PopSyndicate.com

Moon is a shocker—because of its cunning, because it’s so good, and because it’s not supposed to be as good or as clever as it is.

The science-fiction genre is one unique to all others of the industry. Why? Because unlike horrors, actioners, comedies, and in many cases dramas, sci-fi pictures live and die by their ability to stimulate the mind. Simply put, people go to sci-fi movies to think. And the difference in intellect between films of the genre—even similar ones—is plainly recognizable (take Event Horizon and Danny Boyle’s contrarily effective Sunshine for example). This could be the reason that much fewer sci-fi works are being released every year (no, Transformers is not firstly, or even thirdly, a sci-fi series), and why an even smaller number are successful commercially and critically. But first-time feature director and conceptual writer Duncan Jones, son of legendary pop-rock icon-turned-reputable actor David Bowie (whose first and latest prominent roles came in ‘76’s sci-fi classic The Man Who Fell to Earth and 2006’s thriller The Prestige, respectively), and rookie screenwriter Nathan Parker assert Moon as both a film successful to the standards of the genre and perhaps sci-fi’s newest psychological classic.

Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) is a scientist employed by Earth’s leading supplier of energy, Lunar Industries (LI), to catheterize helium-3 from the surface of the Moon. For nearly three years, Sam has lived on and worked out of a lunar station called Sarang, with no more company than that of an A.I. support system called Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey)—a rather dull companion whose cookie-cutter emotions (happy, sad, blank, and confused) are expressed through animated faces on its small 6- to 8-inch monitor. With little more than two weeks remaining on his three-year LI contract, Sam begins having hallucinations (mainly of a young, black-haired girl), which eventually cause him to crash one of the base’s rovers while on a helium withdrawal mission. When Sam wakes up, he finds himself safe in the station’s infirmary but without any recollection of how he got there—and when he goes to investigate a stalled extractor on the base’s perimeter, he finds what could be the mysterious answer to the aforementioned question or the mental effects of his accident: himself, unconscious and trapped in a crashed rover beneath the massive siphoning machine.

Former commercial helmer Jones makes a desolate, eerie, suspenseful environment and tense atmosphere out of his story and Parker’s screenplay—and does so on a meager reported budget of around $5 million (an estimated $35 million less than ‘07’s Sunshine). Jones and his art team referenced films such as 2001, Alien, and others spanning the late-‘60s and early-‘80s for set design aboard Lunar Industries’ Sarang base, and supposedly reproduced the Moon’s surface to match images from the Japanese orbiter SELENE, which was launched from Tanegashima Space Center in September of 2007. The result is a haunting series of set pieces which settle comfortably amongst the serene interiors of the films that inspired them. Yet these can all only magnify the unsettling performance by Rockwell, whom Jones had pegged as the star before the movie’s conception. Moon is not mainly about its struggling character, Sam; it’s about a specific kind of idea (the kind we don’t see enough of in Hollywood—but more because of its level of difficulty to pull off than its lack of ability to intrigue). Still, Rockwell adds an extra element to the project. He gives Sam Bell multiple dimensions of anguish, allowing us (the audience) to sympathize for him. And we need to, for without a figure to scramble and grieve with and root for, we are only just watching a movie, instead of sharing an experience.

Moon is a brilliant example of the overall power of cinema and, specifically, the insightfulness of ingenuity and the craft of concentrated storytelling. Movies start as ideas. And good ideas don’t need or rely on the caliber acting of high-profile talents or tens or hundreds of millions of dollars in production costs. Modest role-players and non-excessive finances do the job best—and, more importantly, let the story glow in the spotlight, small or large. I guess, then, that it’s a consequence of fine fortune that Rockwell, a decidedly better than “modest”, more “high-” than “small-profile” actor, agreed for this minimalist underdog presentation. And I’m betting he’s glad he did, thanks to the spirited proficiency of Duncan Jones and the equal dexterity of everyone else involved in making this film. Moon is a shocker—because of its cunning, because it’s so good, and because it’s not supposed to be as good or as clever as it is. Don’t miss it.

Read the Pop Syndicate interview with director Duncan Jones.

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