20 Sep Ad Astra Anaylsis

AD ASTRA

The Introduction

So, I read about Ad Astra earlier in the year as I was reviewing the 2019 film release schedule on IMDB. Between it being a science-fiction movie and starring Brad Pitt, I was definitely interested. Plus, it looked like one of the only movies in my lifetime released in September that might actually be good. All this was back in January, so I promptly forgot about it. Until August, when composer Max Richter hinted that he was doing the score via his Instagram account. Shortly after, a trailer followed. End result: I was definitely in…

I went to see the film by myself in IMAX the day of release, and I loved it. A lot. It was a wonderful experience, and I left the theater a better person for reasons I’ll get into later. Then I had the chance to see it twice more: once with a friend, then with my parents and a sister for my birthday. And I was genuinely surprised when all four people hated the shit out of the movie. Yeah, that with bold, underline, and italics.

My friend, a triple major that included physics and mathematics, went on a 10-minute scathing rant about how scientifically absurd the entire movie was in virtually every way.
My sister, a psychologist, was bored out of her skull and simply said “He has obvious abandonment issues and needs some therapy.” Also, she thought it felt like a three or four hour odyssey of pain.
My parents, renowned and celebrated for being “cred-idiots” (staying to the end of the credits in every movie they see), stood up and walked out the second the credits started–something I’ve never seen.

Which left me very perplexed. I found Ad Astra to be a deeply introspective drama about a son’s emotional and physical journey to find his famous but long-disappeared father; the story just happened to be set in the future as a science-fiction film. To me, the core narrative was the relationship between the main character and his father, from the perspective of a son struggling to deal with the discovery that his father is probably alive and may not be the hero the world celebrates.

Most films are big studio productions, that straddle the line between art and business. Many films make a start as pure art, but the more money they cost to make, the more the art must bend towards the business demands of making a financially successful movie to justify the cost. In general, expensive movies are at least partially engineered to appeal to the widest possible audience to be statistically most-likely to recoup the cost. Very few filmmakers have the prestige, reputation, and clout to wrangle large budgets while retaining complete artistic freedom. Christopher Nolan is one such director, which is notable because his film Interstellar is the closest narrative and thematic analog to Ad Astra. Nolan is on one of the greatest critical and financial hot streaks in recent memory, starting with Batman Begins through to Dunkirk. His movies make a lot of money, and particularly with the Interstellar, Inception, and Dunkirk, were risky films that may not have been made with anyone else attached to them.

Enter Ad Astra. It is a modestly budgeted science-fiction film starring one of the most consistently talented and popular actors in modern times. For all intents and purposes, it seems that it was the artistic vision of director James Gray, who also co-wrote the script. Aside from some reshoots, there does not seem to be any reason to suspect that the film was artistically compromised in any meaningful way. But in successfully realizing the artistic intent of Gray and Pitt, they have produced a film that has limited appeal to a wider audience, as evidenced by its poor box office returns and my own meager observations. The narrative emerging from its release is that it is a disappointment;  critically respected but avoided by audiences.

All of this makes me sad, because I genuinely loved the movie: it moved me emotionally in a way few movies do, and I left the theater contemplating how I could be a better person.

So with that long introduction, let me get into the meat of the review…

The Review

Ad Astra happens in the near future. The film is heavily and frequently narrated by Brad Pitt as Roy McBride, an astronaut following in the footsteps of his world-famous father, Clifford McBride, who was the first man to reach Jupiter, Saturn, and Neptune on a mission to discover evidence of extra-terrestrial life. Clifford’s mission was apparently a failure when all contact was lost with the spacecraft nine years into its mission; that was sixteen years prior to the start of the film. Now, a series of deadly electromagnetic pulses emanating from Neptune are progressively destroying Earth’s infrastructure. These EMPs are causing havoc, and US Space Command (a military-inclined version of NASA), enlists Roy’s help to send a message to his possibly-alive father in an attempt to figure out what is happening and whether it is accidental, intentional, or unrelated. As Roy makes the journey to Mars, which has the last viable, undamaged communications array capable of reaching Neptune, he slowly begins to discover more information about his father’s mission, which has the complicating effect of bringing up long-repressed memories and emotions, with their attendant feelings about his father’s disappearance, legacy, and motivations.

Ultimately, Roy learns that his father probably murdered his entire crew and the EMPs threatening life in the solar system may or may not be the result of a hero who has lost his mind.

There are two journeys that Ad Astra follows: first and foremost, the emotional journey Roy takes as he both willingly and unwillingly unpacks decades of repressed feelings about his father; and the physical journey he takes to Neptune to confront his father and resolve the crisis. Ad Astra utilizes a few unique and excellent techniques to help the audience follow the emotional journey, but the physical journey comes across as slightly stilted, as timelines and influential events and circumstances are left minimally explored to ensure that the emotional journey remains front and center.

The Emotional Journey
(i.e. – The Good)

Emotionally, the viewer is guided by Roy’s narration in the film, which is a dominant feature throughout. In addition, part of the world-building demonstrates that in the future, astronauts (and possibly everyone) are required to submit to frequent psychological tests to ensure that they are emotionally and mentally capable of the demands of space travel. This technique means that we get narrative updates on Roy’s psychological state throughout the film, reflecting his degrading state of mind as he discovers that his father murdered his crew and may be causing the EMPs on purpose. Finally, the film also sets up a framing device in which Roy’s heart-rate is noted as never rising above 80 bpm, which is remarkable given the dangers and intensity of his work. Again, by noting his heart-rate in various ways, we understand Roy’s exact physiological state at key moments throughout the film.

And the emotional journey is excellent. Roy is a man who has found a way to cope with the loss of his world-renowned father in two ways: externally, he is a consummate professional known for his cool head and almost non-existent personal life. Internally, Roy compartmentalizes everything in his life to such a degree that he is sealed off emotionally from virtually everything and everyone; he feels nothing, and denies or ignores any impulse that distracts from his immediate task at hand, which, as an astronaut (a career significantly more involved in a future where mankind has colonized the Moon and Mars) can be frequently dangerous and stressful.

Pitt’s performance is one of his career best. His capacity to convey Roy’s motivations, state of mind, and decision-making processes is remarkable–through his performance, and smart narrative techniques, we are able to follow Roy’s emotional journey with great clarity. Even more importantly, this journey defies what I would call a traditional hero’s arc, as Pitt and Gray made some powerful choices in portraying Roy’s journey; choices that probably undermined the cinematic potential that almost certainly would have been mined had the movie been crafted as an action-adventure movie versus a deep character drama.

For example, I truly appreciated Roy’s portrayal of a mature, confident, humble masculinity. I don’t know if I would have noticed this had I not read an interview on NPR about Pitt’s intentions and motivations in playing Roy. It prompted me to view the film through the lens of how his character reacts to people, circumstances, and situations in which modern American cinema often resorts to portraying overly-simplified or blatantly-toxic masculinity.

I want to dwell on this a bit (re: go on a brief tangent) because a few days before seeing Ad Astra, I went to see Rambo: Last Blood. I enjoyed the fifth Rambo movie, and wrote more extensively about it on my Facebook page, but the central pillar of the series is the character of John Rambo, a war veteran with a serious conundrum: he has grown to hate war and violence because of his experience in Vietnam, but he is exceptionally gifted in his capacity to carry out intensely successful campaigns of extreme violence. He clearly suffers from PTSD and in each film, he starts out having found a measure of peace by retreating further from society and embracing a simple life devoid of provocation or conflict. But, in each film, he finds himself pushed, coerced, or manipulated into situations where he has to make a choice; a choice best encapsulated by Rambo himself in the fourth film: “When you’re pushed, killing’s as easy as breathing.”

In the fifth film, Rambo is again pushed to violence when his adopted daughter is kidnapped by a Mexican cartel, sold into the sex trafficking pipeline, and eventually dies in his arms shortly after a bloody rescue. This results in…lots of bodies via the tried and true method of revenge.

Why do I bring up Rambo: Last Blood? Well, there is a fascinating comparison to be seen in examining the characters of John Rambo and Roy McBride, who both suffer deep psychological trauma, but process and handle it VERY differently. As the film series and character demands, Rambo deals with his trauma by retreating into patterns of familiarity, which unfortunately reflect the unpleasant nature of the various places he has encountered trauma. While he frequently says that he wants to be left alone, he is compelled to do the right thing in helping the truly helpless. But his only means is through extreme violence. And this is not only manifested in the actual battles throughout the film series, but in Sylvester Stallone’s portrayal of the character, who is gruff, confrontational, and constantly simmering with the expectation that any interaction with other humans will inevitably lead to conflict. With Rambo, this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, as his own words and actions invite conflict, even when the overt message he tries to convey is “It’s best not to cross me or you will die an unbelievably horrible death.”

