The first animal to orbit the Earth was a Russian mongrel named Laika. She was born in 1954 and passed away a few hours after going to space, onboard the Soviet spacecraft Sputnik 2. No one knew how an animal would survive the atmosphere, but Laika’s memory lives on – a monument was unveiled in her honor in Russia in 2008, and in “Proxima,” the third feature from writer-director Alice Winocour (“Augustine,” “Disorder“), the family cat shares her name.
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The film isn’t about the cat, but it does speak volumes about the individuals who were the first to do something. It tells a story so unseen it feels like an anomaly: a space movie that spends most of its time on Earth, and a space movie about a woman. Those two crucial differences set Winocour on a singular path to tell a grounded, sensitive story. It’s also one that women across all walks of life keep re-living in their careers – minus, of course, the silver screen celebrations.
Eva Green plays Sarah, a formidable engineer and one of three astronauts preparing for a one-year mission to Mars. In addition to those titles, she is also a mother to Stella. Her relationship with her daughter is close – Stella learns to read by deciphering the words her mother writes her about her training, and they promise each other to take a look at the rocket together before liftoff. The film spends much longer on the anticipation than the execution; of the mission, of the separation.
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It’s often a somber affair. One of the first things Stella asks Sarah is whether her mother will die before her; Winocour balances this heaviness out with several attempts at humor, from Sarah’s ex-husband as much as from her sexist colleagues. Matt Dillon, in particular, exudes a broad arrogance that’s effective (if utterly unlikeable). None of this breaks Sarah, though, and Green’s character remains steadfast but subsequently somewhat impenetrable – a vision of strength and elegance, but seldom one that feels built of something that’s tangibly vulnerable.
There are waves of “Interstellar” here in terms of the stakes created by humans who both dream of leaving the planet and who are defined by the things that keep them tethered to the ground. But where Christopher Nolan’s direction was operatic, Winocour’s vision is deployed in a much more humble and simple way. She chooses to follow Sarah going through the practical motions rather than lingering too often on the implications of missing someone when you haven’t left them yet. As she tells her daughter, tears don’t flow in space anyway.
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A film that takes so much care to spend time on a different perspective—on the woman juggling ambition and love without sacrifice—feels vital. At the same time, during the restrained and contemplative journey that precedes liftoff, “Proxima” often feels like it is waiting for a more devastating threat – you can do all the preparation in the world, and it still won’t prevent the fallout of the big leap when it happens.
This means that Green carries the film effectively, with a resilience that is both physical and mental, but also that the emotional weight only settles in for the viewer in the final handful of moments that dare to mine more profound emotions. As the world-changing adventure comes closer, so too does the value of “Proxima.” Its necessity is undeniable, but hopefully, it’ll soon be one of many examples of its kind – special for its style and structure as much as its story. There’s nothing wrong with a Sad Dad in Space, but it is high-time moviegoers demanded more. [C+]
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