Writer/director Andrew Niccol debuted in 1997 with this powerful science fiction film of genetic manipulation and discrimination in the near future. Yes, it's science fiction. You could even label it biopunk; but what makes Gattaca such an impressive film is its use of this SF framework as a call to remain vigilant about discrimination specifically, and to explore the human condition generally, which any worthy piece of art does. It's a masterpiece of minimalist filmmaking. Not just in the sense of less-is-more, though that certainly applies, but in a truer artistic sense where the minimalism itself is an aesthetic starting point, consistently referencing itself on both a thematic and visual level.

Many of the locations used date back to the 1950s style of 'brutalist' architecture – all hard corners and repetitive angles. Some do date earlier, but still fall within this visual aesthetic. As a result, the film has a retro-futuristic noir overtone that suits the murder mystery driving the plot. There's also the 1950s Los Angeles-style sunset that bathes any outdoor scene as well. It's a technique that has always reminded me of a kind of duality, regardless of the film; of something both beautiful and on the verge of ending. In Gattaca, thanks to the advancements in genetics, these people represent a pinnacle of human existence. But the film’s theme reminds us that such an existence is a fundamentally hollow one if the individual feels no compulsion to better him or herself: "there is no gene for the human spirit."

Gattaca also represents the first major film appearance of Jude Law. He is Jerome Morrow, genetically perfect, but confined to a wheelchair after damaging his spine in a car accident (it's hinted he stepped in front of the oncoming car on purpose). Though he is one of society's elite, he lacks the ambition to make anything of his life. Enter Vincent Freeman (Ethan Hawke), a 'faith birth' conceived the old-fashioned way and therefore relegated to society's new underclass of genetically (read: mentally, physically) inferior humans. He desperately wants to go up in one of many manned space missions that the Gattaca Corp operates, and so he becomes a 'borrowed ladder', conspiring with Jerome to take on his superior genetic identity to enter Gattaca and realise his dream (in return Vincent must keep Jerome in the lifestyle he has become accustomed to as an elite). The murder of one of the mission directors promises to make the last days leading up to Vincent’s launch dangerous and threatens to bring his secret to light.

One of the film’s strengths, particularly as a piece of science fiction, is that it’s through the acting that theme is fully realised. Andrew Niccol doesn’t rely on mindblowing visuals or an over-abundance of CGI: he elicits entirely believable performances from his cast. He does what all good SF does: extrapolates a potential future based on our present and places his characters within that space. It's the opposite of the science fantasy of Star Wars, where Harrison Ford's infamous quip "George, you can type this shit, but you sure as hell can’t say it" couldn’t be further from the world of Gattaca. That’s not a criticism of Star Wars, just a way of highlighting the different kind of science fiction Niccol is producing.

There’s also the relationship that blossoms between Vincent and Irene (Uma Thurman), in which the contradiction of being human is played out. Just as he is about to realise his life’s dream, Vincent finds a reason to stay. Irene is also more than just a love interest. Like Jerome, she is one of the elite, though for whatever reason, her parents chose to leave her with a heart condition, making her less than perfect. It's something she struggles with the entire film – how can she be elite if she's fated for an early death? She therefore occupies a grey area between society's elite and inferior classes.

Gattaca is also a superior film for a number of other reasons. Take, for instance, the brief scene where the cleaners arrive at Gattaca – they are all white, middle aged males, visually supporting the idea that this future no longer discriminates on the basis of race, sex or religion, that the divisions these things once caused have been reversed. Next is Michael Nyman's excellent score, perfectly capturing Vincent’s journey through a series of poignant themes (the opening sequence, for example), while also marrying his stark minimalist trademark to Niccol’s location choices (Nyman, and the score for Gattaca are both somewhat misunderstood by the film score community, I might add).

You need a criticism? We’re never really treated to a wider view of this world. There's a sense that it's a little Big Brother-ish (the police line-up, for example), but no proper indication as to how genetic manipulation at this level came to be so integral in this world, andhow it might have impacted other facets of society.

Gattaca wins such a high place from me, though, because all of its many positive elements combine to one final, emotionally-charged gut punch. The fact that the doctor and, it's hinted, the surviving mission director are both aware of Vincent's secret, yet neither decide to turn him in is a sign of their belief in the human spirit; Irene’s realisation that her heart condition needn’t stop her from leading a full life; Jerome’s belief in Vincent, not to mention his decision to take his own life; and Vincent finally entering the rocket, taking off with the starscape laid out in front of him. Gattaca is a very beautiful, surprisingly grounded, and ultimately optimistic film that has actually had a significant impact in the debate surrounding genetic manipulation. Not bad fora stodgy SF film the Los Angeles Times labelled "far too serious to be takenseriously."