Cynthia Li’s Top 10 Films of 2019

According to Dictionary.com, the 2019 word of the year was existential. Existential defined as “of or relating to the existence and/or concerned with the nature of human existence as determined by the individual’s freely made choices.” In choosing the word existential, the importance lies in that it, “inspires us to ask big questions about who we are and what our purpose is in the face of our various challenges—and it reminds us that we can make choices about our lives in how we answer those questions.” If that is the importance of the word existential, then I can’t describe a better word to describe how I felt about the 2019 year in films. As the movie landscape continuously becomes bombarded with the same formulaic box-office hits, it’s the gems found within that provide me the most hope, as they ask the questions that the word existential ponders us to question. These are the films that ask questions not for purely the creation of entertainment, but because they view the world of cinema as life and death, a world in which the words and images spattered on the screen work to make a difference in a viewer’s perspective of life.

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PJ Knapke’s Top Ten Films of 2019

As I have gained more and more experience as a cinema lover over the last few years, one thing that has become abundantly clear to me is that if you think it was a bad year for movies, you probably didn’t see enough of them. 2017 was the first year I really dove deep into the world of cinema, and each ensuing year since then has resulted in more movies watched and more brilliant hidden gems that I will treasure forever discovered. The 130+ 2019 releases I had the pleasure (most of the time) watching in the past year have provided a startling amount of highs, and as a result whittling down the list to just 10 was an excruciating process by all means, resulting in numerous honorable mentions that might’ve made the list in any other year. My full list of rankings can be found here.

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Jim Saunders’ Top Ten Films of 2019

The 2010’s were an exceptionally strong decade for cinema – a statement I stand by despite my inherent bias of only being 19 years old. Nevertheless, 2019 in particular was a notably mature and forbearing bookend to this madcap 10 years. We witnessed the solidification of Netflix and other streaming services as legitimate entertainment enterprises for original content that bridged the gap between the arthouse and barn-burning event cinema. Furthermore, blockbusters became more introspective, A24 dominated the independent film scene, rising filmmakers blessed us with their unique vision, and even the most legendary directors of our generation released their best works to date. With all that praise behind me, let’s give a shoutout to some films I adored that didn’t quite make the prestigiously difficult cut this year. Those include The Farewell, The Lighthouse, Waves, The Last Black Man in San Francisco, Jojo Rabbit, High Life, Midsommar, Avengers: Endgame and Rocketman. I highly recommend all of the aforementioned films, and without further ado, here are my top 10 favorites of 2019 🙂

10. Hustlers (Lorene Scafaria, 2019)

Inspired by the New York magazine article “The Hustlers at Scores”, Hustlers is a cautionary tale of a group of strip club employees who sought to swindle their Wall Street clients during the backdrop of the 2008 financial crisis; it demonstrates the hazardous yet seemingly necessary trek towards economic freedom, and how easy it is to lose one’s sense of reality once you’re at the top. But it’s also incredibly liberating, sexy, and exuberant, giving the control back to the women in a world where men decide the value of their work. Jennifer Lopez, in her undoubtably greatest performance yet, revels in the allure and danger of the hustle, gracing the screen with her raw power. Greatly influenced but not at all defined by the work of Scorsese, Hustlers is the most surprising grand slam of 2019.

You can read Cynthia Li’s full review of Hustlers here.

9. Ad Astra (James Gray, 2019)

What can so strongly compel someone to take the leap into the infinite void of space? Is it for the collective intelligence, heroism, and betterment of mankind? As the film’s Latin translation indicates, Ad Astra seeks to answer these questions and explore the psyche of a man on his journey “to the stars”, as Major Roy McBride (Brad Pitt) is plagued by the numbness that brings him geographically closer to his estranged father, while tragically becoming that same man he resents in the process of traveling perpetually deeper into the cosmos. Brad Pitt’s restrained performance perfectly encapsulates the irony of a man brave enough to blast himself through the dark unknown, yet is cowardly in the face of emotion and genuine connection. It’s through such a juxtaposition that not only is Ad Astra a brazen takedown of toxic masculinity, but one of the most unique, most reflexive sci-fi films of the decade. Though it contains brief flourishes of idiosyncratic genre-related embellishments (a low gravity speeder chase, Subway on the moon?), this is about as earnest and deeply human as contemporary science fiction gets.

