Ridley Scott
The Martian

The new film by Ridley Scott, The Martian, risked causing panic among those already fearful of another incursion into science fiction after the subpar Prometheus, as well as in light of a second prequel to the undeniable Alien recently announced (from the series: milk the cow while it's alive, and maybe even when it's dead). Yet, at least this time, in my opinion, there's practically nothing that could make one roll their eyes or send the gonads falling into the basement: it's a film of pure entertainment, presents itself as such, and achieves its goal by avoiding philosophical/existential nonsense and slipping into rhetoric.

Actually, The Martian leans more towards science than fantasy, that is, it is a bit closer to Gravity rather than Interstellar (thank goodness, I might add), especially now that, by a strange coincidence, Mars is back on everyone's lips thanks to the sensational new NASA discoveries, and human landing on the red planet seems increasingly closer to reality (we're talking about 2030 or so).

The plot of the film, an adaptation of the novel of the same name by Andy Weir, is the classic case of a last-minute rescue: the crew of a mission to Mars encounters a violent storm; one of them, the botanist Mark Watney (Matt Damon), is hit by debris and presumed dead. The mission is immediately aborted and the others depart to return to Earth. But Mark regains consciousness and, finding himself all alone on a planet that calling inhospitable is an understatement, he will have to work hard first to ensure his survival with only potatoes at his disposal, and then to re-establish contact with NASA.

What should, in all respects, be an extremely distressing premise is actually approached with a good dose of lightness: our hero Matt Damon, with prodigious ingenuity, despite dangers appearing as punctual as a Swiss watch, never loses heart for even a moment, indeed maintaining an all-American sense of humor in the most extreme and unimaginable situations. The screenplay is therefore sympathetic and modest at times, somewhat out of place at others, where tension should not be diffused; this applies to much of the cast. Of course, the blame is not entirely Ridley's, only focused on doing a clean, clean job with the camera, not infrequently offering breathtaking glimpses of Jordan's arid landscape.

So, few moments of reflection on the value of humanity or the loneliness in the face of immeasurable space; considering the director's caliber, perhaps it's better this way, even though on a broad level, we could derive a message of hope (yawn...), an incredible act of love (double yawn) for a single, insignificant individual lost in the infinity of the cosmos. But beyond that, the film in its over two hours plays out like a survival video game, with many plot twists, daring rescues, hijackings, brilliance, and antics, yet without sacrificing too much scientific credibility (apparently NASA itself collaborated on the project).

It's also worth acknowledging the merit of not being bogged down in the crude American patriotism, usually in such cases more predictable and annoying than a bout of diarrhea during a long train journey in the dead of winter. The image of the USA here isn't so infallible, much like that of our civilization, in the throes of an embarrassing reality show hysteria once Mark manages to establish stable communication - it's not quite clear if the intended effect was exactly that, but it could have been avoided.

And so, no more hoping. Old Ridley (now nearing eighty) stopped being a relevant director quite some time ago, and he's lucky if from time to time, among fantasy billion dollar productions and ignoble historical monstrosities (I have to emphasize that I care about myself and haven't seen them all), he produces a decent little film like this.