Kinda, sorta, simply Apocalypse Now-In-Space.
I finally hit middle-aged-white-men-story fatigue with this one.
Let me be clear: it’s no fault of Ad Astra‘s. It’s not because this film is in any way bad, toxic, or negative – far from it: Ad Astra is visually striking and languidly introspective. The moment in which I first felt its weight is the scene where Brad Pitt‘s astronaut shares with Ruth Negga‘s space bureaucrat, from the performances to the gorgeous art direction so strikingly lit by Hoyte Van Hoytema, is hypnotically psychedelic without anyone or anything actually moving.
But ultimately, Ad Astra is, kinda, sorta, simply Apocalypse Now-In-Space: a man’s literal journey into his metaphorical heart of darkness, to confront a father figure literally and his own stunted emotions metaphorically (albeit with some rando space pirates along the way).
It’s tasteful, subdued (occasionally a little too much so), and not at all surprising.
Ad Astra does exactly what it announces it will do, takes as long to get there as Apocalypse Now (minus the teetering, unhinged, the-wheels-may-come-off-at-any-moment tension), and does so with inner monologue narration as redundant as the original Blade Runner (1982) – and which director James Gray later revealed he isn’t too happy about either. It shows and tells nothing new or particularly compelling, even if it does so better than most examples of this kind of film.
Further Viewing
I swear I did not see The Royal Ocean Film Society‘s video on Ad Astra before coming up with the “Apocalypse Now-In-Space” line – and really, their video isn’t actually about that, but rather about the cycle of misleading marketing and poorly-received “Sadstronaut” films:
I’m sure Solaris – either version – is the obvious go-to for further viewing, but I must confess that at the time of writing I have seen neither. So instead, I’ll point you toward my regular contemplative sci-fi go-to: