What does it say about the current American psyche that some of the most ambitious space movies have come to fruition in the years after Americans have stopped going into space… Margaret Lazarus Dean asked a related question in her 2015 work of literary non-fiction Leaving Orbit. Dean tracked the shuttering of the shuttle programme in 2011, and asks ‘what does it mean that a spacefaring nation won’t be going to space anymore?’ Americans may be hitching rides on the Soyuz on their way to the International Space Station, but a pause has been pressed on journeys departing from American soil.

And yet, in the past number of years, epic and innovative movies such as Interstellar and Gravity have employed space as the grand canvas on which they tell American stories of the human condition and humanity. First Man is a departure, in that it is a true story; it is, of course, also one of the definitive American stories – that of Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, and a symbol of the American Century. Damien Chazelle’s film, which drew encomia from the critics on its premiere at the Venice Film Festival, presents another space movie for the ages. First Man is one man’s story, and it is also a country’s story – and these parallel trajectories run through the movie.

The dual narratives – that of one man, and the other of a confident post-war nation – coalesce in a moving scene at the movie’s close. Apollo 11 has been wildly successful, Americans have clinched the space race, the words of an enthusiastic, idealistic yet tragic young president have been made real. Yet, Armstrong’s story is not over, he has seen the world from a quarter of a million miles away, and yet he returns with the same silence, sadness and stillness with which he left orbit. The term ‘One small leap for man’ takes on a new meaning from this perspective. The trauma of the death of a child had travelled with Armstrong to the moon, and came right back with him.

More so than any film I have seen, First Man is a triumph in bringing home the terror of spaceflight. The sounds of the machinery of space travel are intense, animalistic in the moans and howls of groaning sheets of metal that encase astronauts on their skywards ride. There are three particular sequences in First Man in which we are placed inside a small space along with Neil, and made to listen to these shudderings. The movie starts with such a scene, and it heralds a truly sublime accomplishment in cinematic sound.

The film is also fantastic at realising the awful suspense of spaceflight, building unbearably in the minutes before take-off. In the darkened auditorium, I was transported to the feeling of fear I’ve felt on a roller-coaster, as it climbs the steep ascent, knowing that the next step is now inevitable and unstoppable.

The movie is also beautiful, and cinematographer Linus Sandgren has created iconic visual treats for the viewer. One scene in particular, where Armstrong parachutes out of a terrestrial version of the lunar landing module, and lands in front of its conflagration, has seared itself into my brain (and given me the image for this blog). The special effects are by and large good, mostly succeeding in conveying naturalism. I think special effects, especially in cases like this, should seem entirely mundane, completely un-fantastical and belonging in the landscape (even when it’s Saturn V rockets launching).

These are the details that allow the central performance to dominate and hold our attention. The heart of the film is Ryan Gosling performance, which is engrossing – subtle yet commanding. Gosling plays Armstrong as a straight arrow, a man of his time, while allowing us to see hints of the oceanic melancholy inside. Loss and deep grief permeate the picture, clearly so in the stoical labourings of a family man whose family has been visited by awful tragedy. It is therefore not just a personal story, but also a family story. The frequent scenes with the astronauts, their wives, and cacophonous shrieks of children at play, also demonstrates the familial commitment of the life. On that note, the sadness that pervades the movie is not only the personal grief of the loss of a child, it’s also the professional grief of a job that has a high body count. The Apollo ‘plugs-out’ test brings this uncomfortable truth home to the viewer in a manner both disturbing and matter-of-fact. The acting performances throughout convey these lives of ever-present tension.

In First Man, Chazelle has created a masterpiece. Who IS this guy!? From the small and intimate story of art and obsession, in Whiplash, to two pictures that are cultural emblems of the American Dream and the American Century. La La Land may have had its detractors… but First Man is a flawless work of film-making.

5/5