Sandra Huller – The Magnificent 60s

Excited as I was at the prospect of another film from the author of The Martian (2015), which I’ve seen at least half a dozen times, I was wary at the idea of spending so much time watching just one actor on screen, having been subjected to the hubris of Chris Pratt a few weeks back in Mercy (2026) where I was bored out of my skull with staring at his visage for the best part of two hours. Sure, Tom Hanks managed to hold our attention virtually single-handed in Cast Away (2000) , but he’s a double Oscar-winner and if you can’t rely on someone of that stature to hold your attention, who can. Ryan Gosling has come nowhere near the Oscar circle though this bravura performance may change his fortunes.

Since I don’t have a scientific bone in my body I’m a sucker for these space pictures where astronauts have to tinker with all sorts of technology to save their lives or the world, the two are often inseparable. Here, the object of the exercise could not be bigger. Non-astronaut and unwilling volunteer Ryland Grace (Ryan Gosling) has to save the sun from being gobbled up by pesky microbes. Turns out our sun isn’t the only one at risk. Another sun in a distant galaxy is also at threat and Grace has to buddy up with an alien, whom he nicknames Rocky, to come up with a scheme to save both suns.

So, there’s a lot of science, but it made sense to me (though I’m no expert), and plenty setbacks and it’s touch-and-go whether our heroes will meet with success, bearing in mind that this is a suicide mission and the best Grace can hope for is a peaceful death because he knows he’s got no chance of reaching home nor surviving in space beyond a few years.

But, actually, at the core of the picture is the kind of relationship that would replicate that seen in Spielberg’s E.T. (1981) except that little Rocky is more of a big brother to Grace than a hapless alien.

Every now and then we flit back to Earth for a flashback which explains how high-school teacher Grace came to be selected for the mission and, given I’m not such a mean plot-spoiler, sets a high bar for humanizing our hero, explaining exactly how when he wakes up in the spaceship he doesn’t know why he’s there. Grace and Rocky are, for whatever reason, the only survivors of the crews of their respective spaceships. I’m not sure how to describe the alien spaceship, it seems to be made of something and nothing, while Rocky is capable of cladding himself in what resembles multi-sided plastic and can construct a steel fishing rod four miles long in the twinkle of an eye.

Just as Matt Damon learns how to grow potatoes on Mars, so our intrepid pair embark on a series of unusual activities in order to win the day. Back on Earth sour-faced boss Eva (Sandra Huller) has, literally, a show-stopping scene when she picks up the mic and warbles a karaoke tune.

You might quibble at the running time (157 minutes) but in an era of overblown over-long self-indulgent epics, this makes every minute count and I didn’t look at my watch once. Andy Weir knows his stuff, or can invent enough of it to make us believe in his concepts, so part of the process of this picture is going through what works of the technology and what doesn’t and alighting on the equivalent of the sling shot to see us home free.

And in an era of the overblown etc, how welcoming to find genuine emotion so underplayed back on Earth, the connection between Grace and Eva barely tickling along until she picks up the karaoke mic.

I’ve not been a huge fan of Ryan Gosling (Barbie, 2024) of the floppy hair and stupid grin, but when he’s thrown into a serious picture that lightweight personality works wonders. Rocky, too, is a great creation, a completely new idea of an alien.

Directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (22 Jump St, 2014), this is a terrific experience. Written by Drew Goddard (The Martian).

The last time science met feel-good was E.T. and this doesn’t fall far short.

I hate it when a mystery movie so blatantly cheats. Sure, we expect some sleight of hand, some vital piece of evidence retained, for the purposes of maintaining high tension, till the very end. Or a twist, a la Jagged Edge (1985), when a murderer, having got off scot-free, is revealed as the killer after all.

And while the central performances of accused, bisexual respected author and mother Sandra (Sandra Hueller), and accuser, smug unnamed prosecutor (Antoine Reinartz), are excellent and the exposition of the psychology of a marriage is well done, still the omission of the kind of critical forensic evidence that a modern audience would require works against the end result. Because otherwise, it plays like a 1940s courtroom drama, where the emphasis is solely on character rather than the weight of evidence.

So, here’s my complaint. The dead man has fallen from a window. Did he jump or was he pushed? Using forensics, the prosecution maintains he was hit by a heavy blow and some of the blood spatters down below were consistent with him losing blood when he was falling rather than when he hit the ground.

So we spend a great deal of time on examining how the body might fall and accounting for the blood, all of which appears to go against the accused, who is revealed as a not-so-nice person, possibly a sexual predator, possibly controlling, certainly a cheat – taking lovers while married and a heinous spot of plagiarism from her unpublished wannabe writer husband.

Only at the very end, when the half-blind child enters the loft space from which the father fell, do we realize that it would be impossible for this to be murder unless there was more evidence pointing to that eventuality. If the movie – prosecution and defence equally guilty of overlooking the obvious – had spent a couple of minutes on the loft space both would have come to the conclusion not so much that murder could be counted out but that there would be clear evidence of it.

The window is pretty small and an odd shape. But there was no evidence of a struggle, no scratches on the wood or glass, no tiny shred of material, and for the questionable spatters to end up where they did, the victim had to fall out backwards. So that means he needs to be pushed from the front and make no effort to save himself. The more obvious means of disposing of him – being thumped on the head from the back – was not consistent with the way he fell. And in any case, the space available for the wife to hit him with some heavy object would have meant leaving some evidence of that.

So, while it was certainly overlong, and could do with losing a good 15-30 minutes, I was happy to go along with the tale, held together as it was by the superlative performances and the usual courtoom duelling, though taking the last-minute evidence presented by the young boy as conclusive proof the father committed suicide seemed a step too far.

As a dissection of a marriage, of expectations of roles, and especially of the propensity for a failure to blame everyone else for their failings, it gets top marks. But it wears out its arthouse credentials by ignoring the forensic obvious.

I can’t also be the only one really annoyed that this Oscar-nominated performance basically skipped cinematic release. As far as I can work out, it was shown for one week in an arthouse in my neck of the woods way back last year and despite the Oscar nomination didn’t resurface except for a money-grab one-day showing two days (i.e. last night) before the Oscar ceremony. Like Maestro, it’s taken the streaming dollar and run, rather than allowed cinematic word-of-mouth to do what cinematic word-of-mouth is meant to do and build a groundswell of positive opinion prior to the awards.

So, yes, watch it for the psychology and the Oscar-worthy performance but don’t expect a contemporary approach to the mystery.

Tag: Sandra Huller

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