Interstellar

Interstellar is an imaginative movie, but a heavy-handed mix of personal sacrifice and theoretical physics doesn’t leave much room for subtle storytelling (or particularly memorable action). For a film that is rooted in the love between a father and his daughter, Interstellar offers surprisingly cold (and often stiff) drama – albeit drama that is buoyed by high-minded science fiction scenarios and arresting visuals. Nolan relies heavily on lengthy scenes of surface-level exposition, where characters debate or outright explain complicated physics and philosophical ideas, to educate the audience and ruminate on humanity (both good and bad) in the face of death and destruction.

I also appreciated that the “Interstellar” script undertook some major themes about humanity—do you think it’s worth thinking about questions like these: “should I act altruistically or just act to ensure my own survival? Is it okay to lie to give others hoped in a desperate situation? It is best to stay at home and raise a family or better to sacrifice that role of parent to go out and “save the world?” Is there some greater intelligence out there in the universe, or are we all there is? Is Love itself a transcendent reality or is it just an emotional reaction inside us?” And don’t forget that one haunting question that keeps us all up at night: “how can I cross-dimensionally change a watch into a cool Morse code machine?”

Despite a 169 minute runtime, Interstellar never really develops its central heroes beyond anything but static outlines – and Cooper is no exception. Viewers will root for him, and come to understand what he cherishes and believes about humanity, but any major revelations come from what happens to him – not necessarily what he brings to the table or how he evolves through his experiences.

The movie's storytelling masterstroke comes from adherence to principles of relativity: the astronauts perceive time differently depending on where Endurance is, which means that when they go down onto a prospective habitable world, a few minutes there equal weeks or months back on the ship. Meanwhile, on Earth, everyone is aging and losing hope. Under such circumstances, even tedious housekeeping-type exchanges become momentous: one has to think twice before arguing about what to do next, because while the argument is happening, people elsewhere are going grey, or suffering depression from being alone, or withering and dying. Here, more so than in any other Nolan film (and that's saying a lot), time is everything. "I'm an old physicist," Brand tells Cooper early in the film. "I'm afraid of time." Time is something we all fear. There's a ticking clock governing every aspect of existence, from the global to the familial. Every act by every character is an act of defiance, born of a wish to not go gently.

For those who are able to pay attention long enough this movies “profound” message that “we are our own gods” may be a little put out by the end of the film.