In Which Duncan Jones And Sam Rockwell Take Us To The Moon

The Dark Side of You Know What

by ALEX CARNEVALE

I don't want to make you sad about Moon. If someone told me they'd made a movie called Moon that wasn't about the Moon, I'd probably take out a contract on their life. I went to see Moon for you. I did it for you. Are you happy?

Wave to Daddy! That's it. Moon begins in a lunar base on the Moon, where the politely named Sam (Sam Rockwell) practices his acting in front of a live studio audience. Rockwell's made a career of hamming it up at the best (Galaxy Quest) and worst (Heist) possible times. He's one of those actors who is essentially always playing himself, like Pauly Shore or Bill Clinton. I don't know why I assumed Rockwell had some talent as an actor, but he's constantly overmatched here, and doesn't have any of the gravitas needed for the role. This would be the opposite of a 'star-making' performance. His face, when stripped of all joy, is just a face.

Ultimately, though, the blame for this being the best science fiction has to offer on the screen right now can't rest entirely on one miscalculated performance. Instead of making a film about the Moon, director Duncan Jones has simply used it as a palette, not unlike that of a bathroom floor, where the stalest of science fiction clichés have come to rest. It's like he took a crash course in M. Night and birthed this movie out of the next morning's hangover.

It is almost impossible not to be funny in space. Sure, Kubrick achieved it, but that's because he was a very serious sort of fellow. The vast scenery, the total isolation, the presence of a sometimes-capable comic actor...could they not simply add someone to write a few jokes? They hired Rockwell, who is ostensibly a comic actor. Sam's presence is joined by a thinking computer, although not a very smart computer, voiced by Kevin Spacey. I envy all children born today who will never have to know Kevin Spacey. Perhaps that gag will age better than the rest of the film.

Anyway, Jones and crew obviously learned somewhere that action needs conflict, so Sam couldn't be completely alone, unless this is a lazy film school short, which it feels like for most of its intolerable running time. Sam is soon joined by others, whether real or imagined. The film spirals onward, giving the lie to the need for a three act structure and simply boring us routinely and consistently throughout.

Moon makes me sad because they had the best character in the history of film (The Moon) and wasted him. Where is the thrill of a lesser gravity, the great craters, the stunning mountains?

The events that occur here aren't really essential to the Moon; Moon could have taken place on an isolated island and the only difference would be spacesuits. A lengthy and unnecessary prologue sets up the story that informs us that Helium-3 has been discovered on the Moon and is fulfilling the world's energy needs. There is nothing that vexes me more than a lazy premise; I still can't watch Terms of Endearment.

No, the film is more concerned with the details of isolated human confinement; how we survive such a place and how it drives us crazy in the end. Except: it doesn't. Perhaps the generation before ours was overly concerned with being underground all the time — such an experience would be an undoing medley of claustrophobia and panic attacks for those people. But not now! Today's youth is proof that a human being can be subjected to a variety of new stresses and simply evolve beyond them.

There is a flagship Barnes & Noble store on 86th Street that recently opened, and I highly suggest you visit it. Meters and meters underground you go, where it stops, nobody knows. More than 300 feet below the surface there is no feeling of that in the environment. People mill peacefully, guards look on. It's like peering into the Stanford Prison Experiment and wanting to join up. Man can live anywhere, he will become accustomed to it, and it will feel more normal than his own home.

Moon is silly, but enough of that — it is also maddeningly unwilling to explore any new territory. Most films so closely packed in on themselves allow for some vast opening near the end to another kind of experience. I won't ruin the ending, Duncan Jones already did. Where is the wonder of escaping the most primitive of bonds? Why is space ever a prison in the human imagination? Sometimes it's easier than you think for a storyteller to ruin the best part of his own story.

We are desperate for something that will free us from our earthly bonds. Moon suggests it is all there in front of us. Life on Earth is the dream, the Moon's just the place you go before you get there. I don't agree, but I will concede that our future lies indoors, in a succession of even smaller holes in time, giving way to passages that may or may not lead outdoors. The virtuality of the future is, inevitably, our reality.

Alex Carnevale is the editor of This Recording. He tumbls here.

"We're Going Home" — Clint Mansell (mp3)

"Are You Receiving?" — Clint Mansell (mp3)

"Two Weeks And Counting" — Clint Mansell (mp3)