First Man’s Magnificent Desolation

The moon has forever looked down on humanity. Mythic, ghostly, impenetrable - it's always been there, and we've been forever drawn to it with a mixture of awe and fear. 

The mid-sixties was a time when science was determined to reach out and place a wedding band on the finger of exploration, and stride boldly into the future - and no figure embodied that most human of endeavors more than the astronaut. Today we almost take their achievements for granted. Sadly, in our current climate they've almost become an endangered species. But there was a time when launching someone into space captured the attention of the entire planet. What was that time like? Well if you're too young to remember, you don't need a time machine. As director Damien Chazelle's (Whiplash, La La Land) film about Neil Armstrong's journey from the early days of the Gemini program to being the first man to set foot on another world, is so jaw-droppingly realistic and authentic, it's like a window into another era. 

The opening minutes of First Man are as immersive and anxiety-inducing as anything I can remember experiencing, as Armstrong's test flight of the hypersonic X-15 experimental aircraft pushes out of the Earth's atmosphere, only to find he may not be able to get back down again. Chazelle grabs the audience by the lapels by vividly depicting the machinery of the day - all rivets and bolts, with incredibly sound design that envelops you in threatening rumbles and shuddering vibrations of groaning steel - of vehicles and occupants pushed beyond their designed limits of structural tolerance. 

Neil Armstrong was an engineer and a civilian astronaut, and Ryan Gosling is simply phenomenal at evoking his cerebral problem-solving and calm under duress. It's a subtle, restrained performance loaded with emotion, barely held in check below the surface of his steady determination. The film moves back and forth between Armstrong and NASA's progress towards an actual lunar mission, and his home-life with wife Janet (The Crown's Claire Foy), a marriage haunted by unendurable loss. Foy is remarkable, and blows away any stereotypes of the long-suffering wife. First Man is a film about incredible pressures - both mechanical and emotional. The progress from Gemini to Apollo is full of tragic casualties. The shadow of dread and death is never far. Foy's fear that space is a mistress who's intent on forever snatching away her husband from their family is heartbreaking to watch. In both spaceflight and marriage, the feeling of enduring strain after strain is palpable.

Chazelle is only 33, but he's moved into the master class here. Scene after scene is conveyed with incredible immediacy of perspective. When the hatch closes on a capsule, sealing the occupants inside, the claustrophobia is tangible and right in your face. The use of sound is revolutionary. Straining components threaten to rip asunder, like a deep sea plunge out of Das Boot. It's stunning these scientists did what they did. The technology of the day seems impossibly analog, all dials and switches. Chazelle and cinematographer Linus Sandgren change formats as the eras evolve. Early scenes are shot in Super 16 mm, moving to 35 mm in the Gemini and Apollo sections, then popping into 65 mm crystalline detail on the lunar surface. 

This is stunning filmmaking, real cinema, and cries out to be seen in the theater - which may be a fleeting proposition. The human dynamics can feel bleak and restrained at times, and there's no overt heroics or showboating - that's not who Neil Armstrong was. As a result, audiences may be finding it challenging to connect with this story. The film's been failing at the box office in the wake of shockers like Venom and Halloween - which is a damn shame. They're missing out on one of the absolute best pictures in ages, and performances that deserve to be seen and celebrated. First Man is an incredible achievement and absolutely worth seeking out in theaters while you still can. Very highly recommended. 

A Twisted Twofer: Hereditary and Sacred Deer both punish parents

The horror genre is a beast of many stripes. Currently the roost is ruled by Blumhouse franchises like Paranormal Activity, The Purge, and Insidious, along with Poltergeist descendants in The Conjuring film series, such as The Nun. These films do incredibly well – Friday night date staples that deliver the thrills and jump-scares audiences hunger for.

But there’s another strain of horror that’s not nearly as date-night friendly, courtesy of entertainment company A24. These pictures are making names for their directors, and are definitely more disturbing. A24 has a strong indie sensibility that’s reaped plenty of critical attention, with films like Ex Machina, Lady Bird, Moonlight, Eighth Grade and Room. But they’re also fond of horror movies – unsettling, ‘effed-up horror movies – such as The Witch – and the two movies we’re talking about today, both of which should come with a strong warning label.

First up, Hereditary, directed by Ari Aster, about a grieving family coming to terms with life after the death of the family matriarch. Toni Collette is the surviving daughter, and in a career of amazing performances, her work here is bold and unforgettable. As an audience member, if you’re coping with grief, or have strong feelings about being a parent, you might want to steer a really wide course away from this movie. Collette depicts grief at its most primal, naked and horrific. Her despair so raw that we come away wounded and bereft ourselves. Milly Shapiro, Gabriel Byrne and Alex Wolff round out this excellent cast. Aster evokes films such as Rosemary’s Baby, Don’t Look Now and The Wicker Man, delivering us a film worthy of their company, but incredibly hard to watch. 

If you’re feeling you still need one more sock in the jaw, there’s The Killing of a Sacred Deer. The title evokes a Greek tragedy, and director Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster) certainly brings a heavy sense of dread and portent to this story of a successful cardiologist’s (Colin Farrell) relationship with the son (Barry Keoghan) of a deceased patient. Lanthimos (with DP Thimios Bakatakis) overtly resurrects the chilly spirit of Stanley Kubrick, from fluid, dream-like tracking shots, to oddly stilted spousal conversations and moody violin-tortured Ligeti. Acts of violence are witnessed with a sudden, documentarian eye. Again, if you’re a parent, this one has a Proceed With Caution warning label. I’m still processing The Killing of a Sacred Deer. My initial reaction was to go take a good, cleansing shower. Farrell – along with Nicole Kidman – does great work, though the acting style here is very odd, with a kind of hushed theatricality, the purpose of which is hard to fathom.

I love horror in all its disturbing flavors and iterations, and the craft on display in both these films is undeniable. But my reaction to both of these was strong, to the point where I wanted to look away – and I think a lot of that’s due to being a parent. Both films treat children brutally, in ways it’s hard to shake or dismiss (“Oh, that’s just zombies,”). There’s a primeval terror when faced with the inability to protect your child or save them from doom, that both these films painfully evoke. I can’t say either film is one I’m looking to revisit anytime soon. They leave a depressing aftertaste that feels like existential nihilism. Though I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing Toni Collette can’t do. So as we say with many a twisted tale, “Proceed with Caution.”