‘Interstellar’ in IMAX or — Jesus Wept?
It’s highly appropriate that the characters in ‘Interstellar’ (2014) visit a planet where, due to its proximity to a super-massive black hole, an hour on this world lasts seven years on Earth because sitting through all 2h 49 m of Christopher Nolan’s space epic last night felt like time had ground to a bloody halt.
It’s not that it’s a bad film as it’s technically impressive and contains some relatively exciting sequences but, like nearly all of Nolan’s work, it’s such a lumbering contradiction of extremes your brain starts to glaze over.
For example — it makes great claims of its scientific accuracy only to then tell the audience that love is a fifth dimension that transcends time and space. The thing is that absolutely that isn’t the case and I can confidently guarantee you that love is not an inherent force in the universe, although after watching this movie I highly suspect that stupidity might well be. In fact, this might be one of the most idiotic sci-fi movies ever made, and I watched ‘The Humanoid’ (1979) last week.
It also builds up the terrifying threat that Earth is rapidly running out of food and humanity is on the cusp of starvation only for, ¾’s of the way through, Casey Affleck’s wife to suddenly turn round and ask if anybody wants any more soufflé?
The film is also totally devoid of subtlety so I wasn’t surprised when Michael Caine started reciting Dylan Thomas’ ‘Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night’ as they fly off into the blackness of space, except the film then recites the poem another FOUR TIMES! Is this poetry meant to give it depth? If so it kinda backfires because with all that affected sentimentality and overly-reverential ethereal aesthetic it felt like watching ‘Blake’s 7’ directed by Terrance Malick.
And it is very much that faux Malick-esque majesty that Nolan’s going for here although Nolan rams his grandeur down our throats with such force that our eyes start watering on the shaft of his pomposity. Factor in Hans Zimmer constantly slapping us round the face with his organ and it all starts to feel a bit much.
I emerged from the cinema and discovered that due to the extreme density of the film’s daftness singularity that while only three hours had passed in the auditorium an astonishing 279 years had elapsed outside (I’m currently sending this message back from the future using a highly elaborate tachyon-based communications system) and that I was now living in Glasgow in the year 2303 A.D.. The city was totally unrecognisable: silver ships pierced the night sky, flying cars zoomed over head and Rangers and Celtic had destroyed themselves after the misguided decision to use a nuclear-powered football had accidentally obliterated half the city. Although Jonathan Watson was still on TV doing Graeme Souness impersonations, proof that, no matter how much time goes by, some things in the universe remain impervious to change.
