Bewildered, having slept on it (twice), I come back to the same feeling. It’s like I think I have to explain myself because, well, I don’t want it to be true. I’m not let down so much as confused as to how things got so out of hand. Interstellar is unsatisfying, terribly misguided, and often infuriating. The new film from Christopher Nolan isn’t good.
Sometimes bad films get made, and Nolan is allowed a dud, but the magnitude of Interstellar’s troubles stops me stone cold. When we last saw Nolan, the final installment of his Batman franchise was carried out on a stretcher next to a ticking time bomb, a noted cliché’s cliché. I enjoyed The Dark Knight Rises, but I wasn’t inclined to hold it to the same standard I do Nolan’s original content. But as Interstellar has tumbled down on my head in such confounding fashion, the Nolan mystique now bears a Gargantua-sized black hole.
Checking in at a grueling 2 hours and 46 minutes, every single aspect of the film bottoms out at some point. The visuals, where sumptuous, fail to exceed something beyond imagination. Certainly the best and most consistent element of the film, Nolan fails to do more than he’s already accomplished with less.
The actors seem completely lost in the gristmill of exhausting exposition, extended explanations of astrophysics, and a stilted atmosphere of sentimentality. The sprawling cast moves from myopic human to myopic human. Where their end game may differ, all of them are single minded because, Oh! …there’s a lesson here. But the emotional investment requested in each player is hardly congruent with the paltry caricatures we’re offered.
But of all the ways Interstellar finds to disappoint, none even come close to the failure of the story. Austere in all the wrong places, utterly laughable in others, the narrative is an empty vessel. I kid you not, “Do not go gentle into that good night,” by Dylan Thomas is meant to be taken seriously as both a literate reference and framing device.
The first act stumbles into our one dimensional themes and sets up the thinnest plot movement Nolan has ever employed. The second act, the exploration act, is the strongest, but never quite gets in a good rhythm. The third act, well… If I didn’t recognize the film was so consumed by its own self-seriousness, I’d be certain it was a pastiche at best, and total middle finger at worst.
I can only hint around the big reveal. It’d be unfair to spoil even what is a ludicrous bit of storytelling. Many will argue there’s a concept to “get.” Sure, whatever, but it’s not a lofty one. It’s not even an ambitious one, and it’s well within reason to describe it as outright asinine. Watching, I was slack-jawed in complete disbelief, others we’re cackling at the screen. Our reactions don’t matter, but Nolan dragged us a long way for a moment on which there was no passable foundation for it to stand. And on a more personal level, let’s not mince words, it was as borderline insulting a big movie moment as I can recall.
All of Nolan’s indulgences are on display, time, space, self, etc… Sure, it’s fun, but you know it by rote. Some will point to the film’s cerebral nature and commitment to science. Others will point to Nolan’s love of real sets over CGI and his proselytizing for film. Plenty will even celebrate being browbeaten about the need for space program. And his director buddies like it, so you know it must be justified in its existence. But—if you’re willing to be honest with yourself—it all equates to nil in the face of Interstellar’s so very shoddily drawn, and patently—almost brazenly—weightless core. In my naïve experience, films should be enjoyed for the cumulative effort on the screen. Interstellar delivers everyplace but.
Interstellar is indicative of a strange Nolan problem: the higher the stakes, the worse the film. When Nolan’s stakes are commitment to a magic trick and corporate espionage, his films are exceptional. When a city has to be saved from a nuclear strike, or the exponentially greater task of saving humanity arises, his films are proportionally worse.
Nolan has always been able to glide across these circuitous, device heavy premises with grace and dignity. But sometimes you don’t realize how shallow a place is until something crashes and the wreckage of inert ideas bob on the surface.
—Monte Monreal
Sometimes bad films get made, and Nolan is allowed a dud, but the magnitude of Interstellar’s troubles stops me stone cold. When we last saw Nolan, the final installment of his Batman franchise was carried out on a stretcher next to a ticking time bomb, a noted cliché’s cliché. I enjoyed The Dark Knight Rises, but I wasn’t inclined to hold it to the same standard I do Nolan’s original content. But as Interstellar has tumbled down on my head in such confounding fashion, the Nolan mystique now bears a Gargantua-sized black hole.
Checking in at a grueling 2 hours and 46 minutes, every single aspect of the film bottoms out at some point. The visuals, where sumptuous, fail to exceed something beyond imagination. Certainly the best and most consistent element of the film, Nolan fails to do more than he’s already accomplished with less.
The actors seem completely lost in the gristmill of exhausting exposition, extended explanations of astrophysics, and a stilted atmosphere of sentimentality. The sprawling cast moves from myopic human to myopic human. Where their end game may differ, all of them are single minded because, Oh! …there’s a lesson here. But the emotional investment requested in each player is hardly congruent with the paltry caricatures we’re offered.
But of all the ways Interstellar finds to disappoint, none even come close to the failure of the story. Austere in all the wrong places, utterly laughable in others, the narrative is an empty vessel. I kid you not, “Do not go gentle into that good night,” by Dylan Thomas is meant to be taken seriously as both a literate reference and framing device.
The first act stumbles into our one dimensional themes and sets up the thinnest plot movement Nolan has ever employed. The second act, the exploration act, is the strongest, but never quite gets in a good rhythm. The third act, well… If I didn’t recognize the film was so consumed by its own self-seriousness, I’d be certain it was a pastiche at best, and total middle finger at worst.
I can only hint around the big reveal. It’d be unfair to spoil even what is a ludicrous bit of storytelling. Many will argue there’s a concept to “get.” Sure, whatever, but it’s not a lofty one. It’s not even an ambitious one, and it’s well within reason to describe it as outright asinine. Watching, I was slack-jawed in complete disbelief, others we’re cackling at the screen. Our reactions don’t matter, but Nolan dragged us a long way for a moment on which there was no passable foundation for it to stand. And on a more personal level, let’s not mince words, it was as borderline insulting a big movie moment as I can recall.
All of Nolan’s indulgences are on display, time, space, self, etc… Sure, it’s fun, but you know it by rote. Some will point to the film’s cerebral nature and commitment to science. Others will point to Nolan’s love of real sets over CGI and his proselytizing for film. Plenty will even celebrate being browbeaten about the need for space program. And his director buddies like it, so you know it must be justified in its existence. But—if you’re willing to be honest with yourself—it all equates to nil in the face of Interstellar’s so very shoddily drawn, and patently—almost brazenly—weightless core. In my naïve experience, films should be enjoyed for the cumulative effort on the screen. Interstellar delivers everyplace but.
Interstellar is indicative of a strange Nolan problem: the higher the stakes, the worse the film. When Nolan’s stakes are commitment to a magic trick and corporate espionage, his films are exceptional. When a city has to be saved from a nuclear strike, or the exponentially greater task of saving humanity arises, his films are proportionally worse.
Nolan has always been able to glide across these circuitous, device heavy premises with grace and dignity. But sometimes you don’t realize how shallow a place is until something crashes and the wreckage of inert ideas bob on the surface.
—Monte Monreal
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