*Warning: This review contains spoilers.*
With his first pair of breakout features (excluding Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench), Damien Chazelle told the same story with polar opposite approaches. Whiplash is a violently intense movie about power struggle and determination in the world of competitive jazz, while La La Land stands as maybe the decade's dreamiest example of Hollywood musical escapism. Yet both movies are essentially about the same thing- the sacrifices we make in order to achieve success. One is cynical, one is optimistic, but a thematic ethos quickly emerged in the director's work. When it was announced that Chazelle would be crafting a biopic of NASA legend Neil Armstrong as the follow-up to his Oscar-winning smash, it seemed like a logical next step. The story of a man who left his family behind to chase a national dream is right in Chazelle's wheelhouse. Even before cameras were rolling, I thought I knew where this was headed.
And in some ways, First Man fits nicely in Chazelle's filmography as another study of the opportunity cost of accomplishing anything truly great. The mission to the moon came at a great personal expense, both in terms of the lives lost and the decade of family time lost to a national goal. From this view, Chazelle has re-examined old themes with an emphasis on the increase in stakes, trading in romantic relationships for extraordinary danger.
But it's more than that. Chazelle has always investigated how we give up parts of our life in pursuit of something greater, but he's never really cared to ask why. If you take the lead characters from his first two films (Sebastian and Mia from La La Land and Andrew from Whiplash), they have fairly simple motivations; they just love what they love because that's all they know how to do. Maybe it's a romanticized view of a bygone world of jazz, or maybe it's the need to prove yourself to a teacher or an acting coach. Either way, there's no buried secret to Sebastian's love of playing the piano.
When taken from this point of view, First Man is a major evolution of Chazelle's prior thematic occupations, progressing his study of obsessive determination to examine a man who used a national dream as a mechanism to cope with his own trauma. A single-minded quest doesn't always come from passion and love- it can also be a product of great pain. That profound loss comes near the beginning of First Man, which opens in the early 1960s. After a gripping, heart-pounding opening, we learn that Neil Armstrong (Ryan Gosling) has a very sick daughter (Lucy Stafford) who desperately needs treatment. Even when he was about to leave Earth's atmosphere in a terrifying flight incident, Neil's mind was elsewhere.
Sadly, young Karen Armstrong passes away, leaving a lasting impact on Neil's emotional health. Moments after the funeral, he completely breaks down in his office, seemingly unable to hold in his anger and sadness any longer. But eventually, he channels those feelings into something much bigger than himself. An interview with the fine folks at NASA goes well, and Neil is offered a position with the Gemini space program. Looking for a fresh start, Janet Armstrong (Claire Foy) agrees to move the family to Houston to be a part of this great endeavor. Along with Elliott See (Patrick Fugit), Ed White (Jason Clarke), and many more, Neil becomes a crucial member of the Gemini team.
However, space travel wasn't exactly easy in the early days (not that it's easier now). There are inherent risks involved with attempting to orbit around the Earth, and there are especially dangers to trying to land on the moon. Astronauts die, Armstrong gets hurt, and Janet is left waiting by the radio, anxious to know if her kids are going to have a father when they wake up in the morning. Each death takes a toll, and the mounting pressure becomes unbearable as government scrutiny intensifies.
Eventually, even the most optimistic and adventurous of viewers will likely ask- what was the purpose of the space program? Men died, families were broken, and to what end? So we could say we beat the Soviets? So we could collect a few rocks from the surface of the moon (scientists, please don't get mad at me)? Armstrong argues that space exploration changes your perception of the world around you, but I'm not entirely sure the film buys its hero's own argument. There's more to this than just a change in point-of-view. Chazelle is less concerned with the space race as an American phenomenon than he is with Armstrong's own deeply contained psychological burden, but in the process of this character study, he makes an interesting argument for exploration as a stabilizing global force.
In one scene, Janet mentions to Pat White (Olivia Hamilton) that she married Neil because she wanted a "stable life." Fascinatingly, that yearning for stability is reflected in the American consciousness, even as the tumultuous events of the 1960s remain on the periphery of the story. I don't think of First Man as a brazenly political film (the controversy around it is bogus), but Chazelle and screenwriter Josh Singer understand how such a monumental achievement could serve to unify a fractured nation. And in the process, they almost seem to implicitly argue for a return to this cosmic goal.
But if the film goes light on the ra-ra patriotism, that's because American concerns are secondary to a sad, incredibly personal journey for Armstrong. Some of the buzz since festival season has indiciated that you learn little about Neil throughout this film, experiencing his trials and tribulations in space without connecting on a human level. I don't think that could be further from the truth. Armstrong is undoubtedly a quiet soul, but with tight frames and grainy camerawork, Chazelle adds new shades to his inner life. Armstrong seems to be seeking some kind of transcendental peace in the skies above us, while also fulfilling a promise to his fallen friends. For the astronaut, the moon seems to hang over his life like a cloud; it's a presence that feels like both a threat and an aspiration.
Already one of the finest actors working today (if you know me, you know how much I adore La La Land and The Nice Guys), Gosling delivers his greatest performance to date as Armstrong. The star has done phenomenal work in this type of quiet, reserved performance before, but Gosling's turn as the astronaut seems to be an investigation of why someone would retreat so far into their own mind. Much like Chazelle's study of the rationales for determination and obsession, Gosling is adding another layer to what could have been a very familiar performance. His face contains multitudes, and it's thrilling to watch these microscopic details shade his every move in individual scenes. Gosling's turn is guarded, stoic, and brilliant beyond compare; he carries the movie as not just a hero, but a sympathetic man who thrust himself into the unknown to help come to terms with a loss he couldn't comprehend. It's a work of great melancholy and pathos, and it humanizes Armstrong to an extent that I didn't even expect.
I was warned by many that First Man would be an emotional experience, but the film is often just plain sad. Tragedy looms large over the space program, and each scene seems to add another death onto Armstrong's shoulders. In addition to this mortal heaviness, Chazelle really doesn't let his audience off the hook when it comes to the action sequences. First Man is a punishing film, filled with set-pieces that double as chaotic, virtuoso feats of filmmaking. One scene involving a spinning spacecraft is so totally disorienting that it's easy to imagine some viewers walking out in a haze. Chazelle's vision of space travel is unromantic and mostly frightening, a palpable combination of ice cold metal and good, old-fashioned claustrophobia.
This is basically another way of saying that it's kind of remarkable.
Known for the fluid camerawork and gorgeous long takes in his first two features, Chazelle scraps that for a new aesthetic that feels totally inspired. Working with Oscar-winning DP Linus Sandgren, Chazelle crafts a look and feel that exists somewhere between home movie and POV roller-coaster simulation, immersing viewers in a de-saturated world of spare, clinical intensity. It's enjoyable to see where the filmmaker's influences pop up, as the fingerprints of Christopher Nolan's visceral flight photography in Interstellar and Stanley Kubrick's serene docking scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey emerge on a few occasions. Still, First Man is no mere imitation- Chazelle is working in his own register that can only be described as understated and precise.
Chazelle collaborator (and Oscar-winner) Justin Hurwitz is also back with a new score, and he's continuing to prove himself as a thoroughly unique composer. Obviously the music is less of a factor in First Man than in, say, La La Land, but Hurwitz doesn't back down from the challenge of lending character and complexity to a film and a human being that both defy easy classification. A traditional action movie score just wouldn't quite work here, so Hurwitz creates an atmosphere that is as forceful as it is wondrous. I've already listened to his track for the landing dozens of times.
The film flounders a bit in its second act, as Chazelle struggles with time jumps and a somewhat scattered collection of scenes. Armstrong is never going to verbalize anything, so that puts the movie in a difficult situation in terms of any sort of escalating narrative. Claire Foy is great as Janet, but it's not like she can get much out of Neil either. So much of what's happening in First Man is bubbling under the surface, either in the smallest of facial tics or gestures that indicate extraordinary violence. It's new territory for Chazelle, and it can feel like the film has momentarily lost its way.
But that doesn't last long. The third act is the best stretch of filmmaking I've seen this year by a significant margin, a feat of audio-visual skill and bravado by Chazelle, Hurwitz, and the entire sound team. We've seen great landing and docking scenes before, but few with this level of emotional and physical power. Yet to be quite honest with you, the third act's real power comes not from the sensational, awe-inspiring accomplishment of landing on the moon. No, it's what comes after that made my eyes well up so quickly I thought I might explode. Chazelle has a knack for endings, and this one is the perfect emotional sucker punch to end Armstrong's internal and external pursuit. It's devastating.
It goes something like this. After reciting his famous line and walking on the moon for the first time, Neil wanders off for a bit of peace and quiet. So far on the moon, we've only seen him with that golden helmet cover over his face, limiting any understanding of how he's processing this spectacular event. What is he thinking? What is he feeling? The film embraces the quiet of space, adopting a meditative feel after so much nail-biting suspense.
And then Neil lifts the mask. He cries, and we do too. For one brief, beautiful moment, Neil Armstrong bares his soul, exposing the one thing that has kept him going through a decade of loss, misery, and great domestic anguish. After maintaining that stoic form for so long, Armstrong can barely hold it anymore- and once again, neither can we. But a few seconds later, that mask comes down and Armstrong is back to work again.
For those of us with tears in our eyes, doing the same is almost unimaginable.
