All posts by BS

Waves (2019): Intense, but Overlong

After successfully directing a thriller, Trey Edwards Shults (It Comes at Night) has returned to making family dramas. Waves is the story of teenagers and their emotional journeys. Tyler (Kelvin Harrison Jr.; It Comes at Night) is a popular kid on the wrestling team driven by a strict, unforgiving father (Sterling K. Brown; This is Us). The film follows his relationship with his father and his girlfriend then shifts to his younger sister Emily (Taylor Russell; Escape Room) and her boyfriend Luke (Lucas Hedges; Manchester by the Sea).

Shults shoots Waves in a heightened reality. This is the brief period of adolescence on the cusp of adulthood where everything is felt deeply. The vibrant palette of the streets of Florida are slightly oversaturated with colors like Tyler’s bleached blonde hair and the deep blue skies popping out onscreen. His camera moves with a ferocity, constantly tracking in or swirling around his characters, that is matched by the film’s music. Composed by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the score brings its own intensity that creates an entrancing effect.

This energy extends to the acting as well. All the dialogue is delivered for maximum impact. Nothing here is meant to be lighthearted. Brown, as Tyler’s agressive father, is never at ease. Even in moments that should be playful, like when he arm-wrestles his son, he brings a fervor to his actions that is unsettling. He behaves as if each action is the most pivotal moment in his life. This style of deliberately melodramatic performance, when combined with the visuals and soundtrack, is initially intoxicating.

Shults creates a volatile chemistry between Tyler and his father.

The film’s first half is a tour de force of urgent, impassioned filmmaking. Tyler’s commitment to his athletics, his relationship with his girlfriend, and the impossibly high standards his father sets for him are vividly brought to life. It’s a testament to Shults’s abilities as a writer and director that Tyler’s world is set up using little to no exposition. The relationships are established through the expressive, but authentic performances. Tyler’s arc unfolds explosively with each story beat barreling forward to the next and is consistently gripping with Harrison deftly handling the changes to his character. As his story reaches its crescendo, the film seems to have perfectly captured Tyler’s life and all of its complicated emotions with an intensity that leaves the audience mesmerized and exhausted from its pulsing energy.

Then, unfortunately, Waves continues for another hour. The story shifts focus from Tyler to his younger sister Emily and her relationship with Luke, but the new plot can’t match the impact of the Tyler’s story. It feels unnecessary after what preceded it. Many of the complaints normally thrown at melodramas, that Waves had been able to avoid in its first half, suddenly become relevant. The acting style feels unnecessary when Emily and Luke’s story has significantly lower stakes than Tyler’s story and the new actors aren’t able to match the earlier performances. As a film of two distinct plots, Waves is a mixed bag. It’s an intense emotional rollercoaster followed by an unworthy second story that never justifies its inclusion.

3/5 stars.

The Lighthouse (2019): Strange, but Not Scary

Refusing to fit the mold of standard horror films, Robert Eggers (The Witch) has created another hyper-specific period piece, albeit with poor results. Winslow (Robert Pattinson; Good Time) is brought to a remote island to work as a lighthouse keeper under the supervision of Wake (Willem Dafoe; The Florida Project). The men begin a terse working relationship, but animosity grows as the two develop suspicions about each other’s intentions.

If nothing else, the film is devoted to its aesthetic. Eggers, a former production designer, has created a world worn down by the ocean. The lighthouse has a brick façade with weathered paint and the ramshackle house they live in is cramped and broken-down. The buildings are built for functionality, not comfort and it adds to the prison-like feeling of the location. Eggers also chooses to avoid modern conventions by neither shooting his film in color nor in widescreen to add to the period’s authenticity. While other filmmakers often use black and white out of nostalgia or beauty, Eggers uses it for its harshness. The visuals are in the vein of German Expressionism and hint at the potential for insanity, even if the film isn’t able to add meaning to that insanity.

The film’s cohesive visuals are its strongest asset.

