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If there's something to be gained from Andrew Niccol's Simone, I sure don't know what it is. While the usually inventive writer/director's film is always watchable and occasionally quite engaging, the intentions in his telling of film director Viktor Taransky's (Al Pacino) creation of a digital actress (part CGI, part model Rachel Roberts), named Simone (short for "Simulation One"), are never completely revealed. If he's aspiring to relate a cautionary tale, he fails because the message at hand hasn't been clearly defined; if he's striving for satire, his film's observations are far too skin-deep and redundant for that; if he's wanting to share a parable, the heavy-handed, unfocused writing makes this an impossibility. Followers of Niccol's philosophy might deem that my indifference to Simone stems from my ignorance, as, at several turns here, plot developments are presented that seem to label not only moviegoers but those behind the cameras as well as rather nonsensical individuals. Does Niccol mean to imply that he finds his own craft and those who admire it to be foolish? I doubt this extreme implication to be intentional, but his shoddy, fairly unthoughtful screenplay would lead one to believe otherwise. How else can one account for so much of the rather cynical material here? So, rather than my own ignorance being at fault for my criticizing Simone, as uncharacteristic as it may be of the filmmaker, especially when one considers his previous efforts (Gattaca and The Truman Show), lack of distinct aspiration on Niccol's part is the primary guilty party.

Although a few moments of comic gold do humorously show how easily pleased the film-going public can be, it's when the picture calls on Niccol to back up his ideas regarding the malleability of moviegoers that he falters greatly. For starters: The entire world (including Viktor's ex-wife Elaine, played by Catherine Keener, who's unfortunately denied her usual foul-mouthed shtick by a PG-13 rating) seems to worship Simone not only because of her looks but because of her incomparable acting abilities as well; at the Academy Awards, she's even nominated twice in the same category. The implication here is that moviegoers see a pretty face who can act (the film's treating of Simone often calls the reputation of Julia Roberts) and go ga-ga; so, if this thought holds truth, shouldn't Simone's audience find the synthetic actress to be a revelation as well? The most we're ever permitted to see of her in action is a brief snippet of film that, in reality, would likely be ridiculed by audiences and critics alike. Simone's character offers little payoff, especially considering third act plot developments that seem to contradict the position of the use of digital actors taken in the film's exposition. Furthermore, Niccol has a central performance in Pacino that does its own share in defeating the film's credibility. When such a one-note performance from one of the industry's finest actors is present, the viewer can't help but to be bewildered; after all, this is a film that scrutinizes the state of modern filmmaking. If a high-profile comedy can't even make good use of someone of Pacino's caliber, I question what qualifies Simone to think itself so superior to the Hollywood way. There's a substantial amount of material to work with here as digitized actors become an increasing possibility with advanced technology, but Niccol simply doesn't seem to know how to express his personal beliefs regarding the topic in a coherent fashion.

Simone has the great misfortune of being the third entry this year in the what-goes-on-behind-the-scenes genre-–even though, considering the talent involved, the prefix should undoubtedly be absent. Both Woody Allen's Hollywood Ending and Steven Soderbergh's recent Full Frontal (in which Keener also starred) took similar pessimistic slants towards conventional filmmaking. But, in their key difference with Simone, both not only sent up the art but proved to be solid films in their own rights as well. Simone's jabs at the industry seem like childish whines more than anything, stuck-up actors who have high demands (such as Winona Ryder's, who also appears in a scene that's strangely similar to one in Mulholland Drive) are walking cliches, and the depiction of the media and the paparazzi is as stale as I've seen. While true that Simone has been delayed for some time and the script was likely complete before either of the aforementioned pair's were, Niccol would have come up short even if his was the first out of the gate; the release's inconvenient timing just makes the flaws all the more apparent. What Simone ultimately amounts to is nearly two-hour, one-sided attack on the lifestyles of the very people who'll be feeding this box office dollars. And in their–-in our–-defense, I challenge Niccol: Sure, the American public may find a strange fascination in the lives of actors they've never met, one like many have for Simone in the film, but, in all honesty, is anyone being hurt in the process? The answer is no; only narrow-minded, scornful films like this are at a loss.

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