You can read PJ Knapke’s full review of Ad Astra here.

8. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Quentin Tarantino, 2019)

2019 was the year I discovered how much I admire Quentin Tarantino. I love his frenetic action sequences, his genre film homages, and above all else, his unwavering passion for the medium. In Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, he seeks to revel in his revisionist history pastiche of late-60’s era Los Angeles, cruising down at a breezy 30 mph, soaking in the atmosphere of a seemingly simpler time. Tarantino’s nostalgic 9th film ultimately culminates in his typical explosion of violence, but it’s paralleled with the most sanguine of “what-ifs?” – one that among further inquiry rings true to be one of the most bittersweet and beautiful closing scenes of the year. Let your guard down, and this film becomes blissful escapism.

You can read my full review of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Once Upon a Time in Hollywood here.

7. Marriage Story (Noah Baumbach, 2019)

To quote my Letterboxd review, “at its core, Marriage Story is a story of imperfection – imperfection that manifests itself through miscommunication, selfish tendencies, and, at its most harrowing, in the hurt we inflict on the ones we love the most. And it’s a damn near perfect film.”

It’s a film that starts an ends with love – a love that wavers yet never truly diminishes, just morphs into its own imperfect beast. Unflinchingly honest and emotionally wrecking, Marriage Story showcases Adam Driver and Scarlet Johannson at their most vehement. Drenched in verisimilitude to the point where, without even knowing about writer/director Noah Baumbach’s divorce, or having experienced divorce oneself, this feels about as real as it gets. Absolutely devastating, but you can’t help but watch from the sidelines.

You can read Maddie McDougall’s full review of Marriage Story here.

6. Knives Out (Rian Johnson, 2019)

I will never not stand by my “hot take” that I believe Star Wars: The Last Jedi is one of the greatest, most audacious blockbusters of the decade, let alone the century. Needless of what one has to say about the borderline inconclusive sequel trilogy of Star Wars films, I’ll always thank Disney for the creative liberties allotted to Johnson, even at the risk of isolating a precariously divisive fanbase. Ironically enough, Knives Out, Johnson’s own Agatha Christie homage with a modern subversion, is his most safe film to date, but that’s not to discredit his phenomenal work here. Knives Out is meticulous and subtle, not because of its inherently political message, but more so due to how each character deals with the truth behind that message and how that plays into traditional “whodunnit” conventions (twists, turns, betrayals, etc.). Johnson has crafted an insanely smart script, and without divulging into spoilers, Knives Out features an absurdly effective cast, with Ana De Armas as the true shining star of the bunch. The knives are out!

You can read Rohan Patel’s full review of Knives Out here.

5. Uncut Gems (Josh and Benny Safdie, 2019)

The stage is set in Uncut Gems onto a mine in Ethiopia, two men discover a black opal encased in a piece of rock. As the camera pans closer, the gem taunts the audience with its natural beauty. We witness the gem transform from a solid, to a vibrant gas cloud, to a tubular cavernous patch, to Howard Ratner’s (Adam Sandler’s) colon. Though they’re a series of seemingly incongruent images, it’s somehow a perfect thesis to Ratner as a character: what he chases is what becomes of him. (Without spoilers, it also sets up a genius piece of dramatic irony.) And thus begins the catastrophic, anxiety-riddled ride that is Uncut Gems, where Ratner’s dependence on the opal sends him on a spiral of poor choices that erodes his already dicey familial ties. I can’t imagine any other performance this year for an actor as fitting as Adam Sandler filling the shoes of a sleazy, charismatic gambling addict. An endlessly captivating tragedy of greed and punishment.

You can read Ryan Circelli’s full review of Uncut Gems here.