Roy McBride has suffered different trauma, and Ad Astra is not a film that in any way crosses over with the action-movie genre Rambo has encompassed for nearly four decades. But Rambo and McBride have similar fundamental problems. The major difference is that Pitt’s portrayal of Roy is a man who has found a relatively healthy, productive external mechanism for dealing with his trauma. He is a successful, respected astronaut who handles stress better than anyone else. Although he has failed in his marriage, on the outside, this is endemic of his career choice, and hardly stands out. Most importantly, when Roy encounters moments of potential conflict, he consistently chooses to deconflict the situation, even at the risk of his life and mission. This is most notably portrayed in two scenes:

In the first, his rocket transport from the Moon to Mars stops for a distress call from a research station. He impresses on the captain of the ship that he is on a critical classified mission that should not be risked for a mayday of unknown nature. When the captain confronts him, Roy respectfully pushes back, but to protect the classified nature of his mission (on which nobody else on-board is privy), Roy not only concedes to responding to the distress call, but volunteers to assist. Ultimately, he is proven correct in recommending avoiding the stop as it ends in disaster and the death of the captain, despite Roy’s incredible attempt to save him.

Shortly thereafter, as the ship is approaching Mars, another EMP disables its automatic landing capability. The newly minted captain (previously co-pilot), already hinted as being cowardly, freezes in responding to the ship’s malfunction, risking the lives of everyone. Roy subtly intervenes and successfully lands the ship, informing the co-pilot that he knows why he had to intervene, but out of respect, will not report the co-pilot to his superiors.

In both cases, Roy is faced with serious situations, which demand quick decisions and careful navigation of a suddenly intense interpersonal communication. Both times, Roy shows incredible restraint and courage, as well as exceptional skill in dealing with the crises. And it was in these moments that I found a character I wanted to emulate. I wish I were as even-tempered as Roy McBride in these types of situations; or, honestly, in far less stressful situations. I lose my shit when I see bad drivers during my 12-minute morning commute to work. I struggle to take a more mature, understanding approach to the daily stresses I encounter. I’m a lot more Rambo than McBride, though fortunately, I have not resorted to killing hordes of people who done me wrong.

The stark contrast between Rambo and McBride was purely a function of having seen both movies back-to-back, and purposefully observing Pitt’s intentional portrayal of a “healthier masculinity” in Ad Astra. I don’t think that I suffer from a deeply-rooted form of toxic masculinity, a term that is so flexible in today’s world that it could mean anything. When I think of it, I think of an internal decision-making pattern that overly, even dangerously, relies on a form of male aggression that leaves little room for thoughtful, mature, critical thinking that can avoid conflict or unnecessarily offensive behavior at the expense of bystanders. Throughout Ad Astra, I was constantly impressed with Pitt’s non-conventional, mature portrayal of a character who, despite his trauma and the rising challenge of re-engaging with long-buried emotional abandonment, still made thoughtful, constructive decisions at critical moments.

Again, I want to share two examples of moments really stuck out to me as showing McBride’s emotional maturity. In one of the psychological tests McBride is required to submit, he is, for the first time in the film, required to provide more detail on the rescue mission. His initial feedback is rote facts, nothing more. When required to go deeper, he takes a moment, and then introspectively describes that the failed rescue mission is not what he is stressed about, but that he knows his father was inclined to rage in overcoming obstacles that stood in the way of his obsession to find extra-terrestrial intelligence life. Roy knows that rage; he feels it; knows his capacity for it. But as he closes out his psych profile, he honestly, calmly states that he does not want to be like his father. It’s a wonderful moment that clearly states how Roy is earnestly determined to not become like his father. The tragedy is that subsequent events not only push him into a situation where he will confront his father directly, but he unfortunately faces and even performs acts that are eerily similar to his father’s actions. It asks the audience the question of whether or not someone can choose to be different from someone they genetically and professionally mirror.

The second moment occurs when Roy finally meets his father in orbit around Neptune. Roy and the entire world had constructed a false but satisfying narrative that Clifford is a hero, lost on a mission of discovery that extended further across the solar system than anyone had ever traveled. But as Roy gradually discovers throughout the film, his father was secretly known to have murdered his entire crew so as to continue the mission well beyond its intended timeline. On top of that, upon meeting his father for the first time since his departure 25 years prior, Clifford emotionlessly confesses that he never cared for or loved Roy, his wife, or anyone on Earth; he was focused entirely on the mission and nothing else mattered one whit. It is a heart-breaking moment, and a potentially catastrophic thing to hear after having traveled literally billions of miles to assist and rescue his father. After hearing this tragic confession at the absolute end of the human frontier, Roy, with a single tear falling down his cheek, calmly says, “I know, dad. But I still love you.”

In both of these scenes, Pitt’s performance is exquisite, portraying the mind of a man who, even when pushed to the limit physically or emotionally, still responds in a thoughtful, compassionate, and humble manner. Part of it is perhaps Roy’s own justified self-confidence, but part of it is also simply a powerful portrayal of mature, strong, stoic masculinity that embraces the genuine love he feels for someone that truly despises him.