Pattinson and Dafoe carry nearly the entire film and are fully invested in their roles. Neither Winslow nor Wake seem like the kind of people anyone would want to be stuck on a remote island with. Both appear to be hiding some part of their past. Pattinson’s Winslow is, comparatively, the relatable character. He wants to avoid small talk or drinking and focus on the work ahead until their tour of duty is over. Dafoe’s Wake has other interests in mind. He is cranky, impulsive, and enjoys his power over Winslow as he demeans him and has him slave over difficult, unnecessary tasks for his own sadistic pleasure. There are moments when he appears to be kind as he invites Winslow to drink with him, but behind each of these actions is a short, potentially dangerous temper. His impulsiveness and cruelty is what allows for the Winslow’s suspicions to form.

Eggers uses the dynamic between Winslow and Wake and their isolation to fuel to film’s mystery. As Winslow is mistreated by Wake, he begins to doubt Wake’s intentions. He suspects that Wake is hiding something from him when he refuses to let him onto the top floor of the lighthouse. Additionally, in his loneliness, Winslow begins to see strange occurrences like animals behaving oddly and images that may or may not be hallucinations. The unknown combined with the potentially unhinged thoughts lead to several strange scenes of erratic behavior that range from rude to oddly humorous to aggressive. As unique as the situations may be, the film’s failing is that these moments don’t progressively build on each other. They instead feel like only partially connected abnormalities. In The Witch, a film that was also built on mistrust with a potentially supernatural bent, every scene escalated the story’s tension in a cohesive direction that built to a conclusion in line with the bizarre events that preceded it. In The Lighthouse, committed performances and distinctive visuals can’t save a narrative that never unites its unusual digressions to create tension, horror, or an ending that gives meaning to the bizarre occurrences.

2/5 stars.

The Current War: Director’s Cut (2019): Power Games

After premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2017 to negative reviews, The Current War: Director’s Cut has been overhauled with new scenes and editing that form an exciting historical rivalry. Thomas Edison (Benedict Cumberbatch; The Imitation Game) seeks to power the country with his patented direct current and uses his fame to spread the technology. His rival, George Westinghouse (Michael Shannon; Take Shelter), favors using alternating current for the distance it can travel and the two become locked in a battle to electrify the nation.

Despite its appearances, The Current War is not a lethargic period piece. The film moves at a brisk pace and never lingers too long on a single moment, ironic considering one of Westinghouse’s earliest inventions was a braking system. The camera is also always on the move tracking characters, often at oblique angles, and there is an interesting use of repeated cut-ins, timed rhythmically during pivotal decision moments, to add weight to situations. Director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon (Me and Earl and the Dying Girl) never allows the period or its trappings to prevent the film from appealing to modern sensibilities.

In his portrayal of these pivotal historical figures, Gomez-Rejon is fairly kind. Cumberbatch, utilizing a slightly improved version of the annoyingly flat fake American accent from Doctor Strange, makes Edison a bit of an egotist, but not quite the ruthless businessman many accounts have described him as. He’s relentless in his pursuit and unwilling to conform to the ideas of others, but his moral digressions are shown as lapses in judgement caused by desperation rather than standard practice for his business. Even as he uses underhanded tactics to smear his opponent, he never becomes a villain.

Edison uses extravagant reveals to sell his technology while Westinghouse relies on plain economics and functionality.

Westinghouse, on the other side, is the practical industrialist. Shannon makes him seem like a no-nonsense proprietor who manages his affairs with integrity. Unlike Edison, he seems principled and focused on the work rather than its marketing. Where Edison will step into the spotlight, speak to reporters, and sign autographs, Westinghouse refrains from spectacle. In a crucial sales opportunity, he ignores any sort of demonstration and instead lets the buyers know his product is better and cheaper, hands them evidence, shakes their hands, and walks away. Shannon’s pragmatic gruffness and his laconic lines reveal Westinghouse to be the true lead of the movie, with a ethical code worth rooting for.

The film also features Nikola Tesla (Nicholas Hoult; About a Boy) in a minor role as a brilliant inventor that briefly works for Edison only to later develop a key technology for Westinghouse. His role in the real events may have been significant, but his limited screentime make him feel like an afterthought, used mostly for his now ubiquitous name recognition and for one particular line that winks directly at the audience.

