For all Christopher Nolan's shortcomings, his fatal flaw is a deficit of humanity. The Dark Knight trilogy's most believable character is a psychotic clown. Inception ping-pongs cardboard archetypes inside its convoluted dreamscape. Nolan's characters have no warmth, zero humor, marginal capacity for growth, only fall in love so they can mope when their partner dies. Casting big stars only highlights their one-dimensionality. There's no reason to care about anyone, whether Christian Bale or Extra #56.If Nolan were Michael Bay this wouldn't be a shock, or even a demerit: blockbusters generally aren't known for depth. But Nolan's somehow known as a cerebral filmmaker, though his ideas are facile and obnoxiously overstated: less blockbuster Stanley Kubrick than lowbrow Stanley Kramer. Batman Begins subjects us to endless lectures about fear; The Dark Knight's protracted finale only shows that gee, maybe humanity isn't evil after all. We almost pine for the innocent witlessness of Transformers.
When Nolan's not explaining themes, he's bludgeoning viewers with endless exposition. Nolan often takes 1,000 words to explain what a better director could convey with one image. Four-and-a-half years later, I still hate Inception for one particular scene. Ellen Page asks Leonardo DiCaprio what he's feeling. Guilt, DiCaprio replies. Followed by a fifteen minute, plot-stopping monolog explaining said guilt's origin in excruciating detail. When did pomposity become a substitute for intelligence?
Nolan's latest offering, Interstellar, offers the same failings on a grander scale. Beautifully conceived, it tops last year's Gravity in its jaw-dropping, immersive special effects. But for all its existential pondering, it's an empty shell.
Former NASA pilot Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) dreams of abandoning life as a subsistence farmer in the near-future. He stumbles upon Lazarus, a secret government project transporting humans to faraway galaxies through a wormhole. Cooper signs on, thinking it's the only way to save Earth's population from blight and dust storms. As Cooper and his crew mates travel to Saturn and beyond the infinite, Earth's situation worsens: daughter Murphy (Jessica Chastain) becomes an embittered scientist, while son Tom (Casey Affleck) clings to his dying farm. The surliest cynic can't deny Interstellar's technical brilliance. Nolan brings intergalactic travel to new heights, with Double Negative crafting amazing imagery. Shots of the Endurance spacecraft wending its way past Saturn, a tiny dot in space, are jaw-dropping, as are set-pieces making brilliant use of space silence (though not Hans Zimmer's typically tone-deaf score). If the wormhole scenes and snarky robot strongly recall 2001: A Space Odyssey it's hardly a demerit. The actual planets are equally impressive: an ice planet recalling Inception's snowbound finale, a sea with perpetually churning waves.
Sadly, Interstellar falls down elsewhere. Nolan and screenwriter-brother Johnathan revisit their usual faults: clunky dialogue, sloppy plotting, themes and arc words repeated ad nauseum. This movie's big howler has a marooned astronaut (Matt Damon) claiming that Cooper's buddies literally raised him from the dead. "Lazarus," Cooper helpfully mutters. Characters recite a Dylan Thomas poem four times, then it's shown onscreen for slower viewers. And of course, Nolan intercuts Cooper's revelation with flashbacks. This evinces either poor writing or utter contempt for Interstellar's audience. Possibly both.
Like other Nolan films, Interstellar gropes with interesting concepts. I enjoyed the early scenes, showing a dying society's indifference towards intellectualism: Murphy's school textbook proclaims the Moon landings a hoax! And unlike Inception, the rules about space and time travel are mostly consistent. Yet the second half reiterates, time and again, a tedious "needs of the many" dilemma that wears thin fast. Interstellar ends with an inspired idea, trapping Cooper in a personalized limbo that holds the story's key... only to ruin things with, you guessed it, a tedious monolog. Imagine 2001 ending with the Starchild explaining the Monolith.
Matthew McConaughey's incessant mumbling makes Marlon Brando sound like Rex Harrison. But he at least allows glimmers of emotion to shine through. In contrast, Anne Hathaway is a lifeless plank; Jessica Chastain, usually a vibrant, engaging actress, merely conveys sourness. Matt Damon and Casey Affleck turn up so the third act has human villains to jeer. John Lithgow's excellent... for the ten minutes he's onscreen. And Michael Caine is embalmed playing yet another snarky mentor.
Christopher Nolan has big ideas but little clue how to render them. It's hardly a question of "getting" a message that's pounded into you with a sledgehammer. At least his Batman films, Inception and The Prestige offer thrills and clever moments, however fleeting. With Interstellar, an ambitious but soulless mess, he's finally struck out.
