Can a movie have so many interesting ideas and still feel like it has very little to say? That’s the frustration I experienced watching Taika Waititi’s Klara and the Sun, an adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro’s beloved novel starring Jenna Ortega and Amy Adams. It’s a film that explores grief, spirituality, artificial intelligence, and what makes us human, but approaches these complicated subjects with a simplicity that often works against the story.
I understand why critics are having a difficult time with this movie. Its storytelling feels oversimplified, its emotional moments don’t always connect, and its playful approach sometimes undermines the seriousness of its subject matter. Yet despite those shortcomings, I found something appealing about its sweetness. I’m a sucker for movies with a little heart, even when they aren’t particularly good, and Klara and the Sun is one of those films I couldn’t entirely dismiss.
Klara and the Sun: A Story About Grief, Love, and Spirituality
Jenna Ortega plays Klara, an artificial companion designed to provide friendship to children. She’s an older model, socially awkward, and curious about human behavior. Her understanding of the world comes through fragmented, almost pixelated images, giving us an unusual perspective on how an artificial being might interpret everyday life. Klara also believes the sun possesses the power to heal, developing a spiritual connection to something that provides her with energy.
When Josie, a young girl suffering from a serious illness, chooses Klara as her companion, the artificial friend enters a household already struggling with tremendous grief. Amy Adams portrays Josie’s mother, a woman who has lost one daughter and now faces the possibility of losing another. Her fear of experiencing that loss again drives her toward a technological solution that raises uncomfortable questions about whether someone we love could ever truly be replaced.
For me, this is where the movie finds its strongest emotional idea. Klara and the Sun isn’t necessarily about artificial intelligence replacing humanity. It’s about a mother so terrified of losing her daughter that she’s forgetting to love the daughter who’s still alive. There’s something heartbreaking about a parent becoming so consumed with preparing for tomorrow that she overlooks the person sitting in front of her today. Unfortunately, the film never explores that conflict with the emotional depth it deserves.
The Lifted Children and the Cost of Artificial Intelligence
One of the more fascinating elements of Klara and the Sun involves a procedure known as being Lifted. Children undergo an enhancement designed to increase their intelligence, providing significant educational and social advantages. However, the procedure carries serious health risks, and Josie’s deteriorating condition is connected to her enhancement.
Her childhood friend Rick hasn’t undergone the procedure. He’s intelligent, understands technology, and cares deeply about Josie, but his lack of enhancement places him at a disadvantage in a society that increasingly values artificially improved intelligence.
During a gathering hosted by Josie’s mother, Rick finds himself surrounded by Lifted children whose privileged upbringing has apparently done little to improve their compassion. They’re arrogant, dismissive, and sometimes downright cruel. The sequence unfolds with exaggerated behavior and an unusual comedic atmosphere that reminded me of something Terry Gilliam might have directed.
Beneath that comedy, however, is a rather sad observation about society. These children have been enhanced to become intellectually superior, yet they struggle to demonstrate basic kindness. Meanwhile, Rick, who hasn’t received those advantages, and Klara, who’s entirely artificial, display more humanity than the supposedly superior children. It’s an interesting contradiction that raises questions about intelligence, privilege, and whether technological advancement necessarily makes us better people.
The problem is that Waititi introduces these ideas without giving them much room to develop. The scene makes its point, offers some uncomfortable comedy, and moves along. There’s an entire conversation about class and humanity waiting to happen, but the film seems content with simply acknowledging that it exists.
Taika Waititi’s Direction: When Simplicity Becomes the Problem
I haven’t read Ishiguro’s novel, so I can’t directly compare the source material with Waititi’s interpretation. However, it’s apparent that the story contains more ideas than this adaptation can comfortably explore. Between grief, spirituality, childhood mortality, social inequality, technological enhancement, and artificial companionship, there’s an enormous amount of material competing for attention.
Rather than allowing those ideas to develop naturally, Waititi frequently reduces them to broad strokes. The movie explains what it wants to communicate so directly that there’s little opportunity for the audience to discover those meanings independently.
