The rain that falls from the clouds at night
Tuesday, May 3, 2021
Over the last few years, space travel movies have become an unexpected favorite of mine. Ad Astra. Gravity. Interstellar, especially. I just heard that there are plans to send Tom Cruise up there, literally, to film the first movie in outer space.
There is a scene in Interstellar where Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) is watching years go by in mere seconds on a screen, watching his children age without him. The fact of time passing quicker on earth than where he is in space is mind boggling but on a more human level, it’s simply devastating. Little Murph, played by Mackenzie Foy, is precocious and curious and stubborn and just really fun to watch. Big Murph, played by Jessica Chastain, is equally so. I remember being struck at how much the two actors resembled each other and was such a believable casting choice. Not to mention the name choice—Murph?! What a fantastic name for a girl. The music in that film is the transportive, too. Hans Zimmer can do no wrong, it seems.
But right now, The Martian is on my mind. I re-watched it recently, and had forgotten what a good movie it is, and how much I like it. I am struck by how stunningly smart some people are. It’s amazing to me that some people are so intelligent that they can figure out how to get to space, and then to build the things they need to get out there, and then to know how to stay alive in a place with no oxygen. I can barely remember to floss my teeth.
When I think about the ingenuity of humanity and the complexity/enormity of, say, the electrical grid and flying and skyscrapers, not to mention entire cities that were at one point not cities, but wild, teeming land, I just think: how? How did that start? Who had the idea before any of it existed? I feel small and not contributing. Think of everything that has had to happen prior to right now, allowing us to send text messages and heat up coffee and know what a singular cell looks like and get from one end of the country to the other in half a day. How do people do what they do? How do you literally build something out of nothing? It’s so daunting.
In the movie, much of what was said was over my head. I understood, generally, the goals and what they needed to get done. But the nitty gritty as to how that got done? Rocket science, literally. If I ever find myself stranded on an uninhabitable planet, I will not be able to produce water or grow potatoes, even after watching that movie.
At the end, Matt Damon’s character (Mark Watney) is teaching a class of hopeful astronauts. He is telling them that if they ever make it to space, at some point things will go to shit. They will think: this is how I die, this is the end of the line. And then he goes on to tell them that they can either accept that, or they can get to work. They can, just, begin. They can solve one problem, and then another, and then another, and if they solve enough problems, then they get to come home. And so I guess this is how we make something out of nothing.
We just, begin. Whether we feel ready or not.
As I was watching this story unfold, I was thinking about how much money and resources and brain power from the smartest brains on the planet went into saving one man. One man! The challenges and roadblocks were massive and the odds were so vastly out of their favor. Once the crew decided to go back to save him, they were risking not only death but also that something might go wrong in Watney’s orbit and he could die on Mars, rendering their 500 plus extra days in space pointless. But they did it anyways. So it seems to me that this movie, though undoubtedly smart and scientific, is also about the beauty and value of life and human connection, and the extent that humanity will go to preserve those things.
One of the last parts of the movie portrays this in a tense and beautiful scene. Commander Lewis (Jessica Chastain again, what a queen) realizes that their spacecraft is going to be farther away from Watney’s spinning orb than they were expecting as they pass each other, so she makes the split second decision to go out and get him. She is decisive and confident in her choices, and her crew knows it and trusts her. As they are getting closer to the point where they will pass each other, Lewis asks for the length of distance between her and Watney, which is, unfathomably, 312 meters. Upon hearing this, Watney says: “Did you say 312? Great, I’ll wave at you as I go by.” This is one of several one liners from Matt Damon that imbue the movie with a sense of playfulness and humanity despite the dizzying numbers and outer space jargon.
The music is eery and ominous and building as she moves towards Watney. When they finally grab each other and bump helmets in the vast nowhereness of outer space--it’s clear in an instant that that eyeball to eyeball connection is why they went back. That was achingly beautiful.
All the numbers and calculations and thrust and slingshots and supply capsules--they are what keep us alive. They are how the world works. We can’t grow food or make cars or get online without these things, without math and physics and and engineering and definite laws. But what about love and and hope and longing and melancholy? What about nostalgia and heartache, anger and justice? Where do those fit into the equation. Are these things not essential too, to living? Aren’t they at least part of the reasons for the math? What about a newborn yawn, or the smell of lavender, a love unrequited? What about the rain that falls from the clouds at night, and the way it makes me feel.
