There will be some spoilers in this post, but I'll set off the really big ones with warnings.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I went to see
Passengers, the new sci-fi film starring Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Pratt. We'd both been interested in watching it based on the initial trailers, and despite the spate of negative reviews, we decided to give it a shot. I found it an odd and yet oddly effective movie, and wondered why on Earth it had only a 30% score on RottenTomatoes.com. So I went and scoured some of the capsule reviews and had to ask myself some hard questions.
The basic plot of
Passengers is evident in the marketing: two passengers on a very long space journey accidentally wake up from suspended animation early, and have only each other (and a robot bartender) for company, with the prospect of decades remaining in the trip. Then more malfunctions turn the story into an action-oriented rollercoaster with the whole ship in terrible danger that our protagonists must navigate alone.
What's not shown in the marketing is the story element that drives most of the critical negativity about the film. (Spoiler ahead, but you'll probably see it coming early on anyway.) The two characters, Jim and Aurora, don't wake up at the same time. Jim wakes up first, and after spending a year in complete isolation from other human beings, he deliberately wakes Aurora up out of desperate loneliness, dooming her to share his fate of aging and dying before they have any chance of reaching the ship's destination. A really large proportion of critics took this as a creepy and gross expression of typical male patriarchal dominance. As one of them put it, "Man gets bored, so man ruins woman's life."
I'll get back to that bit later, in the heavy-spoiler part of the post.
The reason I called
Passengers "odd" is that it mixes challenging ethical and emotional issues with science-fictional world-building far more ambitious than the typical s.f. film -- and then tops these elements off with enormously contrived plot devices. The movie was in development hell for almost a decade, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that all of the "ship in danger" action elements grew out of studio meddling intended to make the final product more commercially viable.
As a result of this strange hybridization,
Passengers offers tons of stuff to provoke thought and contemplation in its audience, while flaking its way through plot conveniences that require you to shut off your brain. For example, the interstellar spaceship is in part based off a Bussard ramjet -- a well-established piece of theoretical technology that allows the ship to fuel itself by scooping up interstellar hydrogen. But nothing in the movie
says it's a Bussard ramjet or that it's scooping up hydrogen. I had to do a search and find an interview with the screenwriter to confirm my after-the-movie realization of, "Hey, wait ... was that a Bussard ramjet?" None of the Bussard ramjet details are needed to understand the film or the situation, so the filmmakers chose to include it without drawing attention to it, a mark of respect for the audience's intelligence. And yet in the third act, when things start going haywire on the ship, audience intelligence clearly ranks low in the film's expectations, because plausibility flies out the window in scene after scene.
In other words,
Passengers is a mixture of the extremely smart and the Hollywood-dumb. My brain enjoyed the extremely smart parts enough to put up with the Hollywood dumbness, and of course, Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Pratt have enough charisma to carry off a dozen dumb popcorn flicks. On top of which, the robot bartender played by Michael Sheen holds his own with the human characters in every scene he's in, while also being
obviously a non-sentient piece of AI programming.
So if you're willing to let an exceedingly likeable cast guide you through a richly imagined science-fictional setting and then shrug off some very
unimaginative Hollywood action-flick tropes,
Passengers may do the trick for you, as it did for me.
Unless ...
(Spoiler-laced feminist analysis ahead)
... you watch the movie the way many of the critics seemed to -- as a reflection of our male-dominated, female subjugating society.
Once I started reading the reviews, I had to bring myself up short and ask, "Was my enjoyment of the film made possible by the fact that, as a man, I have the luxury of tuning out sexism and misogyny the way so much of our society does?" Obviously, no feminist wants to fall into that trap, and I experienced some real self-doubt about my reading of the film. I hadn't seen the male-female power disparity as an issue at all, whereas critic after critic marked it as the largest of the film's numerous flaws.
Did I totally drop the ball as a feminist while watching the movie?
Mulling it over, I leaned toward saying no, I had not.
For one thing, there's no question whatsoever that the film expects us to view Jim's crime as exactly that. He does something horrible and unforgivable, ripping his fellow passenger out of her life and stranding her in the same dire circumstances he's been occupying, except that she at least has one person to interact with whereas he has had no one. And the thing is, Jim
knows he's doing the wrong thing. He agonizes over it. He argues with himself, and even begs himself not to go through with it. After he activates Aurora's sleeping tube to revive her, he hides what he's done and lets the automated systems manage her awakening, just as they'd done for him. Then he retreats to his room where he's visibly sick over his own actions. He knows it's inexcusable.
