A decade after its release, Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar returns to the big screen this year as a treasured masterpiece of science fiction. Its enduring appeal is largely due to its ambitious depictions of cosmic grandeur (reminiscent of Kubrik’s 2001: A Space Odyssey) that are weaved into a powerful undercurrent of (familial and romantic) love as a driving force behind human scientific progress.
But the reason why Interstellar is my “Roman Empire”, compared to the likes of Villeneuve’s Blade Runner 2049 or even other works of Nolan, is that it presents a convincing glimpse into our future—one that certainly feels closer to our doorstep ten years on. Our reality is advancing towards further developments in AI, space tourism, and increasingly frequent climate disasters that threaten our existence. Set in the near future, the film depicts the remnants of NASA searching for a new habitable planet while Earth is being irreparably ravaged by a crop blight. Former pilot Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) is recruited for the mission but must leave his family behind for the sake of humanity’s survival.
Interstellar forces us to confront questions about what we would do in the face of our own mortality. It optimistically imparts a message of humanistic idealism, portraying the collaborative capacity of humans to harness science and ingenuity as tools for overcoming seemingly insurmountable challenges, with Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night” as the film’s refrain. It’s an admirable message, but not without faults, especially as we re-evaluate the film’s concepts through the lens of current global circumstances.
For one, Interstellar is rooted in American exceptionalism. It presents a parochial vision of the future where an American team is solely responsible for leading humanity—consisting only of their compatriots—to salvation, while significant mention of the rest of the world is absent. This is a troubling image in light of the recent re-election of Trump as U.S. President, especially given his proud status as a climate denier. The dust storms of Interstellar are interchangeable with any extreme weather events recently or currently plaguing our world; Spanish flash floods, Californian wildfires, or the super typhoon ripping through the Philippines. Climate issues and eco-anxiety continue to escalate, yet Trump’s return to the White House is expected to set back climate action significantly. Given his promises to withdraw from the Paris climate agreement yet again, roll back on clean energy policies, and reduce climate assistance to developing countries, it’s hard not to despair— as the saying goes, “when America sneezes, the world catches a cold”. Interstellar’s projection of a future that has no space for other nations beyond the U.S. (besides leaving a bitter taste in one’s mouth) undermines the importance of international collaboration.
What if we run out of time to save our planet? In Interstellar, the pursuit of a new habitable planet to house what remains of humanity is justified by a wormhole placed near Saturn by higher beings that delivers them to promising contenders. The intervention of higher beings is a convenient narrative device that ensures these planets are devoid of native inhabitants, such that ethical questions about potential exploitation or displacement of beings are sidestepped. Is there room for a utopian vision of expansion—free from resistance, negotiation, or accountability—in contemporary cinema? This is a salient question given the devastation being caused by current real-world conflicts, such as the Zionist settler-colonial project against Palestine, to which our governments are not adequately responding to according to public demands.
In virtue of what does Cooper say, in the first act, “mankind was born on Earth, it was never meant to die here”? On one hand it speaks to impassioned faith in human transcendence, but on the other, it carries with it a sense of entitlement. It delivers the problematic assertion that humanity will never escape its colonial tendencies, and that this is an inevitable consequence of our ambitious nature. But resorting to the colonisation of an extraterrestrial planet is, in reality, not a viable option—nor should we shirk responsibility for a problem of our own creation. While colonialism is an inextricable part of humanity’s history, we shouldn’t readily accept that our future cannot escape it or that it is justified or necessitated by the survival of our species. What right do we have to spread a destructive cycle of greed or violence beyond Earth’s boundary? Despite its blind spots, Interstellar is—at its core—a story about what we’re willing to sacrifice for the good of others: Cooper’s duty to his family is what drives him into the unknown to secure their future.
We live in uncertain times, and should remember to go forward with humility and compassion.
Photo by Anders Drange on Unsplash