4. Little Women (Greta Gerwig, 2019)

Jo, Meg, Amy, and Beth. Four (little) women, each with their own goals, each with their own destinies, all attempting to forge their own names in the history books. And I adored watching their journeys unfold. Greta Gerwig infuses Louisa May Alcott’s text with incredible grace and beauty; if Lady Bird was her leaving her mark as a writer, Little Women is her leaving her mark as a true auteur. It’s like the cinematic equivalent of a warm embrace with an old friend after a long while – it’s sweet, comforting, and that innate emotional longing is ever present. In the same vein, the film brilliantly displays a non-linear narrative between the past and present, with the former representing the warmth and vivacity of nostalgia. There’s a palpable vitality and relevance to Little Women – its mellow heart will gently beat for generations to come.

You can read Stephanie Chuang’s full review of Little Women here.

3. Honey Boy (Alma Har’el, 2019)

Honey Boy pulled me through the wringer and hung me out to dry, leaving me with a sorrowful introspection I rarely experience in a film as short as this is. There’s something so poetic about Shia Labeouf playing his father in a film about the currents of generational trauma. Where Marriage Story explored the complex emotions intertwined within a spousal relationship, Honey Boy does the same with parental relationships. Despite all the hurt, you can’t help but love them, and you can’t help but need them. Its semi-autobiographical nature provides a meta-narrative that is somehow just as intensely cathartic for the audience as it is for Shia himself. A cinematic act of bravery that does so much with so little.

You can read Maddie McDougall’s full review of Honey Boy here.

2. Parasite (Bong Joon-Ho, 2019)

Despite it’s ranking at #2 here, Parasite is undeniably the best film of 2019. More so than any other foreign film this decade, it’s managed to amass a large American following, some of which are typically averse to the “one inch tall barrier”. Nonetheless, Parasite is an absolute blast. It’s a meticulous, operatic, and technically flawless film that manages to be more than the sum of its parts, even when each part that comprises it holistically is already perfect as is.

When thinking about Parasite, my mind always goes back to the scene where the Kim family is desperately attempting to grab their belongings from their flooded half basement home. Ki-Jung, climbing to the top of the bathroom, witnesses bursts of water rapidly sputtering out of their toilet, and the shot immediately following is a “Kuleshov effect” moment, with a toilet seat being closed in the Park family house. On my initial watch of the film, that was the exact moment when the themes of the film clicked for me. The Park’s, like many affluent families, are not overtly “evil”, but rather, are completely ignorant to how their actions are inadvertently affecting the Kim’s. It’s symbolic of a much larger class divide, and to me, that’s arguably just as frightening, and immensely more real. If two shots of a toilet are enough to make me think “that’s genius”, then the film must be pretty damn special.

You can read Joe Lollo’s full review of Parasite here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Parasite here.

1. A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick, 2019)

As of the time I’m drafting this feature, I have seen no other films from acclaimed director Terrence Malick, and I realize now how much I’ve been doing myself a disservice. A Hidden Life is a revelation – it’s yet another WW2 drama on paper, but in grand scope, it not only recognizes the horrors of war as being both the inherent violence and loss of life, but also the overwhelming sense of isolation associated with being on the right side of history at the wrong time. There’s a constant battle of faith; faith in God, faith in one’s moral compass, and faith that at the end of this life, their efforts would all have been worth it. A Hidden Life is a superbly poignant love letter to those who, in the face of adversity and evil didn’t just stand idly by, yet still disappeared from the earth without a trace. Unsung heroes, this one’s for you.

You can read PJ Knapke’s full review of A Hidden Life here.

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Luccas Pryor’s Top Ten Films of 2019

As the final year in a decade notable for simultaneously expanding indie distribution through A24, introducing the great streaming wars between Netflix, Amazon and more, as well as suffocating general audiences with an onslaught of sequels, reboots, and of course Marvel films, 2019 was an exceptional year in cinema. It was a complex and ultimately satisfying year, pushing towards more ethnic representation and gender diversity than ever before. It also, at its best (and hopefully represented in the list below), bridged the gap and subsequently solved the cinema and amusement park ride debate, proving a film can be both. 2019 expressed intimate emotions and ideas spread elegantly across an entertaining canvas, featuring four little women, three gangster icons, 2 sparring New York/LA socialites, and of course, one angry jew. In other words, it had it all. As all active years go, this could have easily been a detailed list of 20 films or more, but a top 10 dilutes the best of the year into a truly diverse and memorable collection. Honorable mentions (in no particular order): Transit, Pain and Glory, Little Women, High Flying Bird, Ash is the Purest White, Her Smell, Toy Story 4, The Farewell, and Marriage Story. See my full 2019 ranked list here.

10. A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick, 2019)

“…the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.” -George Eliot

He’s back! After decades with work as prolific as a world war, Terrence Malick has seemed to lose a step in recent years, diving headfirst into expressionistic dance art pieces with no narrative focus. However, Malick’s A Hidden Life is a grandiose return to form, combining a wrenching tale of martyrdom in the Second World War with his usual trademarks, including sensitive diegetic sound design and lush imagery. Among my Mount Rushmore of favorite directors, Malick stands apart at the top, and it more of a reflection of his quality as a director than of the year itself that the weakest film I have seen from him is a top 10 film of the year. It moves swiftly from Sirk melodrama to haunting wartime thriller, wide shots of the Swiss fields juxtaposed with lonely close-ups of men in chains. It is long, exhausting, and even frustrating, yet in the end, it is one of the most pivotal films of the year by an artist who rarely makes anything but. Malick’s penchant for lengthy montages with straightforward Oscar-bait may seem curious, but here it is swoon-worthy.

You can read PJ Knapke’s full review of A Hidden Life here.

9. Dragged Across Concrete (S. Craig Zahler, 2019)

“In this world, every man wants to become a lion.”

Usually, I am a reasonably even-keeled reviewer. If a film has universal raves, I like it! If a movie has poor reviews, I dislike it! Pretty simple, right? Dragged Across Concrete opened with a modicum of mixed-to positive review, most of which were concerned with the film’s tumultuous right-wing politics. Zahler, a known Republican, famous for his gritty dialogue and pulpy grind-house films, continues to elevate his prose and low-art style. The first time, I found this to be a highly watchable hang-out masterpiece, with expansive plotting and original characters, the type of slow-burn that in the ’70s would be on a double bill only to later become a cult classic. On a second watch, I found this to be rife with melancholy, Zahler writing his heros not as indestructible right-wing soldiers, yet rather filled with pity and regret. In the end, the two protagonists perish in a fire-fight with the soulful antagonist, revealing himself to be the protagonist all along. Dragged Across Concrete is brave filmmaking filled with the type of grand storytelling that can only happen on a shoe-string budget.

8. Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Céline Sciamma, 2019)

“In solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of. But I also felt your absence.”

The power of film can come from anticipating a new film from an acclaimed director, but equally to discover a brand new filmmaker and instantly fall in love. Céline Sciamma, known for Indies such as Girlhood and Tomboy, curates her masterpiece, a slow burn of picturesque desire and lust. I’ve always been interested in a raw portrait about the start of a relationship, one not befallen with cliches and didactic writing. In Portrait of Lady on Fire, Sciamma writes her characters with such specificity that you believe you are watching two real people fall in love over time, culminating in one of the most romantic and heartbreaking films of the year.

You can read Armon Mahdavi’s full review of Portrait of a Lady on Fire here.

7. The Souvenir (Joanna Hogg, 2019)

“You would be a terrible landlord. I am a terrible landlord.”

I could easily cut and paste my review for Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and my impressions would largely remain the same. The only distinction is that while both are romantic two-handers with a specific combination between character and setting, The Souvenir is more about the natural destruction of a relationship while also building a foundation to form an elegant and woeful coming-of-age picture. It is the combination of these two elements that ultimately make this among the best of the year. As the protagonist Julie, played by Tilda Swinton’s daughter, moves from the pleasure and pains of growing up, her significant other Anthony, played by a scene-stealing Tom Burke, portrays an ethereal presence on screen and off. When he is on screen, its a relationship filled with frustration and off-kilter love. When he is off, it is a relationship filled with emptiness and a tragic, inevitable decline into the difficulties of young love and finding your own identity. The Souvenir is a dry British masterwork.

