of the 21st Century) to be uniquely and painfully resonant.
Keep Numb and Carry On
In the past five years alone, time has been marked by… a lot.
A global pandemic that brought the world to its knees, claimed the lives of millions of people, and changed the way we live forever.
Ongoing conflicts around the world including those in Syria, Ukraine and Russia, and most recently Israel and Hamas, resulting in catastrophic death tolls and global humanitarian and refugee crises.
A heightening climate crisis demonstrated by everything from a devastating earthquake in Haiti, to the deadliest tropical-like cyclone in recorded history in Libya, to persistent heatwaves throughout Europe, killing tens of thousands of people.
An onslaught of social and political moments including Brexit, the killing of George Floyd, and countless consequential protests throughout the world each fit for an Oscar-winning screenplay.
And a 24/7 feed of the world’s subconscious in response to it all on social media, sputtering off with callous abandon.
And while none of this amounts to the reality in Children of Men that human life will soon cease to exist, I’m sorry to say that I relate to Theo’s numbness. For one, I’m a parent to small children and my world begins and ends with their needs. I barely have enough time to finish typing this sentence, let alone join a march (even if I’m there in spirit). Secondly, when all of these world events happen within the span of five years, it feels like we’re given but a moment to react to one fire before the next one starts. Too much of this and you stop seeing the fire at all.
So what do I do? Like Theo, I put my head down and carry on.
A Miracle, Innit?
Against all of Theo’s efforts to blend into his environment, things take an emotional turn when he’s abducted by Fishes, an anti-government rebellion led by his estranged wife Julian (played by Julianne Moore).
Having lost their son Dylan to a global flu pandemic, their relationship is profoundly fractured yet durable enough to see the love that once was. “I need your help getting transit papers” she says bluntly. “Not for me, a girl. She’s a fugee. Need to get her to the coast past security checkpoints.” “I haven’t seen you for 20 years, and you come asking me for transit papers,” he says as if picking up the argument they were having 20 years prior. Saddled to his cynicism, he’s resistant yet ultimately swayed by her offer of £5,000 to get it done.
So he obtains joint transit papers with the help of his wealthy cousin who unremarkably hosts the actual Statue of David in his home. He then informs the Fishes that “joint” transit papers means he’ll have to be the one to escort the girl, and joins up with the rebellion where they venture out on the next phase of their grand plan. But as things go awry, Theo’s hurried off to the Fishes’ compound to regroup. It’s here where he makes a discovery that will change the course of his life and humanity forever.
Walking slowly through a barn evocative of a certain Bethlehem stable, he’s brought to the girl—a young African refugee named Kee who, among the world’s mayhem and despair, reveals to him that she is pregnant. Breathless, he repeats himself:
“She’s pregnant.”
“Yeah, now you know what’s at stake.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“A miracle, innit?”
Hush Little Baby
After catching wind that the Fishes have darker motives than they led on, Theo, Kee, and her midwife Miriam flee the compound.
With the Fishes on their trail, they venture out on their wasteland odyssey determined to deliver Kee to The Human Project, a secret scientific group dedicated to curing humanity’s infertility crisis. Along the way they encounter Theo’s dear friend Jasper, played by a groovy Michael Caine who really wants you to pull his finger, and a collage of scenes that will have you double-checking whether you’re watching a movie or CNN.
War-ravaged cities, mass protests, vicious law-and-order, refugees in cages, and more. And it’s in this environment, right as Miriam is taken away by customs, that Kee goes into labor. Weaving around the commotion, Theo finds a room and there, beneath a flickering light in an otherwise dying world, the first baby in 18 years is born.
The next morning, they rise with intention, glaringly aware that their once-concealed secret is now far more difficult to keep to themselves. But they have a boat to catch, so they head out, fighting through the rubble, Fishes, and all-out war happening around them. And it’s in this scene where we’re shown—and I cannot emphasize this enough—the most moving cinematic moment of the 21st century.
Amidst the thundering chaos of bombs and machine guns, Theo and Kee move slowly through it all, clutching onto one another and most importantly, the baby. Unable to hide their secret any longer, the baby cries through it all, and for a moment—as if to erase every line humans have ever drawn between one another—the fighting falls to a deafening silence.
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Hope-iness
I wish so badly that every passing year didn’t have to be historic. That I could live in a world where the COVID-19 pandemic (and nothing else) was the signature event of our lifetime. I wish I knew how to be actively invested in world events while still showing up for myself and my family. I wish I knew how to reconcile the shadow casting over these great and once United States. I wish social media didn’t reward the worst parts of ourselves. I wish the world would come together for our planet and be humbled by the impossible truth that we’re here inhabiting it together at all. I wish I could promise my kids a safe and flourishing future.
But in these trying times when it, too, so often feels like chaos reigns, I think of the crying baby and the ceasefire in Children of Men. And while I may not have the capacity in this season of my life to join a protest or even keep the News App notifications toggled on for the sake of my mental health, I find comfort in believing that perhaps the greatest contribution I’m making to the world’s problems, both today’s and tomorrow’s, is the time my wife and I are investing in raising good humans.
Because, as this film so masterfully and poetically assures—where there is life, there is hope.
Kevin Prchal is co-founder and editor-in-chief of Cinema Sugar.