Eventually, of course, Aurora finds out. It takes her a year, and in that time, she and Jim fall in love and create a reasonable facsimile of happiness together, but events conspire against Jim, and she learns the truth.
And her reaction, to me, defies any suggestion that the film is saying it's okay for men to treat women however they like. Aurora instantly hates Jim. She screams at him and flees his presence whenever he tries to explain himself or beg for forgiveness. At one point, she enters his room at night and beats the crap out of him -- not just punching him in the face, but jumping onto the bed with him and repeatedly kicking him before finally grabbing up a heavy object and preparing to bash his brains out with it.
Jennifer Lawrence gives a fantastic performance in these scenes. No person with a heart could watch her in such absolute agony and say, "Well, but really, what Jim did wasn't that bad." Jim
himself knows it's that bad. He doesn't fight back or try to stop her when she comes in to whale on him. He doesn't even defend himself when she's about to crack his skull open. Instead, he surrenders and just waits for her to kill him.
Of course, she can't do it (although I wonder if there was an early, dark version of the screenplay that ended right there, with her beating his head open) -- but her inability to murder him the way he has murdered her does
not lead to reconciliation. She remains utterly estranged from him, so much so that it's clear she will never get over what he's done.
But Hollywood being Hollywood, they couldn't do the artistic thing and end the movie with Aurora killing Jim or with the two of them growing old and dying on the ship without ever speaking to each other again. Instead, it turns out that the accident that woke Jim up also led to an accelerating cascade of malfunctions, and if the two of them don't find a way to fix things, the ship will blow up and all 5,000 people will die.
So, conveniently, Jim didn't actually murder Aurora by waking her up, but saved her life by doing so, because the events of the third act show that he could never have gotten the ship fixed without her help. Even more conveniently, the process of fixing the ship opens up some emergency facilities Jim didn't know about, including a way for one of them (but only one) to return to suspended animation.
These contrivances are worthy of eye-rolling, but because Lawrence and Pratt have such terrific chemistry, and because we get to see Jim really, really suffer for his crime, I didn't begrudge the movie its fakey happy ending. No amount of suffering could excuse what he'd done, but I could buy Aurora forgiving him, because their romance was genuine, and he not only deliberately sacrifices himself to save the ship, but offers to put her in suspended animation again as soon as he realizes he can, even though her forgiveness means he could keep the option secret from her so that he wouldn't have to be alone.
Still.
After mulling all this over, might I nonetheless be going too easy on the film? Should I instead have been incensed that Aurora forgives Jim? Is this really just a horribly sexist, patriarchal movie that deserves the critical and moral lambasting it's received?
Here's why I think the answer is "no."
I had viewed the film as a story about two people. I had viewed Jim's crime as a crime born out of human loneliness, not male entitlement. And as a story about two people, it worked fine.
Which made me ask myself, what if the gender roles had been reversed? Would the movie still have been blasted as sexist, if it featured a female mechanic with great physical aptitude waking up a male writer and proceeding through the same events? Well, yes, it would have been criticized, because people would have said, "It's just a statement that women are incomplete without men." But I think the criticism would have been much more muted -- somewhere between annoyance and anger, but not at the level of outrage provoked by the Lawrence/Pratt version of the film.
And then I asked myself, what if both the characters had been female?
And I think the answer to that question is that the same people attacking the male-female version of the film would have hailed the female-female version as bold and forward-looking, and would have swallowed the implausible third act to a far greater degree and forgiven the female Jim (let's say "Jem") much more easily.
The exact same screenplay, with the exact same character motivations, the exact same dialogue, and the exact same interpersonal dynamic, would have been touted as a social triumph instead of reviled as a piece of neanderthalic misogyny.
Which means that it's not Jim that people are judging as unforgivable. It's not the story that's an offense against women and against human decency. It's the society in which we live.
So unhealthy is our patriarchal culture that many progressives and feminists are unable to view a story about a man and a woman as simply being a story about two people. The projection of our world's gender roles onto the story overwhelms the substance of the story itself -- even though there's nothing in the movie to suggest that Aurora and Jim live in a society with the patriarchal flaws of ours.
I really wish they'd made that version of the film with two women. Not because the love scenes would then have been hot lesbian action (well, maybe a little because of that, since I'm not entirely free of male piggishness), but because the story is a good story, and I wish it could have been viewed as a story instead of as a statement on gender inequity.
Even better would have been a version of the story where Aurora doesn't fully forgive Jem, but agrees to let the mechanic wake her up for a week or two a year so that Jem doesn't go crazy from loneliness.
Damn, why am I not the one in charge of Hollywood?
