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The above exchange occurs at the end of the first act of this 2018 Swedish sci-fi. In it, our lead character, who's referred to as "MR" (Emelie Jonsson) receives the shattering news from "The Astronomer" (Anneli Martini) after a risky maneuver to avoid space debris takes the titular spaceship off its course. There is nowhere to turn, which can be interpreted in multiple ways, as the passengers turn to numerous sources and places in their search of comfort, peace, and reassurance that "everything is under control", or "going as planned", as the Captain repeatedly says. But are they?
Aniara, which is based on a Swedish poem with a title that comes from a Greek word meaning "despair", offers a lot of that. The film follows the ship which is making a supposedly routine journey from a ravaged and almost uninhabitable Earth to newly established colonies on Mars. But when the accident occurs, the ship is left fuel-less drifting into the unknown. Much can be unpacked about the religious, philosophical, and existential symbolisms of it, but on the surface, the passengers find themselves getting slowly but surely more desperate about their situation, while trying to cling to numerous things in their search of hope and meaning.
I found this to be an incredibly thought-provoking film with economically effective production values and a subtle but great performance from Jonsson. Much of the story is focused on her character, a low-level employee at the ship that manages a spa-like AI room called MIMA, where passengers can go to relive past images of Earth in their search for solace. But as the fate of the ship becomes widely known, both MIMA and its "liaison", the "MR", find themselves burdened in more ways than one. But who can we turn to when things don't "go as planned"? The MIMA can be seen as a fairly obvious reference to God or religion, and its failure to completely soothe the despaired passengers works as both a criticism of it and its followers ("there is no protection from mankind").
But as the passengers shift their hopes into various directions, Kågerman & Lilja continue to tear everything down with relentless fatalism. Mars? ("it's cold. Nothing grows except for a small frost-proof tulip!"), science? ("maybe we shouldn't have said it's a rescue probe?"), any "celestial body" out there? But no, there's ultimately nothing or no one that can turn us away from our fate. In many ways, I feel like the film is telling us to learn to live with what we get instead of clinging to false hopes, but also warning us of how we can be taken off course beyond the point where there'll be no body to turn at.
Grade:
ANIARA
(2018, Kågerman & Lilja)
(2018, Kågerman & Lilja)
"The answer is 'none'."
"None?"
"No."
"What?!"
"There's no celestial body to turn at."
"None?"
"No."
"What?!"
"There's no celestial body to turn at."
The above exchange occurs at the end of the first act of this 2018 Swedish sci-fi. In it, our lead character, who's referred to as "MR" (Emelie Jonsson) receives the shattering news from "The Astronomer" (Anneli Martini) after a risky maneuver to avoid space debris takes the titular spaceship off its course. There is nowhere to turn, which can be interpreted in multiple ways, as the passengers turn to numerous sources and places in their search of comfort, peace, and reassurance that "everything is under control", or "going as planned", as the Captain repeatedly says. But are they?
Aniara, which is based on a Swedish poem with a title that comes from a Greek word meaning "despair", offers a lot of that. The film follows the ship which is making a supposedly routine journey from a ravaged and almost uninhabitable Earth to newly established colonies on Mars. But when the accident occurs, the ship is left fuel-less drifting into the unknown. Much can be unpacked about the religious, philosophical, and existential symbolisms of it, but on the surface, the passengers find themselves getting slowly but surely more desperate about their situation, while trying to cling to numerous things in their search of hope and meaning.
I found this to be an incredibly thought-provoking film with economically effective production values and a subtle but great performance from Jonsson. Much of the story is focused on her character, a low-level employee at the ship that manages a spa-like AI room called MIMA, where passengers can go to relive past images of Earth in their search for solace. But as the fate of the ship becomes widely known, both MIMA and its "liaison", the "MR", find themselves burdened in more ways than one. But who can we turn to when things don't "go as planned"? The MIMA can be seen as a fairly obvious reference to God or religion, and its failure to completely soothe the despaired passengers works as both a criticism of it and its followers ("there is no protection from mankind").
But as the passengers shift their hopes into various directions, Kågerman & Lilja continue to tear everything down with relentless fatalism. Mars? ("it's cold. Nothing grows except for a small frost-proof tulip!"), science? ("maybe we shouldn't have said it's a rescue probe?"), any "celestial body" out there? But no, there's ultimately nothing or no one that can turn us away from our fate. In many ways, I feel like the film is telling us to learn to live with what we get instead of clinging to false hopes, but also warning us of how we can be taken off course beyond the point where there'll be no body to turn at.
Grade: