Moon

Today’s post on ‘Rogue Cinema’ is a collaboration between Matt and Andy.


“WHERE ARE WE NOW?”

If you’ve seen 2001: A Space Odyssey you’ll find many similarities between the mood, the sets, the characters, the landscapes and even the plot devices found in Moon; so much so that this film from 2009 is virtually a tribute and grungy satire of Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 epic sci-fi symphony. Moon is Radio Head’s ‘Creep‘ to 2001‘s triumphant ‘Also Sprach Zarathrustra. Where 2001 looks at human evolution and finds an animal in conversation with the divine and bound for . . . godhood? Moon peers into the same place and finds an animal in conversation with itself and bound for . . . madness? Both are shocking revelations and profound mirrors on the human mind. Both films are better for the association.


In the beginning, Moon shows us a man: bored. After almost three years isolated on a moon base, this man (Sam) is desperate to return home to his wife, and experience the human connection he longs for. In the last two weeks on the base, however, he must continue with his routine maintenance tasks, and the little hobbies he engages in to try to maintain his sanity: tending for potted plants, and carving a model town with a craft knife. He begins to see hallucinations, however, overflowing from the trapped and deprived mind. Fantasy writes itself on the eyes: a way for his psyche to terrorise itself.



Both 2001 and Moon create conversations about human perspective. These conversations broach meaningful and mundane observations, from the experience of awaking that is childhood, to the invincible glory of youth, to the alternating tragedies and awe-inspiring realizations of adulthood, to the slow, tortured and wisdom-inducing descent into death. We constantly sense the maddening reality that someone like us has been here before, and someone like us will take our place, and these generations are beyond kin: beyond our vision and control.


Sam wakes up, and after venturing out to do his duties, discovers an identical — but older – version of himself, unconscious in a wrecked vehicle. The ‘new’ Sam is haunted by suspicions that lead him to search for a secret room in the base: a place that will answer his questions about himself. After searching the rest of the base, he suspects that the extensive model town that occupies the time of his double may be — literally — a ‘cover’ for the answers he needs. The ‘primal’ Sam defends his creation, and the two fight, with a craft knife in hand. The newer, stronger ‘Sam’ overpowers his double, and destroys the town, only to find that nothing is hidden beneath it.

 

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From this battle with the self, the weaker ‘self’ is wounded, and the ‘first Sam’ descends into a rapid process of physical deterioration. GERTY, the base’s resident robot, gives him a password to access video logs of previous clones, which show each get sicker and sicker until they enter a chamber where they believe they will be put in cryogenic sleep before their return to earth. Sam finds this chamber, and activates it from the outside. A message plays, thanking him for his hard work: then, after a flash, a puff of ash falls out of an exhaust tube.

The second ‘Sam’ has to watch the rapid decline of his primal self: the road towards death that will one day be his fate, if he remains in this world. Yet, he never seems to accept or absorb the reality of this situation. It seems that the healthy mind cannot conceive of the reality of its future self. The two versions of ‘Sam’ are intimately connected — they are the same — and yet, as two stages in his biological reality, they cannot know each other.


In Moon it’s not the topic but the conversation itself that matters most. These conversations are taking place in the mind of every human being: conversations that we can only hope are being overheard. Yet, all evidence points to an utter and frightening solitude where even those closest to us are as dauntingly  unbridgeable as earth and moon.

We are left to contemplate the ineffable of this world and the mysterious, magical view from the human mind. We stand by and watch the effects of time and space. . . effects that make us strangers, even to ourselves, as fearsome and delightful as our dearest and darkest dreams.

Where are we now? We are here and that’s all that we know. Yet we still hope, and we live and die to help the next generation find their way home.


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I ask myself: ‘Who was I?’, and ‘Who will I be?’ I will either receive a gift or a trap from my former self, or prepare one for my future.

 

NEXT WEEK: Looking into the joyless/joyful suburbia of Sam Mendes’ American Beauty (1999). For our schedule, check here.