3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, sexuality and brief chaste nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.23.16
Science-fiction authors figured
this out a long time ago: Trans-galaxy “sleeper ships” need functioning human
crew members — in some cases, generations of same — in order to handle the dire
emergencies that inevitably occur.
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| Trying to make the most of a bad situation that seems likely to last for the rest of their lives, Jim (Chris Pratt, center) and Aurora (Jennifer Lawrence) briefly distract themselves by chatting with an amiable android bartender (Michael Sheen). |
That said, and given a current
corporate climate that values human life on a par with plumbing fixtures, I’m
willing to believe that a huge colony transport would be sent to its
light-years-distant destination with 5,000-plus hibernating passengers,
monitored solely by ship-wide computers. Cost-efficiency, y’know. Don’t want to
waste all the money and resources necessary to feed and house attentive
crewmembers.
Passengers is an old-style sci-fi pulp
adventure constructed with top-drawer, 21st century movie-making pizzazz. The
latter does its best to obscure the hoary melodramatic clichés that run rampant
through Jon Spaihts’ original screenplay; for the most part director Morten
Tyldum delivers an engaging outer space escapade, with enough momentum to keep
viewers entertained.
That’s assuming we can forgive an
eye-rolling climax on par with Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, back in the
days of TV’s original Star Trek,
shouting “Ya canna change the laws of physics ... she’s gonna blow!”
Actually, that’s the lesser of
the two key issues that must be overcome in Spaihts’ script. The first is a
major plot point, and a deliberate moment of character development; based on
the reactions from Monday evening’s preview audience, some viewers won’t be able to get past the moment in
question.
All of which I hint at with
deliberate vagueness; this film builds suspense by slowly teasing its various
revelations.
Our first glimpse of the
space-bound Avalon is appropriately awesome, the huge ship’s rotating drive
system and passenger quarters protected by a forward-mounted shield array,
slowly crossing the screen in an introductory scene that evokes fond memories
of the similar first view of the Discovery, from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Visual effects gurus Erik Nordby and Greg Baxter
have fabricated a golly-gosh magnificent vessel: equal parts opulent luxury
liner and bad-ass interstellar convoy craft.
The autonomous shields precisely
deflect all stray space debris, until — giving us barely enough time to absorb
the vessel’s splendor — encountering an asteroid field surrounding a daunting,
moon-sized body. The shields hold, but the impact nonetheless resonates.
Deep inside the Avalon, a
hibernation pod winks into resuscitation mode. Moments later, passenger Jim
Preston (Chris Pratt) is awake and stumbling to his assigned quarters, guided
by a chirpy computer hologram guide (Julee Cerda, hilariously vacuous) who
assures him that “everything is fine.”
Hardly. It doesn’t take long for
Jim to realize that something has gone very
wrong. He’s the only person awake on the huge ship, and — thanks to his skills
as a nuts ’n’ bolts engineer — he figures out that the ship is only 30 years into
its 120-year journey to the colony planet of Homestead II. He’ll be dead long
before reaching that destination, when the rest of the passengers and crew will
revive.
This ghastly “reveal” is both
droll and horrifying, Pratt’s sharp comic timing illuminating Jim’s eventual
resignation to his fate, after first entertaining us with his five stages of
grief. Although the ship’s many computer aides readily assist within their
programmed specifications, dealing with them is the hologram equivalent of the
insufferable menus we navigate in automated phone systems, while (for example)
trying to book a doctor’s appointment ... and, ultimately, just as useless.
Spaihts has a lot of fun with
this comparison, as does Pratt.
Worse yet, Jim is a working-class
passenger with an economy-class fare, which limits his options in the automated
cafeteria and elsewhere; this, too, is rich with ongoing humor. As are the
diligent movements of the little robotic “sweepers” that meticulously scarf up
any messes made by Jim, during his clumsier — or angrier — moments.
