Passengers, 2016.
Directed by Morten Tyldum.
Starring Jennifer Lawrence, Chris Pratt, Michael Sheen, Laurence Fishburne and Andy Garcia.
SYNOPSIS:
A spacecraft traveling to a distant colony planet and transporting thousands of people has a malfunction in its sleep chambers. As a result, two passengers are awakened 90 years early.
Warning. Spoilers follow…
A high up executive at Sony should be revoked of all company privileges for failing to call Passengers “Muppets In Space.” That fear of being marooned in space wouldn’t be so bad if you had the company of Kermit and co, but to have Chris Pratt-a perennial Golden Retriever-and Jennifer Lawrence-an ever-growing bubble of sarcasm-one can imagine those 88 years would begin to feel stretched. Much like the spacecraft itself, it seems director Morten Tyldum (moving further and further from the brilliance of Headhunters) chose the option of auto-pilot. His fingerprints are entirely absent, washed away by the monolithic personalities of its leads and the faint whiff of the monstrous shadow of studio intervention.
30 years into a 120 voyage, Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) finds himself awoken from hyper-sleep alone and confused on the Starship Avalon-a city sized ship travelling to distant colony planet “Homestead II.” For a year, his only company is cyborg bartender Arthur (a charming Michael Sheen) but his madness begins to grow-made visible by a ragged beard, designer disheveled hair and Hollywood alcoholism. Following a botched attempt at suicide, he stumbles upon the sleeping body of Aurora Lake (Jennifer Lawrence), a successful writer and all round good egg with whom he falls for. He briefly grapples with the idea of waking her up, questions the terrible decision for a moment, then does.
Once awake, Jim attempts to hide the fact that he saw a beautiful woman and realised the only way he can get into her pants is to inadvertently murder her, all while the ship begins to display a series of worrying technical malfunctions.
It’s difficult to look past a central concept hinging on such rampant sexism and the film does little to help. Lawrence, an adept actress, has to look confused, fuck, cry, be all a bit helpless, then fuck once more. Her independence only hinges on the whereabouts of her male counterpart, every decision she makes is in order to please, or aggravate a man. She is but Jim’s celestial fuck doll.
Those moments before she’s awoken, an elongated montage of Pratt living out his wildest fantasies of dancing against holograms, playing basketball on his own and eating fancy food with robots (all to the tune of that toxic remix of A Little Less Conversation), play as little more than teeth-grindingly irritating. Pratt’s charisma and charm-of which he has bags of-can only go so far before tipping into annoyance.
Yet, it’s as Jim wanders the ship drunk, alone, his fate suddenly clear, that the film is at its most confident. But again, like many a modern blockbuster, there is no real threat. It wanders aimlessly from set-piece to set piece without any real risk or conflict. There is little point in flashy sequences of gravity failure or moments of grand heroism if the ultimate fate of the characters is made clear early on.
Somewhere beneath the monolithic personalities of Pratt and Lawrence, beneath the endless montages of the two of them looking sporadically sad then exuberant as they have a dance battle in space or have sex in space or have breakfast in space, beneath the never-ending series of exterior shots of the ship rotating, there’s an interesting discussion on the ethical and moral dilemma of waking up a woman-thus ending her life a century early-in order to shag her. Keep an eye out for Andy Garcia in the year’s most ridiculous “Jesus Christ was that…” moment.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★
Thomas Harris