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9.4/10)
Images: Universal/IMDb
With his first pair of breakout features (excluding Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench), Damien Chazelle told the same story with polar opposite approaches. Whiplash is a violently intense movie about power struggle and determination in the world of competitive jazz, while La La Land stands as maybe the decade's dreamiest example of Hollywood musical escapism. Yet both movies are essentially about the same thing- the sacrifices we make in order to achieve success. One is cynical, one is optimistic, but a thematic ethos quickly emerged in the director's work. When it was announced that Chazelle would be crafting a biopic of NASA legend Neil Armstrong as the follow-up to his Oscar-winning smash, it seemed like a logical next step. The story of a man who left his family behind to chase a national dream is right in Chazelle's wheelhouse. Even before cameras were rolling, I thought I knew where this was headed.
And in some ways, First Man fits nicely in Chazelle's filmography as another study of the opportunity cost of accomplishing anything truly great. The mission to the moon came at a great personal expense, both in terms of the lives lost and the decade of family time lost to a national goal. From this view, Chazelle has re-examined old themes with an emphasis on the increase in stakes, trading in romantic relationships for extraordinary danger.
But it's more than that. Chazelle has always investigated how we give up parts of our life in pursuit of something greater, but he's never really cared to ask why. If you take the lead characters from his first two films (Sebastian and Mia from La La Land and Andrew from Whiplash), they have fairly simple motivations; they just love what they love because that's all they know how to do. Maybe it's a romanticized view of a bygone world of jazz, or maybe it's the need to prove yourself to a teacher or an acting coach. Either way, there's no buried secret to Sebastian's love of playing the piano.
When taken from this point of view, First Man is a major evolution of Chazelle's prior thematic occupations, progressing his study of obsessive determination to examine a man who used a national dream as a mechanism to cope with his own trauma. A single-minded quest doesn't always come from passion and love- it can also be a product of great pain. That profound loss comes near the beginning of First Man, which opens in the early 1960s. After a gripping, heart-pounding opening, we learn that Neil Armstrong (Ryan Gosling) has a very sick daughter (Lucy Stafford) who desperately needs treatment. Even when he was about to leave Earth's atmosphere in a terrifying flight incident, Neil's mind was elsewhere.
Sadly, young Karen Armstrong passes away, leaving a lasting impact on Neil's emotional health. Moments after the funeral, he completely breaks down in his office, seemingly unable to hold in his anger and sadness any longer. But eventually, he channels those feelings into something much bigger than himself. An interview with the fine folks at NASA goes well, and Neil is offered a position with the Gemini space program. Looking for a fresh start, Janet Armstrong (Claire Foy) agrees to move the family to Houston to be a part of this great endeavor. Along with Elliott See (Patrick Fugit), Ed White (Jason Clarke), and many more, Neil becomes a crucial member of the Gemini team.
However, space travel wasn't exactly easy in the early days (not that it's easier now). There are inherent risks involved with attempting to orbit around the Earth, and there are especially dangers to trying to land on the moon. Astronauts die, Armstrong gets hurt, and Janet is left waiting by the radio, anxious to know if her kids are going to have a father when they wake up in the morning. Each death takes a toll, and the mounting pressure becomes unbearable as government scrutiny intensifies.
Eventually, even the most optimistic and adventurous of viewers will likely ask- what was the purpose of the space program? Men died, families were broken, and to what end? So we could say we beat the Soviets? So we could collect a few rocks from the surface of the moon (scientists, please don't get mad at me)? Armstrong argues that space exploration changes your perception of the world around you, but I'm not entirely sure the film buys its hero's own argument. There's more to this than just a change in point-of-view. Chazelle is less concerned with the space race as an American phenomenon than he is with Armstrong's own deeply contained psychological burden, but in the process of this character study, he makes an interesting argument for exploration as a stabilizing global force.
In one scene, Janet mentions to Pat White (Olivia Hamilton) that she married Neil because she wanted a "stable life." Fascinatingly, that yearning for stability is reflected in the American consciousness, even as the tumultuous events of the 1960s remain on the periphery of the story. I don't think of First Man as a brazenly political film (the controversy around it is bogus), but Chazelle and screenwriter Josh Singer understand how such a monumental achievement could serve to unify a fractured nation. And in the process, they almost seem to implicitly argue for a return to this cosmic goal.
But if the film goes light on the ra-ra patriotism, that's because American concerns are secondary to a sad, incredibly personal journey for Armstrong. Some of the buzz since festival season has indiciated that you learn little about Neil throughout this film, experiencing his trials and tribulations in space without connecting on a human level. I don't think that could be further from the truth. Armstrong is undoubtedly a quiet soul, but with tight frames and grainy camerawork, Chazelle adds new shades to his inner life. Armstrong seems to be seeking some kind of transcendental peace in the skies above us, while also fulfilling a promise to his fallen friends. For the astronaut, the moon seems to hang over his life like a cloud; it's a presence that feels like both a threat and an aspiration.