The competition between Edison and Westinghouse becomes an exciting horse race. The men are shown as always being on the verge of winning the battle, but also precariously close to complete failure with media issues, personal problems, and financial worries constantly threatening to thwart their success. Their strategic moves, and their impulsive decisions, create an engaging chess match, even though the outcome of their rivalry is known. The Current War: Director’s Cut is an involving, bustling drama about two great titans of industry locked in a literal and figurative power game.

4/5 stars.

The Death of Dick Long (2019): Dark Comedy-Thriller with a Secret

After friends Zeke (Michael Abbott Jr.; Loving), Earl (Andre Hyland; The 4th), and Dick (Daniel Scheinert) finish band practice, Dick asks them, “Wanna get weird?”. Since this is a film directed by Daniel Scheinert (one half of the duo behind Swiss Army Man), the answer is most definitely “Yes”. The three go all out drinking, smoking, and setting off fireworks, until the film cuts to Zeke and Earl carrying a bleeding Dick to a hospital emergency room before leaving without a trace. Later, they discover that Dick didn’t survive the night.

Visually, the film is less interesting than Scheinert’s previous work. Swiss Army Man featured creative production design and artful practical effects that would have fit in a Michel Gondry film. Scheinert shows elements of that aesthetic in the film’s opening wild night, but mostly focuses on creating the grounded setting, even down to its music choice. The soundtrack features bands like Creed and Nickelback that are regularly ridiculed in mainstream press but are successful in rural areas. The film’s visuals may not be particularly imaginative, but it does carry an authentic backwoods country vibe.

The opening wild night is the most visually exciting part of the film.

Scheinert straddles a difficult line between thriller and comedy. The death, and its horrific cause, give the film a slightly dangerous edge. Zeke and Earl are not only trying to hide their involvement with whatever led to Dick’s demise, they won’t even mention what caused it. This casts suspicion over their actions. If it was an accident, what would they have to hide? It seems unlikely that they would deliberately harm their friend, but why else would they deny their involvement? What other sort of illicit activities could have happened that night? Zeke and Earl’s behaviors raise questions about their culpability.

The comedy comes from their reactions to the situation and their poor attempts at hiding their connection to the death. Zeke and Earl argue about movie references while cleaning bloodstains out of a car and awkwardly hide the facts from their significant others. Their position becomes increasingly complicated as they run into the two local police officers at inconvenient times and have to weasel their way out of the interactions. It isn’t overtly going for laughs the way a regular comedy would, but the film’s incompetent leads get themselves into several difficult, but humorous situations when avoiding being caught.

The end result of the strange balancing act is an enjoyable film, but one that doesn’t exceed expectations in either area. The film isn’t quite a thriller, but the central mystery is still involving. It isn’t necessarily tense, but Scheinert is able to maintain enough intrigue to keep the audience tuned in. The humor isn’t gut-busting, but there is enough of it to amuse. When the story finally unravels with an answer that is shocking beyond belief, something out of the territory for a resolution to most stories, it provides ample reason for all of the preceding behavior. The Death of Dick Long is a dark comedy-thriller that, given its subject matter, balances tones enough to entertain the audience until it reaches its outrageous reveal.

3/5 stars.

The Day Shall Come (2019): Failed Satire

Chris Morris (Four Lions) returns to cinema with another satire in a setting that doesn’t seem appropriate for humor. While his previous film followed terrorists, The Day Shall Come flips the script and centers on a team of FBI counter-terrorism agents in Miami. The agents, featuring Anna Kendrick (Pitch Perfect), have their eyes on the leader of a small religious group named Moses (Marchánt Davis).

Morris has spent most of his career deriving comedy from subject matter that should be off limits. He was thrust into the spotlight when making jokes about pedophilia on British TV then again when he made Four Lions, a comedy about four would-be suicide bombers. With Four Lions, there was an initial period of discomfort when faced with the idea of laughing at their lethal behavior, but it quickly dissipated after realizing how incompetent and misguided they were. Morris was able to deftly balance viewing the farcical nature of the ideology behind suicide bombings, the damage they cause, and the fragile mental state that allows regular people to become expendable tools in other people’s wars.

Moses has his own goals, but isn’t the violent terrorist the FBI wants him to be.

