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When Earth is hit by a series of electromagnetic surges from outer space, astronaut Roy McBride is tasked with reaching out to his long-lost father, who was last known to be somewhere on the periphery of Neptune, searching for new forms of life.
Space has always been a source of mystery and fascination for mankind. From prehistoric cave paintings and stone circles that indicate some form of worship of the Solar System, to the latest drives to reach Mars and further into space, the realms beyond our own planet have led us to question a plethora of philosophical conundrums. In the case of Ad Astra, however, my only question was: Who on earth allowed this script to be filmed!? It's not just that James Gray and Ethan Gross' screenplay is clunky and packed with lines a la Basil Exposition (we'll come to this later) that makes it so infuriating, though - it's the unshakable feeling I got that both had read a little bit of Nietzsche and fallen into some blind fervor to pack as many 'if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you' references in as possible. The result? A wholly unsatisfactory endeavour that aims to highlight numerous trains of thought, but instead leaves you feeling cold and a little annoyed.
Let's start at the beginning. Our central character, Roy McBride (Brad Pitt), doesn't feel or say much - he's a man of action who's heart rate, we're informed, is always exceptionally steady, even under stressful situations. To unpick McBride's silent exterior, we're instead treated to an internal monologue from Pitt, which conveniently allows him to explain the plot and the emotions of other characters. It's a clunky, ill-used device and one that appears to have been developed to make up for the shortcomings elsewhere in the script. In one particularly laughable moment, one character looks uncomfortable and nervous, only for the voice-over to helpfully inform us that this character 'is scared'. I had to bite my tongue. Although I wasn't overly sold on Damien Chazelle's First Man, that stripped-back, bare bones script and complete lack of emotional explanation now appears as a masterpiece in comparison to Ad Astra's attempts. Later in the film, Ruth Negga appears as a contrived plot device and then exits stage left, her 'role' as a means to describe just how dastardly Daddy McBride (Tommy Lee Jones) has been (as if we didn't know already...) over. Donald Sutherland also turns up, but I'm really not sure why he was there in the first place. There's also a bit where Brad Pitt flies through the rings of Neptune on a metal tray, but I'd already checked out too much by that point to laugh about it.
I guess my frustration comes from the fact that Ad Astra had all the ingredients of a good film, and it just failed to come together. The soundtrack is haunting and emotive, and it's certainly a good-looking film, with cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema (of Dunkirk, Interstellar and Spectre fame) supplying visuals of a calibre that far outstrip the script. Brad Pitt, too, gives a solid performance... But it's all just let down by the poor writing. I guess at this point I would sigh, only for McBride to inform you: 'She's disappointed'.
When Earth is hit by a series of electromagnetic surges from outer space, astronaut Roy McBride is tasked with reaching out to his long-lost father, who was last known to be somewhere on the periphery of Neptune, searching for new forms of life.
Space has always been a source of mystery and fascination for mankind. From prehistoric cave paintings and stone circles that indicate some form of worship of the Solar System, to the latest drives to reach Mars and further into space, the realms beyond our own planet have led us to question a plethora of philosophical conundrums. In the case of Ad Astra, however, my only question was: Who on earth allowed this script to be filmed!? It's not just that James Gray and Ethan Gross' screenplay is clunky and packed with lines a la Basil Exposition (we'll come to this later) that makes it so infuriating, though - it's the unshakable feeling I got that both had read a little bit of Nietzsche and fallen into some blind fervor to pack as many 'if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you' references in as possible. The result? A wholly unsatisfactory endeavour that aims to highlight numerous trains of thought, but instead leaves you feeling cold and a little annoyed.
Let's start at the beginning. Our central character, Roy McBride (Brad Pitt), doesn't feel or say much - he's a man of action who's heart rate, we're informed, is always exceptionally steady, even under stressful situations. To unpick McBride's silent exterior, we're instead treated to an internal monologue from Pitt, which conveniently allows him to explain the plot and the emotions of other characters. It's a clunky, ill-used device and one that appears to have been developed to make up for the shortcomings elsewhere in the script. In one particularly laughable moment, one character looks uncomfortable and nervous, only for the voice-over to helpfully inform us that this character 'is scared'. I had to bite my tongue. Although I wasn't overly sold on Damien Chazelle's First Man, that stripped-back, bare bones script and complete lack of emotional explanation now appears as a masterpiece in comparison to Ad Astra's attempts. Later in the film, Ruth Negga appears as a contrived plot device and then exits stage left, her 'role' as a means to describe just how dastardly Daddy McBride (Tommy Lee Jones) has been (as if we didn't know already...) over. Donald Sutherland also turns up, but I'm really not sure why he was there in the first place. There's also a bit where Brad Pitt flies through the rings of Neptune on a metal tray, but I'd already checked out too much by that point to laugh about it.
I guess my frustration comes from the fact that Ad Astra had all the ingredients of a good film, and it just failed to come together. The soundtrack is haunting and emotive, and it's certainly a good-looking film, with cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema (of Dunkirk, Interstellar and Spectre fame) supplying visuals of a calibre that far outstrip the script. Brad Pitt, too, gives a solid performance... But it's all just let down by the poor writing. I guess at this point I would sigh, only for McBride to inform you: 'She's disappointed'.
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