3/6/21
I saw this (twice I believe) around 2015 and not again till now. I still find it fascinating and thrilling, and possibly beautiful and inspiring, though it's not the revelation it was then and I'm keener in calling out the BS. I think it's fascinating (scientifically and philosophically) because it confronts cosmic situations closer than any other movie. Movies psychologically penetrate more effectively than most forms of communication it seems, and this is the first movie I've seen that seriously attempts to depict interstellar travel and black holes (and therefore our cosmic context). The results are ridiculous but groundbreaking, which means we've never quite considered it like this. I believe I said this in my last review: this movie will probably feel totally ridiculous in a matter of years or decades, but for us I feel it's a valiant step forward. Of course the concepts are not new -- scientists and artists have been grappling with them -- but here they coalesce in a movie, which is a particularly effective medium for many. Maybe I should just watch the sky more and read cosmology/astronomy. I doubt I needed a movie to think like this -- but I do like movies, and this one I felt compelled to revisit after seemingly profound experiences six years ago. This movie is an attempt to depict interstellar travel with sight, sound, and story. I can access at least one of these at a time through several other media, and should try, as film is not the medium I respect most. But I do like film, especially some films influential to my life. Maybe these experiences in 2015 weren't as influential as they were emotionally profound. This movie inspires my awe and contemplation. I must have far too little cosmology in my life! I should probably achieve a relationship with these concepts such that the movie feels as cheap a representation as those classic physics visualizations like the general relativity trampoline, or those middle school climbing walls. Watching it should just feel dumb, like I've already grappled with the real stuff. It should feel like watching the climbing scenes in MI:II or something: okay, there's a real move, there's some bullshit, overall, that was alright, at least it gets the people excited about climbing, and now I know more about climbing's public image, but I didn't learn anything about climbing. Based on my Yu-Gi-Oh image of a black hole prior to seeing this movie, I'm clearly not interfacing with this stuff enough, which is how someone might feel watching Hollywood climbing. Hollywood in one of its best manifestations, I suppose, serves such a role. Interstellar sows cosmic contemplation broadly, as Free Solo inspires a whole population who never knew climbing was accessible to them. But the next time you feel like considering the cosmos, or considering exposed handjamming, don't watch the movie -- look at the sky, hit the hills, or at least read a book, because the movie is the Wal-Mart version of these things (though actually more expensive).
So it's fascinating to me like Free Solo is to my friends who don't climb. I used to regularly think about things you'd find in a philosophy class. I don't feel very philosophical anymore -- just analytical. Analysis deprived of philosophy ("love of wisdom") gets chilly. Philosophy is the sun that warms that which it vitalizes. I feel like those advanced organisms stewing in the sea millions of years ago while plants were already enjoying the air, or like a platonic cave-dweller bragging about my predictions on the sequence of shadows. I don't want Interstellar to feel so profound. Nothing will feel profound if I already know everything, but certainly I can spare a little more time with cosmology, enough to see Interstellar as a mere dramatization, hardly a revelation. Dramatizations make tough concepts accessible, but I already have plenty of access to work with. I could even get something out of a general relativity textbook. Kip Thorne didn't learn anything about cosmology from Christopher Nolan -- the movie would have been entertaining at best, as any climbing scene is to me. I've already confronted the content. In such a case the dramatization is probably a waste of time and I wouldn't need to bother with movies like this. That's something to aspire to.
It is emotional. The black dude was alone on that station for 23 years. Cooper misses almost the entirety of Murphy's life. Everyone will die without the knowledge that s/he significantly affected the evolution of the universe. We're like flies smacking a truck's grill -- technically we exert a force on the truck equal to its on us, but hell if the truck notices. If m is the whole of everything, F is my life, and a is my impact, given F<<m, despite an appreciable life, F=ma says my impact is unfathomably miniscule. But as a human I'm made to surf ego as long as I live, and these brief wipeouts are devastating. Was this ego evolution's building block or byproduct? Any given being may care primarily for itself, but whence came the longing for all beings to care for me primarily? I don't imagine if you convinced a representative from any other earthly species of its eschatological influence it would care much. Even its own death would probably seem nice -- of course its instincts avoid it, but if you're having a conversation, death checks all the boxes: no hunger, no thirst, no fear, whatever. Maybe you lose some luxuries, but the loss of luxury paired with the total fulfillment of all needs forever is nothing to complain about, yet humans fear death conceptually.
Anyway, I liked the movie again, though I acknowledge its stupidity.
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