Three stars. Rated PG-13, and too harshly, for dramatic intensity and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.12.18
Director Damien Chazelle and screenwriter Josh Singer jump into their film with an edge-of-the-seat sequence: the highest of solo pilot Neil Armstrong’s numerous test flights in the X-15 rocket airplane.
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| While Janet Armstrong (Claire Foy) putters in the kitchen, her husband Neil (Ryan Gosling) and their elder son Rick (Gavin Warren) work on a jigsaw puzzle during a rare moment of family bonding, unaware that a phone call is about to bring disturbing news. |
It’s a savagely cut cacophony of images: the shuddering and jouncing aircraft; the roar of the rocket engines that blast Armstrong (Ryan Gosling) up to 207,500 feet; similarly jittery close-ups on his determined expression.
And then utter silence, as the engines switch off (intentionally) ,and Armstrong gets a panoramic view of the blue globe below, against the dark-night contrast at the edge of space.
Totally, amazingly breathtaking.
But that’s just the preamble. Armstrong’s return to Earth goes awry when the X-15 begins to “bounce” off the upper atmosphere, sending him even higher into the mesosphere above. Utter chaos, as he tries to compensate while mentally plotting a new landing spot, having zoomed past the planned touchdown at Edwards Air Force Base.
Like, wow.
First Man is laden with sequences even superior to this one, given a degree of verisimilitude — by visual effects supervisor Paul Lambert — wholly on par with the we-are-there reality viewers experienced while watching 2013’s Gravity. It becomes clear that Armstrong had more lives than a cat, and also possessed seat-of-the-pants math and physics calculating skills that made him just this side of a walking computer. (A good thing, too, given the limitations of 1960s mainframes.)
If only this film’s quieter moments were handled as well.
Singer’s script is adapted from James R. Hansen’s 2005 best-seller, First Man: The Life of Neil A. Armstrong, the pilot/astronaut’s only official biography. The film’s intimate “family” element takes place in between stunning piloting events that could be considered myth, were the details not so well known: the aforementioned 1962 X-15 flight, the 1966 Gemini 8 crisis, the 1968 mishap with one of the Earthbound Lunar Lander Research Vehicles, and — the reason for this film’s existence — the 1969 Apollo 11 mission.
Considerable time is spent with Armstrong’s home life, particularly early on, as he and his wife Janet (Claire Foy) agonize over the final months of their 2-year-old daughter, Karen, who died while being treated for a malignant tumor at the base of her brain stem. This is a lot to take in, so quickly, and explanations are minimal.
The presentation of this chapter establishes the style Chazelle and cinematographer Linus Sandgren use throughout the film: lots of tight close-ups and jiggle-cam tracking shots, like one would expect from home movies. This suggests documentary-style authenticity — which Chazelle likely intended — but it also assumes considerable pre-existing knowledge of the part of the viewer, and repeatedly leaves questions unanswered.
I got a sense, heightened as the film continued, that this 141-minute drama has been distilled from a longer director’s edit. Details are left unexplained; scenes cut abruptly to unrelated events.
Perhaps more critically, Chazelle and Singer frequently chip away at the nobility and “sense of wonder” always associated with Armstrong and his early astronaut colleagues. While there’s nothing wrong with bringing a human element to an individual who has long been lionized as a hero, there comes a point where such treatment begins to feel mean-spirited.
Singer’s script argues that Karen’s death prompted Armstrong to intensify his desire to enter the space program, and — due to grief — caused him to shut down emotionally. There’s little evidence for the former, and while the latter seems reasonable, there’s a world of difference between being quietly focused and introverted, and zombie blankness … which is how Gosling spends the entire film.
He may as well be on Quaaludes, given his utter absence of expressive depth. As the film progresses, Armstrong walls off Janet and their two young sons to the point of cruelty, and — as depicted here — any NASA colleague with an ounce of sense would have sent this guy for psychological counseling, and likely grounded him.
More to the point, we don’t see enough of Gosling’s Armstrong, prior to the little girl’s death, to get any sense that his behavior has changed. It’s much like Jack Nicholson’s misfired performance in 1980’s The Shining: If he acts like a lunatic before the evil ghosts infect him, there’s no dramatic oomph following the supposed shift.
Armstrong isn’t the only character subject to such unpleasant scrutiny. Corey Stoll makes Buzz Aldrin an arrogant, tone-deaf jerk whose every callous statement rubs his colleagues the wrong way, during the bulk of the film. Armstrong clearly doesn’t care for the man (nor do we), and yet — abruptly — once they’re both part of the Apollo 11 team, Aldrin undergoes a total personality shift, and they’re palsy-walsy. Say what?
And why, more than once, are the Armstrongs’ sons depicted as such ill-mannered brats, unable to be controlled by their mother? Is this some sort of statement regarding Janet’s impotence, in the face of her husband’s frequent and lengthy absences?
Her apparent “helplessness” with the boys doesn’t gibe with the spunk and forceful presence she demonstrates while arguing, at one telling point, with Deke Slayton (Kyle Chandler). Foy is an extremely accomplished actress, as anybody watching The Crown can testify, but she can’t get a handle of the wildly vacillating aspects of Janet Armstrong’s personality.
The family dynamic finally gels persuasively — Neil, Janet and the two boys — on the night before he leaves for the Apollo mission. This powerful and well-played scene, by all four actors, merely reinforces how much of the rest of the film feels maddeningly superficial.
Supporting actors in sidebar roles are handled far better, topped by Jason Clarke’s excellent portrayal of Edward “Ed” White, the loyal friend and colleague who comes closest to penetrating Armstrong’s emotional barrier. (White was the first American to walk in space, during the Gemini 4 mission.) Clarke radiates sympathy and sensitivity, and he meshes well with Olivia Hamilton, equally engaging as Ed’s wife, Pat.
Chandler feels similarly authentic as Slayton, and Ciarán Hinds exudes authority as NASA Manned Spacecraft Center director Robert Gilruth. His best scene — a gut-wrenching moment — comes as he reads aloud the text of the letter that will be distributed to the media, should something go wrong with the Apollo mission.
Other familiar names and faces come and go so quickly, they barely resonate: Jim Lovell (Pablo Schreiber), Pete Conrad (Ethan Embry), Gus Grissom (Shea Whigham), Roger Chaffee (Cory Michael Smith) and many more.
Justin Hurwitz’s score is quite effective, particularly when moments of mounting musical suspense abruptly cut to total silence. And yes, Neil and Janet really did share a weird Theremin orchestral tune, titled “Lunar Rhapsody.”
All tech credits are superb, with production designer Nathan Crowley’s re-creation of Mission Control a particular treat.
To be fair, there’s no denying the awesome power of the climactic moment when Armstrong triumphantly says “The Eagle has landed” … not to mention the even greater chill that comes from what he says upon setting foot on the Moon.
But I left this film chagrined, feeling that too much nobility had been stripped from heroes and a space program treated far, far better in 1983’s The Right Stuff, 1995’s Apollo 13 and the terrific 1998 TV miniseries From the Earth to the Moon.
I have no idea what Chazelle expects is the take-away from his film, which — despite its highlights — feels unfocused and sloppy.
Armstrong deserved better.
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