Source: Wikipedia |
So yes, crazy shit’s going down at an exoplanet (inexplicably named after our Sun) out in god-knows-where space. But first, let’s have a long, dispassionate conversation about it. “Tell don’t show” seems to be the rule when showing would be obscenely expensive. Also, let’s watch five solid minutes of silent driving. That’ll teach the critics.
After a hand-waved interplanetary commute, our
It's also criminally understaffed. There’s a crazy guy who's locked himself in the lab; another guy who "killed himself" and left a rambling suicide video; and a paranoid doctor who's horrible at hiding secrets. (Yeah, turns out the sea's alive, so we just blasted it with X-rays. That cool?)
Then the “Visitors” arrive.
Because of *insert pseudoscience technobabble explanation*, the conscious Ocean attempts communication with the humans via human beings plucked from their memories. Our hero sees his dead wife. She starts asking existential questions. Unconventional romance ensues.
You've just read the grievously abridged version. Imagine a cosmic horror story; now replace the horror with angsty romance and trippy dream sequences.
We haven't even touched the philosophical discussions--dissertations on love, identity, reality and illusion, but mostly the human arrogance of indiscriminately enforcing our culture on the universe.
Actually, this movie's mere existence serves demonstrates that speculative fiction was alive and well in Soviet Russia, just waaaaaay out there on some bizarre planet whizzing around a nameless star.
169 minutes.
Not exactly a popcorn flick. A more exotic dish with an odd flavor meant for savoring, not appeasing the appetite or nourishing the body.
Actually, this movie's mere existence serves demonstrates that speculative fiction was alive and well in Soviet Russia, just waaaaaay out there on some bizarre planet whizzing around a nameless star.
169 minutes.
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