The Day Shall Come doesn’t share that level of nuance. Despite a great cast that is, in other works, very likable, the proceedings are in bad taste. Unlike the terrorists from Four Lions, Moses and his followers pose no real threat. He talks about an mutiny against the oppressors but is unequivocally against using guns, turning them down when offered. Furthermore, he has no actual power. His group has only a handful of people and they are dirt poor. They can’t afford rent for their run-down home and his wife goes dumpster diving to provide food for his followers and his children. He has goals of starting a revolution, but will clearly never be able to. His group has outlandish beliefs like being able to summon dinosaurs with an air horn or that Moses has telekinetic powers showing that he is delusional, but not harmful.

This is what creates the dilemma of the film. The FBI agents aren’t interested in actual counter-terrorism. Their work shown in the film consists of them hiring actors or blackmailing other convicts to set up possible criminals and have them engage in an illegal activity. In some cases, these are actually violent people intending to do harm, but that seems inconsequential. The agents appear to only want to increase their own notoriety by racking up convictions to advance their career. After they botch a potential arrest, they become more desperate and use Moses as their next target. As they try to get him to participate in illegal activities, he makes things difficult for them by not actually being a criminal. He goes to the FBI to report that others are trying to engage in arms trafficking, hoping to prevent the act as well as earn the reward money needed to pay his rent. In moments like this, where someone not committing a crime is viewed as a hindrance to the FBI agents and their purely self-serving goals, the film crosses the line of satire and the characters become despicable. This doesn’t appear to be a failure to achieve Morris’s intended goals, he may have wanted the agents to be received this way, but it is a creative misfire. The film is a failed satire, unable to sustain humor in the face of its reprehensible characters and their shameful, short-sighted manipulation.

2/5 stars.

Jojo Rabbit (2019): Nazi Comedy

Using the increased clout afforded to him after revitalizing a Marvel franchise with Thor: Ragnarok, Taika Waititi (Hunt for the Wilderpeople) has gone to much riskier material. Jojo Rabbit is a comedy set in Germany near the end of WWII. Jojo (Roman Griffith Davis) is a boy who is obsessed with Hitler and fully indoctrinated by his ideals. His world becomes more complicated when he discovers his mother is hiding a Jewish girl (Thomasin McKenzie; Leave No Trace) in their home.

Waititi gets great work from his main cast. As Jojo, Davis has the wide-eyed look of an innocent, but easily impressionable kid and it allows him to get away with reciting Nazi propaganda. While what he says is hateful, it is obvious that he is only a child repeating what he has been mislead to believe is true. McKenzie brings a surprising amount of strength to her role. As the lone Jewish character, reduced to hiding in the walls of a house, it would have been easy for her to be a victim, but instead she comes off as resilient and bold. Her use of Jojo’s misconceptions to terrify and control him are an unexpected treat as she deliberately moves like a ghost in a horror movie to play into his fears. Scarlett Johansson (The Avengers), as Jojo’s mother, is warm and loving, but has an hilariously antagonistic side. Since she secretly despises Nazi beliefs, she subtly teases Jojo to get him to understand that his beliefs are wrong by telling him about the importance of love while also gently taunting him by calling him “Shitler” or tying his shoelaces together.

The supporting roles have their moments as well with Yorkie (Archie Yates) deserving high praise. As Jojo’s chubby, bespectacled second-best friend, Yorkie is the film’s funniest character. His sweet nature and complete obliviousness to the events around him are hilarious. Every moment he shares with Jojo is heartwarming and cute as he finds himself inexplicably resilient and makes his way through one precarious situation after another.

Waititi uses overly exaggerated facial expressions that detract from the humor.

The exception to the excellent casting unfortunately comes in Waititi himself. A self-described “Polynesian Jew”, Waititi playing Hitler is, in theory, a perfect fit. He is a talented comedian and the idea of casting a non-white Jewish actor as Hitler is in itself appropriately insulting to Nazi beliefs, but Waititi overacts in the role. It’s important to distinguish that this is not Hitler, but rather a 10 year old’s imaginary version of Hitler, so he only has the mental faculties of a little boy. This leads to some moments of levity as Waititi is confused by things a child wouldn’t understand, but his facial expressions are often too much to handle. He spends most of his screentime trying to make funny faces to get easy laughs, but this is distracting and undermines much of the humor leading to a film with jokes that miss as often as they land.

