The machine’s father

The lead, Eric Braeden, deserves mention. A face unfamiliar. Unmasked by celebrity.

Braeden performs as Dr. Charles Forbin with stoic brilliance. Even as the situation spirals, he keeps a cool head — an embodiment of humanity’s best traits under existential pressure.

This performance launched a decades-long career for Braeden, mostly starring in daytime television. Before the festival screening, he spoke briefly — gracious and charming, complimenting the interviewer’s knowledge of the film. Then he stayed to watch the entire movie with the audience.

The man who builds a supercomputer to safeguard humanity, only to watch it seize control with chilling logic. An acting performance microcosm for the overall film.

Mechanical sophistication

A clean, clinical masterpiece — filmmaking that feels ahead of its time without shouting about it.

What impressed me most was the technical craftsmanship.

The footage is clean, elaborate and purposeful.

Camera movements organically deepen the narrative as the tension escalates. The sound design is spectacular for 1970 — crisp, clear, immersive without being showy. The sets are elaborate yet believable, enhancing realism without overloading the viewer. Every element serves the tone: cold, unblinking, inevitable.

Words overlapping

One of the film’s most quietly brilliant achievements is its use of dialogue interruption to deepen realism. Whether during AV recordings, group phone calls, or foreign interpreters talking over military briefings, the human characters constantly overlap and miscommunicate. This layered dialogue subtly reminds us: humans are messy, chaotic creatures — a sharp contrast to the ruthlessly ordered mind of Colossus.

The emotional core is muted but intriguing.
The romantic subplot exists — barely — as a faint heartbeat beneath the mechanized tension.
The high stakes are clear, but the film never indulges in melodrama.
It remains rational — grounded — like Forbin himself.

It’s not a difficult viewing.
If anything, its clarity makes it even more unnerving.

One of the film’s most haunting ideas lingers long after the credits:

Is the AI capable of initiating thought?

The answer is still no.
Fifty-five years later, even the most advanced AI systems remain incapable of true origination.
Colossus does not wonder, dream, or desire.
It reacts.
Strategizes.
It dictates.
But it cannot imagine.

Its domination is not born of ambition — it is born of incapacity.
It must rule because it cannot conceive of any other path.

This realization — coupled with the film’s steady, unsentimental craftsmanship — makes Colossus: The Forbin Project feel not only prophetic, but quietly devastating.
A cold masterpiece.

And an oddly inspiring one, too — for those who still believe that rational humanity, however flawed, remains something worth defending.

★★★★ ★★★★

Shorter versions of my review at IMDb and Letterboxd. Or read her for more AI.