Space is scary. Pretty much everything can go wrong when you leave terra firma, as history and a whole galaxy of set-in-the-cosmos films can tell you.
The government might have jettisoned manned space travel but clearly the public wants more of it, much more, indicated by a recent spate of high-end space movies. (In fact, didn’t we just see Matt Damon marooned on another planet in another movie, in Interstellar?)
Our appetite for more of that big, dark expanse of deep space should mean that it’s easy, then, to craft a film containing some degree of tension when you set it there. By all means throw in a line or two of dialogue to let the audience relax before they resume nail-biting. But in The Martian, director Ridley Scott has created a hero so seemingly unruffled by his predicament, so glib, that much of the wonder of the unknown has dissipated into the ether.
During the Ares III expedition, it’s botanist Mark Watney’s (Damon) job to collect soil samples of the red planet. But when a cataclysmic storm hits the surface the team of astronauts is separated, and Mark is injured then left for dead as the crew — among them Michael Pena, Sebastian Stan, Aksel Hennie, Kate Mara and captain Jessica Chastain — evacuates. Â
He comes to, completely alone. Mark’s first order of business is to breathe. Second is to do a little gory self-surgery that takes as much out of us, the audience, as it does out of him.
Next order of business is to perform a loaves-and-fishes miracle with a small stash of potatoes meant for the astronauts’ Thanksgiving dinner. “Mars will come to fear my botany powers,” Mark says. (Thanks to suit cams, dash cams and daily logs Mark is always on.)
Forget that water was just discovered on Mars this week: when Andy Weir’s book was written and the film was made we didn’t know that. Mark sets about creating a greenhouse and an innovative irrigation system — using his own fecal waste, brilliant and yuck at the same time — in a sector of the base. “In your face, Neil Armstrong!”
NASA finally realizes that Mark didn’t perish in the storm, which creates a tricky public-relations quandary for Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels), director of NASA, and their spin doctor, played by a miscast Kristen Wiig. “How are we going to sell this to the public?” A star-studded ensemble (Chiwetel Ejiofor, Sean Bean) debates the best way to keep Mark alive for a planet full of people who want a happy ending; U.S. and China collaborate (always a good thing for the sizeable Chinese movie-going market); and, as usual, genius is found in the young new guy hopped up on too much coffee. Â
Meanwhile, Mark finds a way to communicate with ground control. All this ingenuity serves a dual purpose: it keeps him alive and it keeps him sane, no mean feat. But we see precious little of the chinks in Mark’s armour until he goes into “pirate” mode towards film’s end. He finally mentions his family, asking that the authorities let them know that he died for something “big and beautiful and greater than me.”
Under Scott’s direction the red, dry planet is varied and lovely. Sure, things get totally ridiculous before the credits roll but before then the science is accessible and the scenarios almost-believable, thanks to real gizmos like the Pathfinder.
But the film’s greatest asset is Damon, who does a beautiful job. More vulnerability from his character — and less of the running gag about the disco music — would’ve reflected the wonder most of us feel as we gaze at the stars, and made The Martian a masterpiece.Â
The Martian opens this week at the Park and Scotiabank.