6. High Life (Claire Denis, 2019)

“Shall we? Yes.”

The film that was my number one for the majority of the year, High Life was my introduction to the unique and distinct work of French filmmaker Claire Denis. What I got was unlike any other film I saw this year: a horror movie set upon a prison space ship about the decline of the moral individual on a global scale, synthesizing euro artistic influences with a study on humanity’s cyclical self-destruction. Denis specially chooses her inmates as portraits of the world, from obsessive women to violent men. Even the protagonist Monte, of whom Denis flirts with the moral background frequently throughout the film, is revealed to be guilty of the crime he committed. Denis emphasizes sex, violence, but above all else, rebirth – a fitting image a film filled with dread and despair. And yet, that’s precisely what makes High Life so special. I’ll always remember the tender moments between Andre 3000’s Tcherny in the garden or even the film’s final image – a father and a daughter caressing each other as they wait for oblivion, synthesizing time and space into a final image so powerful that it somehow makes all the craziness worth it.

5. Parasite (Bong Joon-Ho, 2019)

“Dad, today I made a plan – a fundamental plan. I’m going to earn money, a lot of it. University, a career, marriage, those are all fine, but first I’ll earn money. When I have money, I’ll buy the house. On the day we move in, Mom and I will be in the yard. Because the sunshine is so nice there. All you’ll need to do is walk up the stairs. Take care until then. So long.”

Probably the film of the year. As I said in the introduction, I believe the best films of the year bridge the gap between high art and high entertainment, and no other movie perfectly represents that than Parasite. It moves between genres with ease, unfolding upon a first watch one of the scariest and timeliest films of the year, whether as a heist film or domestic comedy or even a horror extravaganza with class warfare and rife symbolism sprinkled in. It’s the type of film that is so meticulous and slick with perfectionism that it might even be considered off-putting. Yet Bong’s filmmaking worked on me, his love of movies clearly present whether through Hitchcock’s plotting or even Spielberg’s earnest storytelling, all in service of telling a timely picture filled with comfort, humor, and blood. And just like the many films on this list, the ending is a knockout, with a sequence so shocking, tender, and hopeful that it left me bowled over by the time I left the theater.

You can read Joe Lollo’s full review of Parasite here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Parasite here.

4. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Quentin Tarantino, 2019)

“Don’t cry in front of the Mexicans.”

One of two major late-career films in my top 5 the year, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is a borderline triumph from one of cinema’s most famous auteurs over the past 30 years. As we end the decade, it is only fitting that Tarantino finally makes a nostalgic passion-project about his childhood, filled with melancholy reverence and loud applause. The ending fight may be classic Quentin, but what comes 2 hours before is a patient, rewarding picture about the decline of old Hollywood and a person’s role left to play in it. It is his most borderline avant-garde film, with lengthy sequences trimmed in most studio films. Pitt’s nighttime drive to Deep Purple’s Hush remains one of the most splendid moments of the year, a nighttime driving scene that fully envelops the audience in the world of the late ’60s, showing off the year’s best production design. Later in the film, Tarantino films an extended take of two best friends watching an episode of FBI, voiceover playing in full as the whole scene plays out uncut, recreating an entire episode opening. But what comes near the end of the film is one of the best pieces of cinema I have ever seen, a short yet powerful sequence in which famous LA restaurants and establishments open for business, neon lights beaming across downtown LA’s hazy purple skies. It is such a distinct, soulful piece of nostalgiac cinema. I will never forget it. As Al Pacino says early on in the film, “What a picture.”

You can read Jim Saunders’ full review of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Once Upon a Time in Hollywood here.