Pratt deserves considerable
credit for holding our attention during this lengthy first act, although Jim
does encounter a companion of sorts: Arthur (Michael Sheen), the ship’s android
bartender, who holds court in an opulent corner of the huge main concourse. Arthur
dispenses fortune-cookie “wisdom” with an alacrity matched only by his facility
with bottled spirits. Sheen, forever deadpan, also is a hoot.
(We eventually learn that
Homestead Industries, the corporate monolith that owns and operates this
spaceship and many others like it, has made its fortune by exploiting the
colonist labor and resources on numerous distant planets. Given the
multi-century turn-around time between these worlds, the success of such an
improbable economic model seems highly unlikely. But that’s one of several, ah,
issues that Spaihts’ script capriciously ignores.)
Days, weeks and months pass, Jim vacillating
between manic highs and despondent lows. Pratt wins our hearts and minds; we bleed
for the poor guy. And we wonder, what would
one do, under such circumstances?
Unbeknownst to our woebegone lone
traveler, various other shipboard systems are twitching, fritzing and hiccupping.
Occasional glimpses of computer readouts — unavailable to Jim, contained within
the off-limits flight deck — reveal a mounting cascade of failing systems.
And, soon, the only man awake on
the ship is joined by the only woman: Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence), a New
York writer who intended to make the 120-year journey to Homestead II, stay for
a year while writing of her experiences, and then return to Earth via a similar
120-year voyage, thus becoming the first person to make such a round trip.
Lawrence is a gifted actress, but
not even she can distract us — when Aurora explains this goal to Jim — from the
degree to which she overlooks how things would have changed after a
quarter-millennium. Aurora’s blithe obliviousness makes her sound, well, kinda
dumb. Spaihts continues to be hazy and sloppy, regarding some of the logical consequences
of his premise.
It’s also rather distracting, how
both Jim and Aurora look and sound like our contemporaries, when they’re
surrounded by tech that must be at least a century in our future. Wouldn’t
fashion and interpersonal behavior have changed, at least a little?
Anyway...
The character dynamic shifts
significantly, as these two strangers warily circle each other. Jim is a
blue-collar problem-solver — let’s hear it for engineers! — with the clumsy
charm of a guy who’s never had a girlfriend, and hasn’t the faintest idea how
to behave around women. Aurora, in turn, is the product of an upper-class
upbringing: a sophisticate who jogs and swims laps — the ship’s swimming pool a
particularly spectacular concept — while Jim works various problems.
But their shared chemistry is
palpable nonetheless, and Tyldum and Spaights quite cleverly torture us with
the divergent plot threads: the undeniably sweet nature of the blossoming
relationship between Jim and Aurora, juxtaposed against an increasing number of
those red “failure” displays in the flight deck computer. It’s the ultimate in
Hitchcockian suspense: The ship is slowly dissolving into full-blown crisis,
and our main characters don’t know what we
know.
But such anxiety only resonates
if we care about these characters, and accept their behavior as persuasively
believable ... and this is where Spaihts’ reach may have exceeded his grasp.
Jim is well drawn, Pratt delivering a nicely shaded performance that gradually
reveals the guy’s hidden depths, good and
bad. We’re definitely involved, as we watch Jim become a better version of
himself.
Lawrence, on the other hand, must
contend with a far more complicated emotional arc. Much as we like Aurora’s
feisty independence, she’s confronted with all manner of challenges and nasty
surprises; the degree to which she repeatedly must “accept the inevitable” definitely
stretches our credibility.
Past the breaking point, in my
mind. The breathtaking, hell-for-leather climax is absurdly contrived on
several levels, mostly for Aurora’s abrupt, 180-degree about-face, which
Lawrence can’t sell to any degree. It
happens because, well, that’s what the script says.
In fairness, golden-age sci-fi
novels also were long on spectacle and adventure, and short on behavioral
logic, so Tyldum and Spaihts are faithful to the form. Viewers willing to go
with the flow will have a good time with Passengers,
but it is necessary to check logic
and common sense at the door.
The premise is intriguing, and
Lawrence and Pratt are easy on the eyes. That might be enough.
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