Setting a feel-good comedy in Nazi Germany is not a normal premise and it has understandably offended some. Jojo Rabbit doesn’t portray Nazis as good-hearted, but it does make them seem like incompetent buffoons in an aesthetically pleasing Wes Anderson-like world that only lightly touches on the atrocities they were so efficient in executing, which is a tonal mistake. That being said, the Nazis themselves are not the focus of the film. Jojo Rabbit, like many of Waititi’s works, is a coming of age story, this time in the midst of warped society. It is ultimately about a child learning to embrace love over hate and disregarding the alleged differences between various people. It doesn’t have the sustained laugh rate it aims for, but Jojo Rabbit is still enjoyable for its lead cast, goofball humor, and a few poignant moments.

3/5 stars.

Parasite (2019): High-class Infiltration

With his first film to be made fully in Korea in a decade, director Bong Joon-ho has created his best work since Memories of Murder. Parasite is the story of a poor family living in a basement apartment . The father (Song Kang-ho) was a driver but, like the rest of his family, is unemployed and barely scraping by. The son gets an offer from his friend to substitute as an English tutor for a rich girl, despite his lack of a college education, and enters into a completely different world. Using the English name “Kevin”, he meets the Parks, an affluent family that pays him a sum that is inconsequential to them, but life-changing for him.

The film begins as a comedic con movie. Kevin (Choi Woo-sik; Okja) tricks his way into the wealthy household on his friend’s recommendation, but the film becomes increasingly ridiculous as he, and each subsequent member of his family, devise ways to get their loved ones a job, even if that job is already taken. They set up elaborate schemes to put the existing staff out of work that, while unfair to the innocent employees, are hilarious in their audacity. The rich mom appears kind, but gullible, or “simple” as Kevin’s friend puts it, and falls for their innocuous line of recommendations. Slowly, the entire Kim family becomes employed by the Park family and their clumsy attempts to hide their relationships become a great comedy of errors.

The poor Kim family does odd jobs like folding pizza boxes just to survive.

Without spoiling anything, their deception escalates with unforeseen consequences. This is where the plot thickens and the film’s themes begin to show themselves. While the Parks seem kind and welcoming at first, the disparity between their lives and the lives of the Kim family comes into focus. During a heavy rainfall, the Park family, in their walled off home above the city streets, are largely unaffected, with their son even camping outside during the storm. The Kims however live in a partially underground apartment. The rain leads to their home being flooded to chest-high levels of sewage water, drastically impacting their lives in a way the Parks are not even aware of. In the subtle way they treat their employees, the Parks show their aversion towards the Kims and their lower class life, gradually changing how the Kims, and the audience, view them. The Parks may be the victim of deception, but their attitudes create a moral gray area.

Bong is known for his skillful blending of genres and tones, but Parasite is remarkable even by his high standards. The film works on so many levels. It’s a thriller, a farcical comedy, and a commentary on class, all without conflicting tones or sacrificing the strength of one genre for the other. As the film dives into unexpected territories, it feel completely controlled and reaches surprising levels of emotional significance. Bong uses the film to comment on class privilege, but also the sacrifices and glass ceilings of the lower classes. He shows what the poor must struggle through, what they dream of, and what their realities are without completely absolving them of blame. He isn’t afraid of showing multiple perspectives. Parasite is masterful blend of genres and a tonal juggling act featuring a complex look at wealth disparity in modern society.

five stars

5/5 stars.

Wounds (2019): Bland Thriller

After an incredible debut with Under the Shadow, writer-director Babak Anvari’s second feature can only be considered a disappointment. Based on the novella The Visible Filth by Nathan Ballingrud, the story follows Will (Armie Hammer; The Lone Ranger), a bartender in Louisiana, that leads a steady, but happily aimless life drinking heavily and enjoying himself. After breaking up a bar fight, he picks up a cell phone left by some college students and accidentally takes it home. He finds some alarming text messages asking for help and, believing it to be a prank, tells them to come back to the bar to pick up the phone. Soon the texts become dangerous and he discovers horrifying pictures and videos of body parts and what appears to be torture. He decides to give the phone to local police officers that frequent his bar, but the pull of the phone and its transgressive material begins to seep into his life.

Hammer continues to be an actor that looks the part of the leading man, almost to a ridiculous degree, but doesn’t have the acting talent to match. His deep voice lacks nuance in his delivery and his attempts at inflections during dramatic moments feel forced and stilted. He struggles to emote with his monotone diction and doesn’t have enough material to support him. Will, as a character, is mostly hollow. Some of this is in keeping with the themes of the story, but it doesn’t make him an engaging presence. He is never given enough background or motivation to add depth to his character and the supporting cast is similarly vacant.

Hammer can’t display the level of emotion required for the role.

While Anvari’s first film was a demonstration of complete directorial control, Wounds is lackluster. The film never maintains any level of sustained tension and struggles to even produce fleeting moments of suspense. Under the Shadow featured many scenes of poised camerawork that was fraught with impending peril as well as creative compositions, but none of that skill is present here. The majority of the film is shot with fairly standard blocking, sorely missing any personal style. There are a few jump scares, but they appear randomly and too briefly to have any effect. Worst of all, they have no relation to the story. For example, a close-up of a loud, dusty air conditioning unit is spliced in between two random scenes as a jump scare, but it only produces confusion. Decisions like this raise questions about the director’s judgement and vision in creating the film.

Some of the poor results can be blamed on the source material. The Visible Filth is an intriguing story, but one that may not have been a good fit for the big screen. Moments of tension created by unknown, potentially sinister text messages and voicemails work well on the page, but in cinematic form this becomes images of adults looking at their phones which doesn’t carry the same level of dread. This failed translation is especially harmful in the film’s conclusion. It resolves little for those who held on hoping for a worthwhile reveal for the story’s struggling mystery. The ending, while true to the source material, is so bland visually that Anvari resorts to mediocre computer generated effects to obscure the screen and hide its banality. Wounds isn’t an offensively bad film, but it is a bland and forgettable one which, given its pedigree, makes it profoundly disappointing.

2/5 stars.

Pain and Glory (2019): Late-life Autofiction

With a filmography that spans almost  40 years and numerous genres, it could be said the Pedro Almodóvar (Talk to Her) is approaching the end of his career, but instead of retiring he has created a film that explores this very topic. Salvador (Antonio Banderas; The Mask of Zorro) is a famous director who has recently retired from filmmaking, citing his poor health. He decides to reconcile with the lead actor from an early film to appear together at a special screening and begins to recollect his childhood and the parts of his life that have shaped the man he is today as well as his life’s work.

As the director’s alter ego, Banderas is incredible. He sports a mostly-white beard and a tussled hairstyle mimicking Almodóvar’s own look, but his mood is his most striking feature. Banderas, now approaching  60, is no longer a young man, but in Pain and Glory he is weary beyond his years. He lists his various ailments that have left him unable to direct a feature and barely able to leave the house and it seems as if his life is coming to an end. He states that he doesn’t know what to do if he isn’t filming, but at the same time behaves as if he is a spent firework, lacking the necessary fuel to maintain a flame. Banderas brings an incredible restraint to his performance. Salvador tells his actor friend that actors shouldn’t cry and should instead be on the verge, fighting back the tears and he follows his own advice. When Salvador meets a former lover, the joy he feels from the reunion as well as the pain from knowing it will be short-lived are apparent in his watering eyes. The subtlety of Banderas’s performance adds integrity and humility to the material as Salvador is shown as a flawed and frail figure, grappling with his own existence.

Banderas displays complex emotions with ease.

Like most of Almodóvar’s work, Pain and Glory is filled with the bright hues of pop art. Salvador’s condo looks like it could be a museum with its vibrant decorations. His kitchen cabinets are bright red with contrasting teal tilework and most of the modern portion of the film shares this colorful palette, making even simple framings burst with style.

The beauty of this film is how its obscure subject matter becomes immensely relatable. As a personal memoir, it had the potential to become self-indulgent as Salvador’s mother tells him “I hate autofiction!”, but Pain and Glory never feels that way. Salvador’s unusual upbringing, living in an underground home in a small village or his immense success as a film director in his adult life are not experiences most people will relate to, but the emotions on display are so vivid that is impossible to not lose yourself within them. Each memory feels authentic, almost revelatory, as Salvador tries to understand himself through recollecting his childhood and it becomes clear that not only is this film part memoir, so is the majority of Almodóvar’s filmography. With Pain and Glory, Almodóvar has taken the deeply personal and transformed it into emotions that are universal, resulting in one of the most nuanced, and intensely felt films of his career.