3. Uncut Gems (Josh and Benny Safdie, 2019)

“This is how I win.”

It’s rare for your most anticipated film of the year to meet expectations, let alone exceed them, and yet Uncut Gems delivers. More than that, after Good Time, the Safdie Brothers follow up their 2017 hit with an expansive character actor opera and the best performance of the year standing right in the middle. Sandler, in his second noticeable dramatic role in his career, is nothing short of outstanding. Rather than lose his typical comedic timing, Sandler uses it to extrapolate pathos for a seedy gambler who continually chases the next big hit. It’s in irrational character only made likable by Sandler’s god-tier performance. However, what makes Uncut Gems so extraordinary isn’t the central character but the detail in which the Safdie brothers and Ronald Bronstein write the supporting characters. Each tells a specific mini subplot in Ratner’s hectic and tragic life, whether it’s through Julia Fox’s earnest mistress or Eric Bogosian’s uneasy debtor. The whole film is a thrilling escalation of bad choices, broken bets and failed amends. It is all both gratifying and heartbreaking, resulting in one of the best 3rd acts of the modern millennium – a 2012 playoff Celtics game. Once the climax hits and Uncut Gems closes the thematic loop on its version of a modern-day Shakespearean tragedy, I realized this movie was made just for me.

You can read Ryan Circelli’s full review of Uncut Gems here.

2. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese, 2019)

“It’s what it is.”

Similar to Tarantino’s masterpiece, The Irishman is a distant late-career film, deconstructing the famous works of the greatest American filmmaker of all time. It is, of course, a riot of gangster entertainment, yet like any great piece of self-reflexive cinema, also somber, culminating in a desolate funeral tale of regret and aging. The three famous actors that set the stage have never been better, yet it is Pesci’s quiet work that stands out. After a career filled with testy little men with short tempers, here he plays his scariest character, directly affecting the morals of the men that surround him without ever lifting a finger. And of course, the declining morals of the three aging men is what Scorsese chooses to focus on. However, rather than their actions, he focuses on the aftermath, whether through DeNiro’s heartbreaking phone call with Hoffa’s wife or Peggy Sheeran’s wordless look of disdain towards her father’s hidden actions. But it is in the film’s final shot that ultimately relays all of Scorsese’s 3 and half hour epic intentions into a quick dagger of the heart – an image of a man staring at the door, waiting for someone to enter, and no one coming. The Irishman isn’t just one of the years best. It’s one of Scorsese’s best, full stop.

You can read Ryan Circelli’s full review of The Irishman here.

1. Ad Astra (James Gray, 2019)

“We’re all we’ve got.”

Ad Astra is the closest I’ve come to see a true masterpiece all year. It is a film that is more flawed than all of the previous four movies combined with all the subtext of a Stephen King novel, and yet rather acting as on the nose, Ad Astra IS the nose. Brad Pitt delivers one of his most essential performances in a career full of them, finally going full circle into an austere character actor. Hoyte Van Hoytema lenses the prettiest film of the year, shooting a stark contrast between the beauty of space and the desolate interiors that befall it. But above all else, in a decade that is known for the rampant destruction of integrity by the Hollywood studio system, James Gray directs a 90 million dollar art house film that channels Malick and Tarkovsky more than it does Feige. It’s filled with the best damn set pieces this year hands down, a Mad-Max lunar set piece, and a zero-gravity knife fight included. The emotional undercurrents and blatant earnestness gut me straight to the heart. On a night in which America is most likely going to war with Iran, General Roy’s earnest one-liner to his father is my line of the year. “We’re all we’ve got.” The infernal rage of hereditary toxic masculinity burns bright, but Ad Astra is ultimately about the absence of God in a universe without a moral compass. Without God, space is nothing but silence. And in a world filled with silence, someone has to speak up.

You can read PJ Knapke’s full review of Ad Astra here.

