Spaceman
NETFLIX
Adam Sandler taking part in a dramatic performance is almost as rare as the Olympic Games or the World Cup; it is a multi-year-long wait to witness something unique and exciting be it Uncut Gems, Funny People, Punch Drunk Love or The Meyerowitz Stories. It’s often a long arduous wait, but more so than not a worthy one, to see the Sandman strut his stuff. Here is where Johan Renck’s Ad Astra, Solaris and 2001-lite venture Spaceman comes into the foray, which finds Sandler’s lonely and emotionally broken astronaut on the brink of scientific discovery all the while breaking down from a relationship with his pregnant wife.
If it sounds like it might have a lot to unpack, it’s for the most part because Spaceman has quite a great deal of emotional trauma and depth to exhume. It is, first and foremost, a character study and examination of not only the masculine and feminine but also the qualities of survival under stress, depression, and the unknown. It is a kaleidoscope of humanist measures, which Renck’s film undertakes and quite frankly succeeds at evoking with poignancy and immersion. What further commands and excels here in the material is just how impacting Sandler can be. Granted, his “schtick” and foray into tonal balancing with humorous touch is constantly felt, but it is that brilliant leveling of humour upon the notions of quite harsh and unrelenting themes that excel both the narrative and Sandler’s performance. Sandler makes everything have a touch of real, normalcy and authenticity within a feature that pushes those very envelopes, and in turn, makes the rise of this character all the more tragic and fascinating to see develop. For those wanting a Daniel Day Lewis-inspired craft, they’ll be waiting a little longer, but Spaceman assures that Sandler as a performance can elevate the mundane of both tragedy and hope in a rich environment that allows him the time and space to do so.
Sandler’s chemistry with Mulligan is ultimately give and take in scenarios showcased. This means certain sequences of emotional conviction are felt ten-fold and create poignancy and pathos. Be it a small and tender intensity that burns far brighter, while compared to the more traditional and whimsical emotive flashbacks that feel conventional and starved or vulnerability, the two never quite fitting and feeling jarring. Yes, it is a relationship on screen that does work but the dynamic (all things considered contextually within the narrative) feels starved and at times nonexistent. Said relationship has enough depth and separated ethos regarding the two narratives that give a great deal of empathy and depth to where this dynamic ultimately ends but seeing the relationship together on screen develop any longer would certainly be grating.
What elevates the material past the shortcomings of the aforementioned relationship is what director Johan Renck does on board with Sandler’s Czech astronaut Jakub Prochazka and Paul Dano’s Hanus. It’s probably best to limit as much contextual narrative and description of said events between the two for maximum effect onscreen. Nevertheless, the dynamic is not only fantastic but emotionally gut-wrenching as it develops. It’s an element that often asks more from the audience than is provided on screen, especially in terms of Dano’s incredibly soft-spoken delivery and the emotional nature of what is to occur. But once onboard, the touch and emotive texture that surrounds the feature is quite touching and affectionate. The feature does have a few performances as background in the likes of Isabella Rossellini and The Big Bang Theory’s Kunal Nayyar, who both influence and impact the relationship between Prochazka and Lenka but do little in terms of standing out nor given any real depth from writer Colby Day to give significant substance to either performance. Nevertheless, to move the story and impact two sides of the coin in leaning into either Prochazka and Lenka’s woes and emotional distress for the feature to understand each respective emotional conundrums, as well as to give depth to the two scenarios as they are depicted parallel to each other, it ultimately succeeds.
Renck does manage to showcase a little bit of visual flair and talent on screen with a sense of intense and gripping production and set design within the claustrophobic space station. It feels often intentional right to evoke Prochazka’s confined emotional vulnerability and headspace. The iconography of Hanus, for one, is terrific in finding balance in something vulnerable but frightening, of which without, this feature would sorely suffer in its emotionally devastating third act and softly growing relationship between Hanus and Prochazka that develops throughout the running time. Equally as important here is the feature’s visual prowess in terms of colour and character on screen in the film’s third act; finding a great balance between the unnerving and immersive. It is this dynamic and thematic that perfectly encapsulates the sentiment of Spaceman throughout. Beautiful and often visually striking beauty in the terrifying (Hanus) and unknown (the beyond) that asks the viewer and audience to undertake a thoughtful revaluation of despair and fear, finding beauty in that of fear and freedom in that of fate. Yes, it could be better worked in terms of finding a little more mysticism and vulnerability in ambiguity regarding both its ending and relationship between Prochazka and Mulligan’s Lenka but, ultimately, that is asking perhaps for a differing viewpoint of which Spaceman wants to evoke a sense of hope and optimism, of which it certainly succeeds.
