The score for Oblivion was composed by M83, a superb French electronic outfit that derives its name from one of the spectral pinwheels known as spiral galaxies. I point this out because it’s the best element of the movie — a cascade of dreamy synthesizers that registers as appropriately futuristic (at least the future as suggested by ’80s pop) while allowing an undercurrent of romantic yearning.
More than that, though, it underlines director Joseph Kosinski’s pursuit of digital beauty — some combination of “ones and zeros” that can approach those pinwheels’ heavenly perfection.
It’s not the first time: Kosinski’s last film converted the arcade-game kicks of Disney’s 1982 relic Tron into the $200 million screensaver Tron: Legacy. With Oblivion, the content comes a lot closer to matching the pristine form. Though it’s derivative in the extreme, the film keeps the dialogue to a minimum — and what dialogue it has is often deliberately formalized and robotic — while creating a future of insidious elegance, one in which the remnants of humanity and nature represent a threat to the artificial order of things. And so Kosinski’s personal commitment to gorgeous artifice above all other considerations only harms the film so much.
Based on the director’s own unpublished graphic novel, Oblivion gets all its exposition out of the way in one graceless chunk of opening narration. It’s 2077, exactly 60 years after alien invaders called Scavengers (or “Scavs”) appeared from another dimension and wiped out the moon before setting their sights on the Earth’s resources.
Though mankind “won” the war against the Scavs, the nuclear weapons required to do so — combined with the devastating natural disasters brought on by the moon’s destruction — killed off much of the population and rendered the planet uninhabitable. Those humans who did survive were whisked onto a space station until they can colonize elsewhere.