While the barren cold of winter is settling in, I’ve found great comfort in cozying up with movies that are both grand in scale but undeniably intimate. This week, I found myself drawn to a genre I’d completely overlooked until now — space movies. Despite their often desolate, otherworldly settings, these films have a surprising way of capturing the emotional depth of the human experience. I’d never really considered that films about lonely, empty planets could stir such strong emotions, but here we are.
In just one week, I’ve watched three very different space movies — “Fly Me to the Moon” (2024), “Interstellar” (2014) and “The Martian” (2015). From rom-com to drama, each film offers a unique take on the concept of space exploration, yet all of them have one thing in common — an intimate study of humanity.
“Fly Me to the Moon,” the least popular among both audiences and critics, actually ended up surprising me. Sure, it’s not as emotionally devastating as “Interstellar” is, and somehow, it’s even less grounded in reality than “The Martian” is, but I had a great time with this movie, and I’m frankly disappointed that so many people haven’t given it a chance. Directed by Greg Berlanti, “Fly Me to the Moon” is a historical fiction rom-com that takes us back to the 1969 moon landing, but with a playful twist. Laughing in the face of the well-worn conspiracy theories that the moon landing was faked, the film imagines the disaster that would have been a fabricated moon landing. It’s a fun, campy take on a moment in history that’s usually treated with gravitas, and it has a surprising amount of heart for a film that could have easily been all style and no substance. Behind the romance and the ‘60s costumes, there is a thoughtful conversation about guilt and accountability, particularly through Channing Tatum’s portrayal of the fictionalized launch director of NASA who feels responsible for the Apollo 11 disaster. Beneath the laughs, this film is about learning to let go of the weight of our mistakes, embracing the chaos and finding peace even in the most unlikely places.
Then there’s “Interstellar”, Christopher Nolan’s epic exploration of time, love and sacrifice. In the not-so-distant future, Earth has grown uninhabitable from crop failure and dust storms, prompting a select team of astronauts to embark on a perilous endeavor through wormholes in search of a new home for humanity. The caveat is that time on Earth continues to pass at a far quicker rate than the wormhole, creating a devastating dilemma for the astronauts. As they venture deeper into space, they face the physical challenges of surviving a black hole and the emotional cost of leaving loved ones behind. Although the movie’s ending feels a bit rushed to me, I can certainly see why “Interstellar” is considered one of the most popular movies of all time. Matthew McConaughey’s performance is nothing short of palpable, and the visual effects are just simply breathtaking. I must have seen the clip of McConaughey crying countless times, and yet it still stunned me to see it in the context of the film. That scene is the culmination of everything this film wants to say — the overwhelming responsibility to save humanity, all while saying goodbye to the humanity you once knew. For me, the film’s greatest sentiment is about saving a world that you won’t live to see. Nolan’s depiction of space is both a physical frontier and an emotional one, serving as a crushing reminder that to save the future means to let go of the present.
Finally, I watched Ridley Scott’s “The Martian,” my favorite of the three. Rather than a grand, cosmic exploration, it zoomed in on the very human story of survival. Stuck alone on Mars after a mission gone awry, astronaut Mark Watney tackles overwhelming odds with humor, ingenuity and sheer determination. I’d argue that Matt Damon’s portrayal of Watney is the pure form opposite of the aforementioned McConaughey performance, and I find this to be a strength. For most of this film, Damon’s character is clever, witty and ultimately just unserious. He dances to disco music, cracks jabs at his former crew and maintains a sense of optimism in spite of the insurmountable odds stacked against him. It isn’t until his rescue that he finally shows some emotional brevity. It is this moment that the film shifts from a movie about survival to a movie about the inherent quality of humanity — to look out for one another, no matter how distant or costly the circumstances may seem.
I don’t know what it is, but every time these space movies cut to mission control at NASA — everyone high-fiving and hugging each other after accomplishing their mission — my eyes inexplicably well up. There’s just something about witnessing the collective joy and relief of everyone’s hard work that tugs at my heartstrings, even if it’s from lightyears away.
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