Film Review: Ad Astra

Somewhere between Interstellar and Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris (by way of Apocalypse Now) is James Gray’s Ad Astra, a meditative journey about fatherhood and fundamentalism. It’s not an accessible or mainstream film, and the fact that James Gray was able to find tens of millions of dollars’ worth of financing means he is likely some variety of wizard, but those who choose to dig beneath its superficial pleasures and revel in its atmosphere will find a rewarding cinematic experience that isn’t afraid to analyze and criticize the archetype of the emotionless hero exploring the stars. It asks what kind of a person would want to isolate themselves from society, and what deleterious effects that decision can have on one’s psyche. While its title may mean “to the stars” in Latin, this is something of a red herring. Ad Astra isn’t a pretention-drowned art film about the need to explore the stars. Quite the opposite. While it has heavy philosophical undercurrents, it’s not prone to philosophizing, and its concerns are more earthly. It’s a film about human connection- or the lack thereof- in a way that only a film that spends so much of its runtime drifting toward the outer solar system can be.

Astronaut Roy McBride (Brad Pitt) survives a disaster caused by mysterious surges coming from Neptune before embarking on a mission to find the cause of the surges- and possibly his father (played by Tommy Lee Jones), the most acclaimed astronaut in Earth’s history. McBride is renowned for how he never allows his emotions to overwhelm him. That his heartrate has never gone above 80 beats per minute during his missions is a cause for celebration in the eyes of his superior, but Ad Astra views it more critically, strongly implying that his preternatural calm is a result of him repressing his emotions concerning his father. As Roy proceeds toward Neptune, these emotions begin to surface. He wrestles with how to view his father, a man he respects and has in certain respects modeled himself after, but also a man he has no desire to become.

The more distance he puts between himself and Earth, the more unyielding his isolation becomes. Ad Astra imbues early scenes with a sharp, satirical sense of humor whose impact is blunted somewhat by how grave and gravitas-soaked the film is, but which nonetheless lands a few pointed blows at the expense of commercial space flight, which is portrayed as both unimaginative (moon flights are almost exactly the same as traditional plane flights, and the structure into which they disembark resembles a typical gaudy airport) and absurd (for a simple blanket, the company charges Roy over a hundred dollars). This sly, bemused undercurrent fades as Roy reaches Mars. Roy’s assumptions and plans, as well as his ostensibly unflappable demeanor, begin to crack. When he leaves Mars, he is completely alone for large stretches of the film.

This leaves the film with a conundrum: how can one, in a visual medium that locks viewers out of characters’ psyches, portray the feelings of a character who is reluctant to explicitly express emotion? Gray’s solution to this is three-fold. The first and clumsiest solution is the voiceover. To its credit, it is mostly inoffensive. It avoids the common trap of banally stating what could have been better expressed visually. Moreover, Roy’s haunted voice, which conveys more than it outright states, elevates these voiceovers from something perfunctory to something poetic and poignant. Nonetheless, they occur more often than they should, making the film seem even more ploddingly paced than it actually is. The second solution is Pitt’s acting, which is as strong as it has been since The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. It’s subtle and restrained in how it expresses the idiosyncrasies of an astronaut who doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel. A few seemingly unnecessary glances, a few extra blinks and eye twitches- this is the difference between a good performance, which merely inhabits a role, and a great performance, which crafts from words on a page a whole and complicated person. Pitt plays Roy as someone who doesn’t know how to handle human connection, whose relationships with others are nothing but fragments and shards he doesn’t know how to express, even to himself.

However, the film’s greatest solution is its visual language. That red light bathes the scenes on Mars is not just a means to stylishly showcase the splendor and bleakness of the Red Planet. It also serves to reflect Roy’s storm of emotions. For the first time in his life, he is in the thrall of his passions. In a more traditional space-exploration film, this would have been portrayed as a negative, an instant of personal concern overriding professional duty, but the film, which has hitherto viewed Roy in an ambivalent light, sides with him here. Likewise, Ad Astra does not see the red of Mars as something dreadful and lifeless, but as something beautiful and worthy of awe. This contrasts with its portrayal of Neptune. The somber blues of that planet represent disconnect and isolation, a sign that Roy, far from approaching the connection he needs, is moving away from it. This is not a film that uses such an extravagant supply of fancy camera tricks that the emotional core becomes lost, but it is a film that’s not afraid to use its setting to its advantage. As a novel, or as a small-budget film, the film’s ideas about the pure desolation of space would have seemed slightly undercooked. However, because the film is unafraid to use its vast budget to depict the visceral weight of Roy being surrounded by the vast cosmos, these ideas become radiant.

The smallness of Roy and his adventures juxtaposed against the darkness of space does not only serve the purpose of establishing isolation and loneliness. That’s an idea not necessarily in conflict with the contours of a traditional hero’s journey. Rather, it also serves to elucidate the long-term effects of that isolation, and to exemplify the fruitlessness of ambitions intertwined with it. Damien Chazelle’s recent biopic First Man may be a profound and elegiac masterwork, but its central ethos- that an ordinary man who’s able to detach himself from the losses he’s suffered is able to accomplish great feats- is what Ad Astra explicitly criticizes. True, First Man understands the corroding effects this detachment has on one’s relationships, but it tends toward the view that this is a worthwhile sacrifice. Ad Astra takes the opposite perspective, framing the search for extra-terrestrial life (and the exploration of the cosmos in general) in terms of a futile religious quest. After laying the groundwork for this early by having a recording of Roy’s father call space exploration a mission supported by God, the film furthers the parallel until it becomes nigh-unmistakable. Pursuing transcendence (whether through accomplishing great works or through searching for a higher power- and space exploration is a mixture of the two) is in the film’s view a far less noble and brave goal than deciding to focus on one’s personal relationships.

Transcendence may not be possible. There may not be extraterrestrial life. God may not exist. But human beings have each other to rely upon, and that, Ad Astra states, is beautiful. The entire film supports this structurally. Roy and his father, ostensibly so similar, realize they have diametrically opposed views on what matters most. Their personal conflict nicely overlays the grand thematic conflict. While the film takes some odd and head-scratching steps to reach its destination (a chase sequence on the moon is unique and thrilling but so tonally dissonant that it can’t help but feel like a clumsy mistake), that destination is well-earned and ultimately optimistic.

Interstellar- as well as 2001, another close comparison to this film- use their endings to detach from realism. Ad Astra uses its ending to embrace it. Throughout the film, Roy hears multiple different stories about his father. These, combined with Roy’s voiceover, provide a complicated and convoluted mosaic of the man. While these pieces shouldn’t fit together, they do. Roy’s father is all of these things. He’s not an archetype or a mythical figure or a grand symbol. He’s just a man who’s embraced a toxic combination of attitudes. The film’s greatest tension isn’t external. It isn’t intricately philosophical. It’s whether Roy can reject his father’s values. Because of that, every step backward he takes is a catastrophe, and every step forward is a soothing, soaring epiphany.

4.5 out of 5 Stars