4/5 stars.

Ad Astra (2019): Outer Space, Inner Self

Ad Astra is an original sci-fi title from indie filmmaker James Gray (The Lost City of Z) and one of the quietest studio films in years. In the near future, Roy McBride (Brad Pitt; The Tree of Life), a decorated astronaut, is called in for a classified mission. His father Clifford (Tommy Lee Jones; No Country for Old Men), a hero and space pioneer, was sent on a decades long mission to Neptune that went missing years ago. The government now believes that he may still be alive and that his ship may have something to do with the dangerous power surges wreaking havoc on Earth. They hope that Roy, as Clifford’s son, can contact him.

Gray’s depiction of space is merciless and worn. At this point in time, bases have been established on the moon and on Mars with even commercial travel available. These environments are nothing new and have lost their sense of wonder. They aren’t quite the grimy settings of Blade Runner, but space travel has become as mundane as an airplane trip and bases on the moon look like run down subway stations. Roy remarks that humans have created the very things they ran away from when leaving Earth. The main difference from life on Earth and life in space is the inherent danger it carries. The slightest mistake could lead to death in the harsh, unforgiving setting. The moon has unpatrolled areas, where travelers are at risk of attack, and the power surges mean spacecraft could malfunction at any time. It makes the film’s vision of the future both pragmatic and precarious.

This danger is further shown in the film’s setpieces. On Earth, on other planets, and in space, Ad Astra is not above thrilling its audience. Gray, a director not previously known for his action skills, stages each scene with intensity. Where other films like Gravity repeated similar scenarios to the point of diminishing returns, Ad Astra uses completely different perspectives for each climactic event. The action scenes feel original and perilous. Even when it’s clear something is about to go wrong, Gray does so with a completely shocking and unexpected danger that keep the sequence as fresh as it is deadly.

Pitt delivers a multilayerd, complex performance.

The majority of the film relies on Pitt’s performance and he is more than suited to the task. Pitt’s face dominates the screen and is a complex painting of emotion. He is at once calm and professional while still communicating the anxieties he hides underneath. Despite Roy’s incredible talents and feats across so many areas, he isn’t cocky. Pitt makes him a dutiful soldier, committed to his task above all else, including his own feelings. Within his always capable demeanor is sadness. There is an air of despair beneath Pitt’s performance and he tows the line between a firm external appearance and internal struggle in a way that would make Ryan Gosling jealous.

The film has a surprising amount of voiceover from Pitt that is used to contrast his inner feelings with his image. While it does provide needed insight into Roy’s state of mind, Gray is overreliant on this technique. The sheer amount of narration is intrusive and it prevents the audience from drawing their own conclusions as the narration loudly and frequently tells instead of letting the film’s visuals show Roy’s emotions.

While the title and plot may imply an outward focus, Gray’s interests are internal. On the outside, Roy is the ideal soldier. Characters comment on his unbreakable composure stating that he has never been recorded with a pulse over 80 beats per minute, even when his life was in danger. He is constantly facing psych evaluations, all of which point to a single desired ideal: cold, unfeeling stoicism. The ideal space explorer shows and feels no emotion and, on the surface, Roy meets this criteria, but he can’t reconcile these so-called virtues with his emotions. He still feels anxiety, still misses his father, still misses his wife, but is forced to compartmentalize these thoughts and numb himself to fit into the desired mold. Gray uses the film’s deliberate pace to linger on Pitt’s expressions and force the audience to evaluate them beyond his initial impression. The film becomes an exploration of how the ideal of a stalwart hero manifests in real life and the consequences and conflict it creates in those who strive for it. As Roy’s voyage continues, we see him grapple with these unattainable goals and Pitt’s inner turmoil is deeply moving, despite the overuse of voiceovers. With Ad Astra, Gray has created a thrilling, contemplative, and emotional outer space voyage to explore the inner self.

4/5 stars.