The Martian is the most relaxed movie Ridley Scott has ever made.
I realize that might sound strange. After all, the film, focused on the interplanetary effort to bring an astronaut stranded on Mars back to Earth, is ostensibly similar in scope and size to some the director’s more tightly-wound efforts. Blockbuster sci-fi tends to struggle with clunky dialogue and overstuffed plotting more than most, too. And, sure, Interstellar went to space with ambition to spare just last year, but the results were more exhausting than illuminating. Yet despite such impediments, and after a series of dispiriting misfires, Scott is back in space with a loosened grip, doing what he does best: crackling, smart and textured entertainment.
The Martian is, for a movie of its budget and subject, radically tame. Its great, enduring strength is its confidence, its sense of control – there’s little reliance on explosions or twists or corny sentimentality. Instead, this thing is grounded. Once a NASA Mars mission is abruptly abandoned and – thought to be dead – Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is left alone to survive, Scott’s film evolves into a meditative sci-fi comedy. The stakes remain, but they’re not overplayed. Far more time is given to Watney’s enthusiasm at being able to grow crops on Mars – he’s brave (and odor-resistant) enough to use his own waste – and his irritation at having only Commander Melissa Lewis’ (Jessica Chastain) terrible mix of 40-year-old disco tunes to listen to. Humor, The Martian reminds, is an essential ingredient for survival.
Without dismissing Scott’s contributions, The Martian succeeds on several intrinsic advantages. Most obviously, it’s based on Andy Weir’s widely-celebrated eponymous novel. But further, it’s adapted exclusively by Drew Goddard, who between Alias, Lost, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Cabin in the Woods knows a thing or two about sifting through extraordinary circumstances to locate humor and subtlety. Though the film is ultimately quite faithful to its source material, Goddard’s expertise in the area shows. Character interactions are loose and natural – whenever we check in on Chastain’s crew, for instance, the group sits around with striking comfort – and the dialogue is unusually crisp. Truly: there’s a lot of scientific explanation and plot exposition to get through, but the writing softens those coarse edges considerably. Scenes tend to land authentically.
The Martian also has Matt Damon, who over the last decade has emerged no less reliable than Mariano Rivera in his Yankee glory days. The actor has (rightly) been positioned unfavorably in the news of late, but let that not detract from his work here. Because, seriously, Damon is fantastic. He brings to Mark an essential combination of affability, groundedness and vulnerability; as our hero jokes and plots his way through uncertain days on the desolate planet, his portrayer totally commands. It’s when the film is at its most fascinating. (One could call it, as an ideal companion to a certain Fox sitcom, First Man on Mars.)
For long stretches, though, the action shifts – to Chastain’s crew in outer space (eventually tasked with saving Mark), or to NASA bureaucratic shenanigans. These scenes flow better than I feared, but they’re still, mostly, functional – cogs in the machine to better serve the story. When we’re back down on Earth, in particular, the film can drag just a bit – station directors and chiefs played by the likes of Jeff Daniels, Kristen Wiig, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Sean Bean don’t engage as colorfully as they likely should. It’s only in the back half, when Mark learns how to communicate with those on Earth, that the film generates a broader story that excites.
Although there’s more at work than a simple survival story in the vein of Cast Away, The Martian still intriguingly fits into that canon of cinema. The movie greatly plays up the globality of its source novel. Its action is constantly shifting between Mars, outer-space and various corners of Earth, from Houston to Pasadena to China. Even if some segments are more involving than others, what this does, essentially, is grandly (and poetically) convey an interconnectedness. It’s a contemporary notion, for sure – a thematic backbone that impressively supports the sci-fi fun & games. Moreover, Scott doesn’t fall into the sentimental trap that has eluded so many others. (Though, to be fair, the novel ably guides him around the pitfalls.) Mark is without a love interest or a family to worry about; his fight to live is totally individualistic, rendering the global effort to save him that much more affecting and central. In that way, The Martian proceeds with astute emotional logic.
The film is imagined conventionally. Scenes on Mars are lensed with sufficient wonder, but for the most part Scott is interested in serving the story. Although The Martian lacks the quote-unquote “production” of something like Interstellar, it actually benefits from the more leveled, simplified approach. The characters, dialogue and writing are strong enough to do the heavy lifting. The narrative picks up momentum at a consistent, measured pace.
Scott flexes his directorial muscles plenty, though. The Martian’s final sequence is gorgeously choreographed, a masterclass in tension visualized like a delicate space ballet. It feeds into a subdued but fitting conclusion, ending on a lightly funny and thoughtful note. And throughout, the director's song choices – which include ABBA and Donna Summers tracks – fashion the film as a groovy ‘70s pop opera. Damon fits into that musical aesthetic with spectacular ease, dancing his way through Summers and meticulously preparing his spacecraft to the tune of “Waterloo.” It’s perfectly ridiculous – and breathlessly fun.
The Martian takes joy and intelligence back for the blockbuster. Goddard’s script presents complex and lengthy scientific theory with determined clarity; Damon, Chastain as well as others like Kate Mara and Michael Pena play scientists with bracing ordinariness and humility. The importance of such creative choices shouldn’t be understated. The movie is imperfect, and broad, and – as it moves its pieces around – a little decentralized. But like it or not, that should be expected of a movie of this size. That The Martian allows itself to take a breath every so often marks a substantial, welcome departure.
The same goes for Ridley Scott. As the director stretches out his legs and takes a slight step back with this film, he reminds why we’re still going to see his movies in the first place: his vision, his perspective and – an attribute all too rare in large-scale American moviemaking – his imagination.
Grade: B+