Harry Macqueen
Supernova

Sometimes the title of a film can mislead the curious viewer. For example, "Supernova" might make one think of something related to astronomy. After all, if you do some research, you find that the term indicates a stellar explosion more energetic than that of a nova. Further confirmation of the absence of tranquility in the space-time universe, the explosion of a cluster of stars and galaxies releases a lot of matter and energy connected to it, dispersing everywhere, even reaching a lost planet like our Earth.

However, the astronomical theme is just one of the many topics addressed in the film I'm about to review. It deals with the so-called big themes such as life, illness, death, space-time, friendship, love interpreted as respect or dedication towards the loved one. In short, there's a lot at stake for a film with sober tones, restrained, never prone to slipping into melodrama, nor indulging in easy tears. An example of impeccable English understatement.

Everything revolves around the two protagonists, Sam (musician) and Tusker (writer with a passion for astronomy), bound by a de facto sentimental relationship of almost thirty years and united by a great passion for art. Having reached the age milestone of 60, Tusker is diagnosed with early-onset dementia (or Alzheimer’s) against which there are no effective drugs.

Having rationalized the prospect of decline and consequent end of life, by mutual agreement, the two embark on a journey (perhaps the last) in a camper van through the English countryside to the wild Scottish moors. The intent is to conduct a Proustian search for lost time, revisiting places loved in distant times and people known and become trusted friends.

It is obvious, however, that time changes everything and therefore also us humans. In particular, Tusker, while trying to resist the impending ailment, begins to falter to Sam's growing dismay. His failings in dressing, speaking in public, even holding a pen (just as he’s composing his last novel...) do not go unnoticed. And Tusker himself, at a certain point, admits that he cannot accept the idea of becoming a passenger of himself, of no longer being able to manage his own existence autonomously. If anything, he should be left alone in this final stretch of the game, preserving the memory of him in the best days.

This would be a proud act by someone who claims the legitimate freedom to decide their own destiny. Only, Sam, an artist with a sensitive soul, counters with his different opinion dictated by love understood as a synonym of extreme dedication to the partner, even in the most difficult and extreme moments. He is the one asking him to stay by his side until the end, whatever it takes.

With an open ending that does not reveal how it will turn out, the film, firmly directed by Harry Macqueen and enriched by the sublime performances of Colin Firth (Sam) and Stanley Tucci (Tusker), confronts us with weighty questions. Love towards the other marked by respect for difficult and painful choices? Or dedication to the partner to the point of self-sacrifice? It's hard to provide a convincing answer. Just as nobody can feel secure in the face of the prospect of inevitable physical decline as a prelude to death. It's all too easy to delude ourselves into thinking we're eternally young.

But if it can be of comfort, what emerges from astronomical studies (hence the connection to the title of this short but intense and deep film) leads us to believe that in the space-time universe, the possibilities are infinite for the matter and energy ubiquitously present. If nothing is created, nothing is destroyed, the prospect of death is merely illusory. From dust and ashes, something is nevertheless reborn and lives in other forms. It's pleasing to think that of each of our existences, something will remain in a different guise, in different times and places. The lives of Sam and Tusker (and anyone else) will not have been in vain.