We’ve seen Waititi successfully balance humor with difficult subject matter before. Jojo Rabbit approaches an incredibly serious historical setting through childhood innocence and playful storytelling, yet its emotional moments carry tremendous impact. With Klara and the Sun, that balance doesn’t work nearly as well. The humor occasionally distracts from the grief rather than helping us understand it, leaving the film feeling more sentimental than emotionally compelling.
Klara and the Sun and Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence
Throughout the movie, I kept thinking about Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence. Both films explore artificial beings designed to develop emotional attachments, questioning what love means when technology becomes part of human relationships. Spielberg, however, pushes those questions into uncomfortable territory, examining the consequences of creating something capable of devotion without fully understanding what that devotion might cost.
Waititi takes a gentler approach, blending those science fiction ideas with something reminiscent of My Girl, where childhood innocence exists alongside grief and the possibility of loss. The combination is interesting, but its sentimental presentation often softens the emotional consequences.
Klara’s belief in the sun adds another intriguing dimension. Her faith gives her hope that Josie might recover, even though Klara’s understanding of spirituality comes from her limited interpretation of the world. There’s something compelling about an artificial being developing a belief system while the humans surrounding her struggle with their own fears. Unfortunately, this becomes another fascinating idea that receives less attention than it deserves.
Jenna Ortega Brings Heart to Klara and the Sun
Despite my frustrations, I enjoyed Jenna Ortega’s performance. She gives Klara an appealing innocence, portraying her as curious, awkward, and occasionally amusing as she attempts to understand human relationships. Her unusual mannerisms and earnest devotion to Josie provide some of the film’s most enjoyable moments.
There’s a warmth to Ortega’s performance that makes the movie easier to appreciate, even when its storytelling becomes overly sentimental. I found myself enjoying Klara’s peculiar behavior and her uncomplicated desire to help someone she cares about. In a household consumed by grief, her innocence offers a welcome contrast.
And perhaps that’s why I’m more forgiving of this movie than I expected. I’m someone who can curl up on the couch, watch a film that critics absolutely hated, and still find something enjoyable about the experience. Not every movie has to be groundbreaking. Sometimes audiences simply want a little kindness, emotional comfort, or escapism.
That doesn’t mean I’m ignoring the film’s problems or pretending its storytelling is stronger than it actually is. Kindness doesn’t excuse shallow storytelling. But sometimes it makes shallow storytelling more enjoyable. That’s exactly where I landed with Klara and the Sun. Its intentions are admirable, and Ortega provides enough warmth to make the experience pleasant, even when the film struggles to deliver on its more ambitious ideas.
Klara and the Sun Review: A Sweet Movie That May Fade From Memory
By the end of Klara and the Sun, I understood what Waititi wanted me to feel, but the emotional connection never quite materialized. There’s something rather fitting about that, considering how Klara experiences the world through fragmented, pixelated images. Her memories become scattered moments of a life spent trying to understand love, and I suspect my memories of this movie will be much the same.
I’ll remember Jenna Ortega’s charming performance, Amy Adams struggling with the possibility of losing another daughter, and Klara’s unwavering belief that the sun can somehow make everything better. But I doubt I’ll remember much beyond those moments. For a movie exploring such complicated questions about humanity, grief, and spirituality, it leaves surprisingly little to think about afterward.
Still, I wonder whether Klara and the Sun might find its audience outside the theater. I can imagine someone discovering it at home, curling up on the couch with a blanket, and enjoying its sweetness without worrying too much about everything the movie leaves unexplored. There’s room for films like that, even when they don’t entirely succeed.
Perhaps that’s why I find myself being a little more forgiving than I expected. I recognize the shortcomings, and I understand the criticism, but I also appreciate the kindness behind the storytelling. Sometimes a movie doesn’t need to be particularly good to offer something enjoyable.
I’m curious whether readers of Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel will feel the same way about this adaptation. Does the film capture what made the book special, or does its simplicity lose something important along the way?
As for me, I might be on an island here. I didn’t necessarily embrace Klara and the Sun, but I gave it a hug. Isn’t that enough?
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