The only problem with this entire emotional journey is that its very nature is not cinematic. Any other filmmaker might have had a big physical confrontation between Roy and Clifford as the climax of the entire movie. There were plenty of other times that McBride could have, with full moral justification, made decisions that invited or even instigated physical confrontation…a fight scene! But that’s not the character that Gray wrote and Pitt acted. Their character is less exciting physically, but more engaging emotionally.

And THAT is why I loved Ad Astra. It gave me something to aspire to. I don’t often give much weight to life-changing inspiration coming from fiction, particularly film and movies, but Ad Astra succeeded in making me want to become a better person, a better man, and a better son.

The Physical Journey
(i.e. – the Not-As-Good, or Flat-Out Bad According to EVERYONE I Saw This Movie With)

While the emotional journey is the crown jewel of Ad Astra, a movie can’t movie without a story, and in this case, the story involves Roy being manipulated and used by Space Command to cover-up their failure to deal with Clifford’s known treachery in murdering his crew, and possible treachery in causing the devastating EMPs.

While I enjoyed the physical journey, I think it is where my friends and family were lost in watching Ad Astra. The science is either blatantly violated or subtly ill-explained as being future-possible. I’m not always impressed by this argument, particularly when layered on top of a clearly fictional piece of artistic cinema. This is not a documentary, and bending the laws of physics, whether necessarily or not, to accommodate story, is completely acceptable outside the realm of science documentaries. If you hate a fictional movie because it is scientifically inaccurate, that’s a personal choice, and I don’t blame anyone for it. But I will never complain if the film itself stands up as good cinema.

The timelines in Ad Astra are also fudged to ensure the emotional journey remains uncompromised. For example, before Roy can leave Earth for the Moon, there is a 3-month quarantine that should have been more than enough time to emotionally and mentally prepare for the possibilities of the journey, but it is glossed over to appear as a two-day transition from being initially informed of his mission to launching for the Moon. The film itself is presented with little narrative connective tissue between some of the more significant scenes of traveling from the Earth to the Moon to Mars to Neptune; instead, it is presented more like a series of vignettes with implied connective tissue. I think that the gaps and the demands on the viewer to create the connections themselves are what contributed to my sister noting that this 2-hour movie felt like 3 or 4 hours; she was SERIOUSLY shook when I told her it was two hours flat. FYI: an effective way to make a 2-hour movie feel like 4-hours is to require the audience to imagine what happens during time jumps, without actually showing or addressing it. I do think that if you are engaged in the emotional journey first and foremost, this can mask the gaps and make the movie feel its proper length. But clearly, the emotional journey is not a universally appealing facet of the film, even though I loved it.

Honestly, those are the only complaints I heard: it was scientifically inaccurate, and boring AF if you are not emotionally engaged by the narrative.

The Cinematic Journey
(i.e. –  The Excellent)

I want to finish by noting some exceptional aspects of this film. The score by Max Richter is possibly the best score I’ve heard in a film for years. Richter is an under-rated composer whose music is simply beautiful. He is a composer that focuses on traditional orchestrations that capture a depth of emotion and haunting beauty that, in my opinion, is unrivaled. Period.

The cinematography is also terrific. Space epics are a great opportunity to showcase planets and locations that are beyond anything humans will see, and Ad Astra succeeded wildly in showing space travel throughout the solar system, particularly the journey from Mars to Neptune.

Finally, the supporting cast gave performances that complimented Pitt very well, with the exception of Liv Tyler, who was underutilized in a role that undoubtedly played a larger part in McBride’s life then is shown. However, this may have been a conscious choice to reflect his emotionally disconnected state prior to his journey to Neptune.

Conclusion

Overall, I think I have figured out why people who I respect hated this movie, but it doesn’t alter my love for it. I saw it three times in the theater, and I will certainly be watching it in 4K when it comes out. It misses the mark for mass-appeal, and I cannot fault viewers for being unable to engage. But I feel the same could be said of Terrance Malick’s films, particularly The Thin Red Line, which I consider a masterpiece for many of the same reasons as Ad Astra.

The closest comparison to Ad Astra I can think of is Interstellar. My friend Darryl mentioned that where Interstellar is more ambitious in scope, it is shallow in it emotional journey. Ad Astra is definitely smaller in scope, but far deeper in its portrayal of human relationships. Both films are excellent; most people enjoy Interstellar more. But if you didn’t like Interstellar, stay away from Ad Astra…

Analysis by Jim Washsburn