Already one of the finest actors working today (if you know me, you know how much I adore La La Land and The Nice Guys), Gosling delivers his greatest performance to date as Armstrong. The star has done phenomenal work in this type of quiet, reserved performance before, but Gosling's turn as the astronaut seems to be an investigation of why someone would retreat so far into their own mind. Much like Chazelle's study of the rationales for determination and obsession, Gosling is adding another layer to what could have been a very familiar performance. His face contains multitudes, and it's thrilling to watch these microscopic details shade his every move in individual scenes. Gosling's turn is guarded, stoic, and brilliant beyond compare; he carries the movie as not just a hero, but a sympathetic man who thrust himself into the unknown to help come to terms with a loss he couldn't comprehend. It's a work of great melancholy and pathos, and it humanizes Armstrong to an extent that I didn't even expect.
I was warned by many that First Man would be an emotional experience, but the film is often just plain sad. Tragedy looms large over the space program, and each scene seems to add another death onto Armstrong's shoulders. In addition to this mortal heaviness, Chazelle really doesn't let his audience off the hook when it comes to the action sequences. First Man is a punishing film, filled with set-pieces that double as chaotic, virtuoso feats of filmmaking. One scene involving a spinning spacecraft is so totally disorienting that it's easy to imagine some viewers walking out in a haze. Chazelle's vision of space travel is unromantic and mostly frightening, a palpable combination of ice cold metal and good, old-fashioned claustrophobia.
This is basically another way of saying that it's kind of remarkable.
Known for the fluid camerawork and gorgeous long takes in his first two features, Chazelle scraps that for a new aesthetic that feels totally inspired. Working with Oscar-winning DP Linus Sandgren, Chazelle crafts a look and feel that exists somewhere between home movie and POV roller-coaster simulation, immersing viewers in a de-saturated world of spare, clinical intensity. It's enjoyable to see where the filmmaker's influences pop up, as the fingerprints of Christopher Nolan's visceral flight photography in Interstellar and Stanley Kubrick's serene docking scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey emerge on a few occasions. Still, First Man is no mere imitation- Chazelle is working in his own register that can only be described as understated and precise.
Chazelle collaborator (and Oscar-winner) Justin Hurwitz is also back with a new score, and he's continuing to prove himself as a thoroughly unique composer. Obviously the music is less of a factor in First Man than in, say, La La Land, but Hurwitz doesn't back down from the challenge of lending character and complexity to a film and a human being that both defy easy classification. A traditional action movie score just wouldn't quite work here, so Hurwitz creates an atmosphere that is as forceful as it is wondrous. I've already listened to his track for the landing dozens of times.
The film flounders a bit in its second act, as Chazelle struggles with time jumps and a somewhat scattered collection of scenes. Armstrong is never going to verbalize anything, so that puts the movie in a difficult situation in terms of any sort of escalating narrative. Claire Foy is great as Janet, but it's not like she can get much out of Neil either. So much of what's happening in First Man is bubbling under the surface, either in the smallest of facial tics or gestures that indicate extraordinary violence. It's new territory for Chazelle, and it can feel like the film has momentarily lost its way.
But that doesn't last long. The third act is the best stretch of filmmaking I've seen this year by a significant margin, a feat of audio-visual skill and bravado by Chazelle, Hurwitz, and the entire sound team. We've seen great landing and docking scenes before, but few with this level of emotional and physical power. Yet to be quite honest with you, the third act's real power comes not from the sensational, awe-inspiring accomplishment of landing on the moon. No, it's what comes after that made my eyes well up so quickly I thought I might explode. Chazelle has a knack for endings, and this one is the perfect emotional sucker punch to end Armstrong's internal and external pursuit. It's devastating.
It goes something like this. After reciting his famous line and walking on the moon for the first time, Neil wanders off for a bit of peace and quiet. So far on the moon, we've only seen him with that golden helmet cover over his face, limiting any understanding of how he's processing this spectacular event. What is he thinking? What is he feeling? The film embraces the quiet of space, adopting a meditative feel after so much nail-biting suspense.
And then Neil lifts the mask. He cries, and we do too. For one brief, beautiful moment, Neil Armstrong bares his soul, exposing the one thing that has kept him going through a decade of loss, misery, and great domestic anguish. After maintaining that stoic form for so long, Armstrong can barely hold it anymore- and once again, neither can we. But a few seconds later, that mask comes down and Armstrong is back to work again.
For those of us with tears in our eyes, doing the same is almost unimaginable.
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9.4/10)
Images: Universal/IMDb
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