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Review: ‘Ad Astra’ is a Journey Deep Into Space and the Soul

“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,

Or what’s a heaven for?” – Robert Browning

Exploration — whether into the vast expanse beyond our atmosphere or simply deep into Earth’s own uncharted territories — has become one of the most identifiable aspects of humankind over its short history. In modern times, it is done to reach beyond our understanding of the world or universe and our place within them, to discover that which we were previously unaware of in order to expand the reaches of human knowledge, or perhaps to conquer the universe as much as we can. Stories of exploration are abundant throughout the history of cinema, from Georges Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon all the way back in 1902 to countless sci-fi epics and action-adventure films, and Ad Astra is no exception.

James Gray, director of Ad Astra, is no stranger to stories of exploration. In 2016 he released his film The Lost City of Z, a recounting of the journeys of early 20th century explorer Percy Fawcett deep into the Amazon jungle in search of a hidden city of gold and unimaginable treasures. Although largely overlooked by many and passed on by every major award ceremony, the film garnered great critical success and is soundly among the better films released this decade. It was a deep examination into the outward and inward motivations for journeying into the unknown, a theme that Gray would dive even deeper into in Ad Astra.

Set sometime in the near future, the story follows a fearless astronaut named Major Roy McBride (Brad Pitt), a taciturn and austere individual and son of legendary astronaut H. Clifford McBride (Tommy Lee Jones). Following an incident in which a massive and mysterious power surge nearly kills him and sweeps across the planet, McBride is informed that the surges originate from the Lima Project, a previous mission with the intent of finding extraterrestrial life helmed by his father, from which nothing had been heard from in sixteen years. Informed that his father may still be alive, McBride accepts a mission to Mars and beyond with the intent of communicating with the Lima Project and uncovering the truth about the dangerous surges that threaten life on Earth — and to find his father.

Although it is filled with intermittent bursts of effervescence — especially a Mad Max-like moon battle on wheels — the film is much more concerned with taking its time to flesh out the psychological complexities of the stoic Roy McBride, and the shock to his system that his mission becomes. Roy sees his father as the legend and the hero that all astronauts perhaps ought to be seen as, and thus has modeled his entire life and being after the man. He is not only a lauded astronaut famous for his cool-headedness in the face of great danger, but he has crafted himself a shell through which he blocks his very self from existing in hopes of subconsciously eliminating his connection to his own and others’ emotions. In truth, he is terrified of opening himself up to others, and as a result he subconsciously destroys his sparse personal relationships out of pure unresponsiveness and rigidity. While his coldness is what makes him so excellent at his job, and such an asset to the government agency for which he serves, his unflinching exterior is in conflict with the cacophonous ocean of thoughts that roar in his head throughout the film. Gray makes use of repeated Malick-esque voice-over narration from McBride to emphasize the tumult of his psyche, as he struggles more and more to remove all vulnerabilities from himself as he delves deeper into his journey. Here, DP Hoyte van Hoytema’s intimate close-ups paired with Max Richter’s tremulous score complement Pitt’s restrained despair excellently, often holding for longer than expected on scenes with McBride alone in order to allow the audience to gain an incredible deep understanding of the character, even in moments of silence.

As the film goes deeper and deeper into the infinite, focus grows more and more intimate. Gray begins to hone in on the motivations for men taking off into the stars with a tight and uncompromising precision, asking if perhaps the men who go off to the stars for the sake of mankind are actually going to escape something, maybe even themselves. Beyond this, the film shows that for all of us hoping to continue running from that which we are afraid to reckon with, at some point there will be nowhere left to run. In McBride’s case, the film examines his own fears and startling realizations more deeply, as he grows more and more at odds with his seemingly inevitable fate of turning into his father, the man he once revered as a near God-like figure. In this sense, the film’s approach towards McBride’s voyage to find his God feels almost misotheistic, perhaps suggesting in this case that God is not dead, but that he has simply abandoned us.

Films like Ad Astra are diamonds in the rough. Rarely do deeply contemplative psychological examinations as good as this one get slapped with $90 million budgets and the full IMAX treatment, let alone even get made by a big studio at all. Modern masterpieces like this don’t come around too often.

5/5 STARS