However, the regimental rules that we've been led to believe are strictly enforced seem to by conveniently lax. The Collective is the gentlest, most passive-aggressive dystopia you'd ever want to live in. The Healthy and Safety Police seem incredibly inattentive, walk only slightly more quickly than anyone else and, although 'Coupling' is supposed to be forbidden, no one seems to notice the pair of star-crossed lovers getting it on every single night in the bathroom, or eventually just to Silas' place. The initial discovery of touch is nicely done and the two leads both deliver intensely felt performances, discovering sex, tactile sensation and emotion in one painful, shameful rush. Sadly, any true engagement is repeatedly engulfed by the constantly droning techno-ambiance of Dustin O'Halloran and Sascha Ring's distracting score.
Hope is provided by a covert group of fellow SOS sufferers, led by Guy Pearce and Jackie Weaver, who want to help Nia and Silas escape. Yet their plans are hampered by an imminent cure for SOS that would cancel their love and some Romeo and Juliet-style miscommunication occurs. If one was to take any of Equals remotely seriously, one might wonder at the hidden right-wing stupidity that equates healthcare provision, collective help, politeness and things that work well within fascism. One might also wonder at the persistence of the idea of an emotionless life - from Spock to the present - when it shows a very basic misunderstanding of what emotion actually is. Most frustratingly, Doremus doesn't appear to take the world he has created at all seriously. The rules shift and bend, are observed or aren't according to the exigency of the narrative, which ultimately renders the whole exercise fundamentally unconvincing and fatally irksome.
John Bleasdale | @drjonty