First Man

The temptation of films set in space is to present a grand scale, taking full advantage to use the large screen to present the vast expanse as a metaphor for isolation, grief or whatever the filmmaker puts in or the viewer takes out. In the case of First Man, director Damien Chazelle goes the other way. From the opening sequence of Neil Armstrong (Ryan Gosling) flying an upper atmospheric craft, First Man is intensely intimate. Close-up shots and handheld cinematography are the order of the day, as Chazelle, cinematographer Linus Sandgren and editor Tom Cross take the brilliant choreography and startling editing of Whiplash and La La Land to a wider canvas that is nonetheless exquisitely detailed. This detail is the world of Armstrong, a man internalised after the tragic death of his young daughter. Gosling is magnetic as always, his eyes speaking volumes and tiny gestures indicating his absorption. Equally impressive is Claire Foy as Janet Armstrong, left behind while Neil trains for the most dangerous and ambitious mission ever undertaken. Yet even when he is with her Neil remains distant, their connection one of deep feelings rather than external expression. This is perhaps the greatest strength of First Man: for all the historical significance of the Moon landing, it is a personal story. Other relationships such as those between Neil and his fellow astronauts as well as between Janet and the other wives are compelling and believable, while the sequences of training express not only the intensity and intimacy of space travel, but also the extraordinary perils, as the lunar module and other craft appear dangerously fragile. Despite knowing how the story works out, this personal space odyssey still takes the viewer to strange new worlds, echoing Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece as well as the more recent Gravity and Interstellar. First Man may depict a giant leap, but the true drama here is in the small steps.

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