Exactly what it sounds like, the Pick of the Week column is written up by the Cinapse team on rotation, focusing on films that are past the marketing cycle of either their theatrical release or their home video release. So maybe the pick of the week will be only a couple of years old. Or maybe it’ll be a silent film, cult classic, or forgotten gem. Cinapse is all about thoughtfully advocating film, new and old, and celebrating what we love no matter how marketable that may be. So join us as we share about what we’re discovering, and hopefully you’ll find some new films for your watch list, or some new validation that others out there love what you love too! Engage with us in the comments or on Twitter or Facebook! And now, our Cinapse Movie Of The Week…
With Gravity and Interstellar meeting great success as well-crafted, modern science fiction tales involving space travel, it seems appropriate to shine a spotlight on a truly magnificent film which I feel has never received its due.
You may have had the same conversation in the astronomy unit of your high school science class. While discussing the life cycle of stars, a certain realization hits the room: all stars die. In the grand scale of things, our own Sun will die, and when that happens — game over, man, game over. The Earth is conclusively, inescapably, and irrevocably doomed, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. A hush falls over the class as you wonder what we should be doing to avert this inexorable fate, as the absolute futility of trying to affect the distant future crushes your feeble human brain. The teacher reassures everyone that this event is five billion years away, and that’s for the scientists of the future to figure out. A bell rings, and you get in line for square-shaped pizza, soggy french fries, and chocolate milk.
Sunshine is the story of the scientists of the future.
As our Sun dies, a crew of the Earth’s most brilliant physicists, mathematicians, and astronauts hurtles toward the dying Sun in enormous space ship Icarus II, carrying a very special payload — a nuclear stellarbomb described as having the mass of Manhattan. Their mission is to nuke the Sun in a last-ditch effort to reignite it. Actually, they’re the Earth’s second-most brilliant scientists — Icarus I failed in its mission seven years ago, and this second attempt is the last chance. On this small team rests the fate of humanity and the entire solar system.
This may sound like a B-movie plot, but to the great credit of director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland, the story is treated with total seriousness as well as an astounding cinematic eye.
Icarus II has an iconic and functional design. The forward side of the massive payload is a heavily shielded dome to deflect the scorching Sun, with the ship following in the shade behind. An observation deck provides forward visibility. The ship is also equipped with a greenhouse-like garden for oxygen and food, a VR room for entertainment and mental relaxation, and an AI personality which the pilots engage via voice commands. As a side note, the shield appears to be completely covered in gold, which is a highly reflective material. If true, then this bomb not only represents the full sum of Earth’s fissile material, but our collective wealth as well.
The very impressive cast includes Cillian Murphy, Chris Evans, Rose Byrne, Michelle Yeoh, Cliff Curtis, Hiroyuki Sanada, and Benedict Wong. These are the best scientists in the world, and quite appropriately it’s an International ensemble with American, Irish, Australian, Kiwi, Japanese, Chinese, and Hongkongese actors. Every member of the crew is imbued with a distinct personality and a role in the film’s events.
Primary protagonist Capa (Murphy) is a brilliant and sensitive physicist who is in a lot of ways the weakest crew member. Engineer Robert Mace (Evans) is the most coldly rational member of the crew who focuses only on completing the mission at any cost. He’s nearly always correct when disagreements occur, but his hot-headedness puts him in direct conflict with the others, Capa in particular. Psychologist Searle (Curtis) becomes obsessed with the overwhelming power of light as the ship gets ever closer to the Sun. Noble Captain Kaneda (Sanada, known for Ringu and The Twilight Samurai) is probably my favorite — I already loved him in his Japanese work; seeing him in a fully-realized English-speaking role is immensely satisfying. Interestingly, he’s also the only character without any weaknesses or character deficiencies, which probably explains why I love the guy so much. His endearment to both crew and audience becomes an important point later.
As the film progresses, the characters are faced with impossibly monumental decisions, the ramifications of which will impact all of humanity. When Icarus II receives a distress beacon from Icarus I, Capa, as the prevailing physicist, must decide whether they should alter their carefully plotted course to try to connect with the other ship. Ultimately he decides to do so — not to render aid, but to hopefully double their payload — two last hopes are better than one.
Later, when their oxygen supply dwindles to the point where it can no longer support the number of people on board to complete the mission, the team is faced with the horrifying decision to identify and kill their least critical member. What’s the right answer in a situation like this? It’s complex moral dilemmas like these which make Alex Garland’s script so riveting.
The scene in which the crew enters Icarus I is both exciting and haunting. I won’t say another word about it, but this is another reason I love the film. The tone here sets up a shift in the film that will become more and more horrific, and some of the terrifying moments which will follow are as effective as any horror picture.
Sunshine, as a concept, really is thematically at the center of the film, and at the center of many of the characters’ thoughts and actions, beyond the obvious plot aspect. We see Capa’s terrifying nightmares of falling into the Sun. His closest friend on the mission, Cassie (Byrne), admits to experiencing the same nightmares. Searle’s madness deepens as he becomes obsessed with the all-enveloping, all-consuming power that the Sun represents. As the film progresses, we see his skin become flaky and sunburned from spending all his time in the observation deck, as if trying to tap the Sun’s power. His obsession mirrors that of another character who will emerge as the film’s villain. Even the ship’s name, Icarus, is of course derived from the mythological character who flew too close to the Sun.
The theme of sunshine also is relayed constantly, and beautifully, through the film’s resplendent visuals. Light is expressed in many interesting ways: the surface of the Sun as seen on the observation deck (overpoweringly bright even at only 3.1% brightness — 4% would cause irreversible damage to the viewer), reflections off of golden shield panels, and a literal wave of sunfire which crashes over one character, and finally as a wall of flame and sparks as the nuclear reaction is engaged. The Sun is life, but it is also death. Icarus II’s massive shield provides safety to the crew, but anyone actually exposed to the Sun at this close distance would be immediately incinerated.
The film’s music is a huge part of why I love it. John Murphy knocks the score out of the park, just as he did with Boyle’s previous film, 28 Days Later. The film’s most tense and terrifying scenes are accompanied by magnificent and rousing themes which truly complement the images in the best way possible.
The film’s last act is the biggest point of contention for viewers. Boyle abandons the film’s gorgeous realism for unhinged style with wildly slanted and distorted camera work, blinding lens flares, whip-cut and disjointed editing, and moments of pure horror to accentuate the madness of a particular character who tries to sabotage the mission, and to obscure seeing this person clearly. I must admit that even I am not enthused by the stylistic liberties of this part of the film, but by this point it already owns me, overwhelmingly, and I can tolerate a couple minutes of space-time freakout for 97 minutes of perfection.
Just a year later, Boyle’s talents would be rewarded on the critically and commercially lauded Slumdog Millionaire with Academy Awards for Direction and Best Picture, yet these distinctions did little to raise the profile of the film that I actually consider his masterwork. Crushingly futile yet hopefully optimistic, horrifying yet uplifting; I urge appreciators of science fiction cinema to give Sunshine a new life.
A/V Out.