Interstellar, as psychoanalysis
As I was watching the film, I realized pretty quickly that a subplot was the danger of certain information (as most did). From the opposing sides of the moon landing, to the fact that they had to keep NASA a secret. If you’re incredibly conspiratorial, one could say the teacher was (knowingly or not) spreading government propaganda.
Then you have the legitimacy of the ghost in the room and the protagonist’s need to know. The language in which the ghost communicates and the pain inflicted by the sacrifices made for investigating that information. To experience knowing something for an absolute fact. Something no one else knows. Because that influences your actions in truly unique ways. It makes you a true individual.
But then, you have the most powerful introduction of any antagonistic, of any film. He gleefully tells his daughter, “We might be the same age when I come back!” Quickly realizing that no amount of scientific wonder could ever make up for losing the only parent you have left, at ten years old.
If you give yourself the freedom to psychoanalyse the writers. Or, as the great Tobias Funke might say, take off your assistant skirt and put on your Barbra Streisand in The Prince of Tides ass-masking therapist pantsuit. And not only succumb to the awe of their philosophical genius and the visual wonder of the film and emotional impact of the action. You can see that this film is also about the sacrifice of time. The time taken from those you love more than anything in the world, for something greater than yourselves. But if you amplify this to extreme proportions. In other words, this film might have been written by two men going through a midlife crisis.
Information is the murder weapon that time uses to destroy. It destroys the society through the knowledge of our impending extinction. It makes us focus on the more immediate and utilitarian aspects of existence and tailors education to this reality. Destroying imagination and wonderment. The information of the past is destroying the lead character’s present and future through bitterness and cynicism.
What makes this film an allegory for how to approach or survive a midlife crisis? The dialog in that crucible of emotions and motivations that was the scene in Murphy’s bedroom. Where he tells Murph what her mother told him about parenthood. That their existence becomes secondary to their children. He could be that ghost. Live out the end of the world with her. Providing the love and memories that she needs and is asking for. But the pull of exploring the information is too strong. The potential of fulfilling a destiny that is intrinsically connected to every sense of disappointment and pride. An impulse that has been built through a lifetime of preparation, and then repressed through unfavorable circumstances. And even though the impulse laid dormant through a perceived impotence, it became as necessary as breathing when the possibility for fulfillment presented itself.
Losing large pieces of your children’s lives to satisfy your hunger for meaning is nothing new. A calling that is beyond them and yourself. We all sacrifice time to combat scarcity, and recognize the necessity of having moments that reassures your existence as an individual. That your uniqueness and individuality lives on in a world wide memory. A need to use the skills and passions that your seemingly autonomous existence has attracted to your identity like some divine gravitational orbit of purpose- to build a temple to your existence that the world can visit. A legacy.
So, how do the writers deal with the guilt of sacrificing their children to glory? They stay optimistic. Fear motivated every wrong decision in the film. Fear of being wrong sabotaged the Doctor’s equation; it motivated Matt Damon to activate the beacon; and “Alright, alright, alright’s” character to choose that beacon over Catwoman’s husband’s. It also motivated the Casey Affleck to not be like his dad and not abandon his farm, even though his wife and child will die because if they stayed there. He embraced the bad information. His fear and anger made him okay with following the school’s plans. That acceptance meant that his father, who fought against this system of desperation, was wrong. And being wrong on a ideological reality, on an existential idea that should not have plurality, means that he’s wrong on everything.
In the end, “Alright, alright, alright” was right. Why? Because of love. Love was the source of every piece of information that helped us. It was the love for humanity that made him sacrifice his children. And It was the love for his daughter that finally directed him to give the information that saved humanity. The lesson? Anything done with love in your heart makes you different than the cold rationality of scientific understanding. Is that true? I don’t know. I do know that their certainty is something they might want to moderate. But it’s a great film overall.
5/5 stars
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