I.S.S.
BLEECKER STREETOn the surface, it’s quite strange that for a ninety-or-so minute space station thriller with an Academy award-winning actress and a cast who all individually have a small but decent following – Ariana DeBose, John Gallagher Jr., Chris Messina, and Pilou Asbaek – has come and gone with a blink of an eye? After watching the feature, however, the reason is not so ambivalent or grey but glaringly obvious.
To answer the above question: one, if not the most significant, reason is that with everything that I.S.S. proposes, it does so in the most meandering, conventional and contrived manner possible. Absolutely no risk both contextually and theatrically is proposed within this venture and, granted, while the sub-genre or suspense in space has been somewhat lukewarm as of late, any excuse or want to seek this out is somewhat left meaningless with such a lack and lasting impact this feature proposes. On an eerily similar level, both contextually and conceptually to the likes of Cloverfield Paradox, both films propose genres and conventions of claustrophobic suspense and thriller in an unorthodox and unique environment. Yet they do nothing with the concept at hand aside from crafting the mundane, especially considering the real-life animosity of these two superpowers in current world events. Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite is not a director to shy away from themes and thematics, the director of the likes of thematics such as environmental horror in Blackfish, women in military with Megan Levey, and now with nuclear destruction and horror with I.S.S. However, every feature mentioned above has the same lineage of never elevating the material, aside from the notion of what is proposed with its surface-level thesis and approach. Each feature never goes above or beyond in terms of craft or design to evoke a sense of either difference or technique; to have a feature about political paranoia and destruction aboard the I.S.S. (International Space Station) – with significant real-world ambiguity at its finger-tips – and not do anything conceptually or creatively with either the camera or material is such a colossal mess and disappointing.
Granted, the surface level of this feature is undoubtedly fine, two warring factions of paranoia and deceit within a small space and the sentiment of claustrophobia is felt. But what is the point in just “fine”? Why not push further in terms of craft and tone? Make it terrifying like Boyle’s Sunshine, make it conceptually spellbinding like Cuaron’s Gravity, and go full-on sci-fi horror with Life, but to present such a mundane and flat feature as is makes this so much more a disappointing return. Cowperthwaite never takes risks with the camera, and never pushes the tone or concept. It all feels horridly blasé and watered down. In doing so and without a feeling of warmth or care for the material it in turn feels like a feature with no affection from its director and therefore that feeling of emptiness is found in the material by the audience. With so little interest in elevating what is presented, what is the audience left aside from conventional fair?
The answer – to stop beating around the bush – is nothing. I.S.S. has no reason to care about or watch such a venture that feels so ordinary and flat. The screenplay is as conventional and one-note as imaginable, it has zero fluidity, character or emotional depth. Therefore, the knock-on is equally as bland and predictable in performances, which pack little punch or care. So much so in fact, it is hard to give credibility to Ariana DeBose and her “Academy Award talent” with such a terrible showcase here. A performance that struggles to provoke any form of immersive qualities or connection within the story itself or emotive connection for the audience to simply just care. Just as frustrating is the central narrative which proposes a predictable impromptu sequencing of “and then this happens” over and over to a reiterated stance of utter boredom and predictability. It offers intense pacing to get everyone through this mess but offers so little pause and reflection to not only take in the terror (or whatever terror this proposes) but to understand what is going on with the truly significant events behind it and its fallout. Trying to provoke a few little twists and turns off saving classic contrived MaGuffin research aboard, while less than significant depth is afforded, is laughable and undeniably inconsequential.
Gabriela Cowperthwaite’s I.S.S. is a feature that grates upon the audience. It has so much texture and possibilities at its fingertips and turns into a conventional, flat and uninspired thriller. Its screenplay is often maligned, forced and utterly predictable, its visuals and aesthetic mundane with little bravado or uniqueness to said depiction. The central narrative is both silly and one-note with equally as poor conviction in performance and quite frankly empty and nothingness in its score and cinematography. For what has such potential falls apart and melts in comparison to other contemporaries that carry similar traits and sentiments in the convention but elevate the mundanity with a voice, which here is whispering into a void.
