REVIEW: ‘Spaceman’ Embarks On An Over-Literal Odyssey

It’s said that in space no one can hear you scream. It’s a phrase that perfectly taps into the horrifying vastness of the cosmos. It forces us to take part in an even more soul-crushing, existential look inward. Especially at the choices and failings that have shaped our relationships with others and the universe at large. Johan Renck’s Spaceman distinctly operates within that realm, using its story about a sole astronaut’s cosmic journey to interrogate the crucial missteps of a flailing marriage.

From its first frame to its last, Spaceman reverberates with a glacial, dream-like timbre. It unfolds as a stream of consciousness that navigates the repressed memories of its protagonist. Often veering from the hurdling vessel it takes place in, to carefully sift through his frayed state of mind and interrogate the cracks he fostered in his marriage. Spaceman uses its science fiction frame to manifest as a think piece. One that aims to reconcile the disparate needs of love, ambition, and self-discovery. The protagonist’s galactic odyssey doubles as an internal quest for clarity and redemption.

At times, Renck’s film becomes a moving meditation on these themes, but Spaceman would be a much stronger experience if it fully committed itself to that course. Instead, it casts a much wider net, injecting a strained,  commentary on capitalism and a stilted Eastern European backdrop that detracts from its story’s core. For a film dedicated to painfully dissecting its characters, it often skims the surface of its sci-fi premise. Spaceman labours to evolve past an overliteral assessment of the human condition.

The script, penned by Colby Day, follows Czech astronaut Jakub Procházka (Adam Sandler) on a solitary mission to the edge of the solar system to examine a mysterious cosmic cloud dubbed “Chopra.” He soon begins to realize the marriage he left behind on Earth might not survive his journey. Desperate to mend things with his wife (Carey Mulligan), he receives help from Hanus (Paul Dano), an ancient, intergalactic Spider. Hanus forces him to peer into the moments that tarnished his relationship, making sense of what went wrong before it’s too late.

Spaceman operates at a glacial pace, taking its time to immerse audiences in Jakub’s tortured, isolated headspace. But its first hour unfolds more as a slog than anything else, often repeating many of the same beats. Particularly as it slinks through Jakub’s memories and various administrative woes, troubling mission control back down on earth.

In constantly echoing itself, Spaceman lulls itself into a drowsy rhythm that relies on heavy introspection to carry it forward. Yet, its current is repeatedly undone by an overreliance on the literal, often in the form of unambiguous ruminations spun by Dano’s soft-spoken arachnid. In forgoing a more subtle approach, the more open-ended and provocative elements of its textured, refractive sci-fi design become diluted.

The script’s sheer overtness weighs down Janeck’s visual approach, preventing the abstract manifestations from blossoming. The result is a film that never achieves the sense of awe and wonder it hopes to inspire. Even its most mind-bending and kaleidoscopic of sci-fi elements fail to become anything more than set dressing. Moments that should lend themselves to abstraction and interpretation become rigid and unyielding—giving way to a story that never becomes the moving conversation starter it aims to be.

At each turn, Spaceman seeks to immerse audiences in a dialogue with the cosmos and the unanswerable questions of the heart. Renck and cinematographer Jakob Ihre go to great lengths to pose such captivating riddles with great mood and visual artistry. Stringent handholding undermines their efforts. As a result, the great cosmic unknown is robbed of its mystery and ultimate grandeur.

Spaceman adds to these issues by tacking on a feigned critique of celebrity culture and capitalism. This commentary comes and goes with little consequence. Jakub is forced to reiterate slogans from corporate sponsors. They manifest as jarring throwaway gags that the narrative never develops further. Instead of complementing the film’s core meditation, they often detract from it.

Yet, it’s the film’s wonky Eastern European setting that distracts the most. Jaroslav Kalfař’s Spaceman of Bohemia, the source novel of the film, heavily roots itself in the history of the land. Day and Renck’s adaptation, however, is deeply at odds with it. The Czech Republic backdrop feels more like a contractual obligation than an intentional choice. Each actor speaks in their native accent. While Spaceman does lightly touch on Jakub’s familial history with the communist party, the story’s thematic connection to Czech culture feels trivial at best.

Moreover, it’s also a decision that keeps each performance from feeling natural and congruous to the experience. While Sandler does ring in another moving non-comedic performance, it feels markedly constrained by the stilted choices surrounding it, and is less memorable because of it. The rest of the cast plays off Sandler well, especially Dano’s somber, elegiac voice performance. Mulligan also breathes life into a character that’s sorely underwritten. She empowers an ancillary presence that would surely collapse in lesser hands.

Max Richter’s beaming, soul-tingling synth score emboldens the film’s more headier moments but it’s not enough to obscure a skin-deep mediation on the human condition. Spaceman aims for the stars with its sci-fi concept but lacks the restraint and focus to imbue it with wonder. What remains is an overly sleepy think piece that’s easy to admire but difficult to love.

Spaceman is streaming now on Netflix.