Ad Astra

Ad Astra, the long awaited sequel to Armageddon, is a movie with a very clear message about space: there is nothing out there and there is no reason to go. It stars Brad Pitt who is either a little boy sad that his balloon went to Neptune, or the aspect of death; to know his fake name on his bizarre adventure is to guarantee your unmarked space grave

Its dysphoria doesn’t end there as it holds all the grandeur of the cosmos to task by leap frogging from fallout shelter to fallout shelter for fear of loose canisters filled with poison, moon pirates and DHL. It's a reminder that the question was never "could" we fill the space between the moon and Mars with deadly Mandrills, but "should" we fill the space between the moon and Mars with deadly Mandrills. 

Finally, this joyless space rendition of “Death Of A Salesman” finds it’s Willy Loman in Tommy Lee Jones, a sad clown murdering those alive around him in search of life.  The entire journey is relentless, accomplishing the film equivalent of being shown the 75 of the 76 days it took to reach him. What went on in that missing day we will never know.  It is the mystery of cinema and hopefully something left for the next chapter; an illustrated look at screws turning.  

But in the end, the film achieves some sense of inner peace when Pitt blows up Willy, Neptune, and half the outer solar system in an effort to bang Liv Tyler once more.  May we never see that terrible place again. The only open disservice it fails to give us is the year all this takes place. I would have loved to have known that Applebees had reach the moon in 2002, and we are still decades behind designing inter-solar travel that is less inspired than the line for Space Mountain.   Your psych exam is over. #spacegrave