David O'Mahony: ‘Project Hail Mary’ reminds us that, even in our darkest hour, all is not lost
In 'Project Hail Mary', Ryland Grace (Ryan Gosling) — a school teacher who never wanted to be out there — is delivering a strong message of hope, ingenuity, and friendship across all barriers.
With the world burning from climate change, and cohorts ill-equipped for governance letting their rage and ineptitude run wild in some parts of the world, you’d be forgiven for just giving up.
The human mind can only store up so much resilience at a time, and the body too; there’s a certain allure to just curling up into a ball and sleeping it off. If you can even fall asleep in this heat, of course, or switch off from the cost-of-living crisis long enough to catch a few hours of peace.
Even the Fifa World Cup, which should be a relief from, well, everything, has been marred by racism toward players, and political interference. America may have spent generations portraying itself as a shining city on the hill, but now that city seems to be on fire and falling into ruin.
Yet on the pitch, diversity seems to be winning.
And there’s the nub of it, really.
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No matter how grim, or depressing, or relentless the darkness, all it takes is one little beacon of hope to light the way. Lost in the noise, sometimes, is the reality that we as a species — and as nations — can always be greater than the sum of our parts.
Even singular moments of beauty and grace can pull us through, or at the very least help us escape the doldrums for just long enough to remember that, actually, there’s still a lot of good out there.
We just need to fight for it occasionally.
It struck me this week as Beloved Wife and I watched the film Project Hail Mary, in which a lone astronaut has to work with an alien to figure out a way of tackling a life form that’s eating the light of their respective suns.
So, no pressure.
It’s a beautifully-made film, not just in terms of effect and Ryan Gosling’s nuanced performance as Ryland Grace — a school teacher who never wanted to be out there — but in its message of hope, ingenuity, and friendship across barriers.
The fundamental theme isn’t that humanity can overcome obstacles, although that’s vital to the story, but that it can only really do so by co-operation and recognising that connection — actual deep, emotional connection — doesn’t depend on familiarity or sameness.
In this case, the alien, who Grace unimaginatively dubs Rocky because he looks like a spider made of stone, is a skilled engineer who seems able to make pretty much everything, while Grace is the one with scientific knowledge that Rocky’s species lacks.
Rocky and Grace don’t even see or speak the same way — Rocky’s species sees through echolocation, and communicates through something resembling birdsong. And yet… and yet it works (eventually). One cannot succeed without the other.
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Grace can study and breed potentially problem-solving microbes, but only Rocky can figure out a way of actually capturing them, for example.
Ultimately, it becomes about how friendship can transcend self-interest, to the benefit of everybody. Sometimes what really matters is the intangible, something that art such as films and books readily remind us, even if we at times don’t quite get it.
But don’t you think that’s something we could do with remembering?
There’s a trope in science fiction which can be summarised as “facing a great crisis, humanity united”. You can see it in the 1950s and 1960s, such as in Star Trek, where unity is sort of taken as a given.
I think, Dear Reader, you could argue that was a more optimistic view than what you could get away with today — even in the likes of The Expanse and , there is a united Earth, but a fragmented humanity often at conflict with itself.
It’s reflected too in , where, while there’s an unprecedented project to work toward solving the problem, crossing all borders and nationalities, the fact remains that it’s just a group and that the planet as a whole remains divided along traditional lines.
It will, in fact, just get worse as the sun dims, crops fail, and wars begin over resources. And there’s no indication or even suggestion that by saving the world, things will change dramatically.
That’s not the point, anyway.
I mean, look at us.
We could save the world now — looking at you in particular, fossil fuel producers — and not even need to change one political alliance or border. What matters is the will to do the right thing, and committing to it.
Like in , it’s about giving future generations the chance to survive.
After all, a beacon of hope, however small, can spread its light far beyond measure.
Jean-Paul Sartre once wrote “You don’t fight fascism because you’re going to win. You fight fascism because it’s fascist.” Maybe we should expand that a little, replacing “fascist” with “darkness”.
There is certainly enough darkness in the world, and even my staunchly-curated social media feeds face the odd intrusion of hate and bile.
Obama brought us the audacity of hope, and the Fanta fascist has been doing his best to take it away.
But it doesn’t hurt to remember that even when the odds are against us, all is not lost. A bit wonky, maybe, or gone down a road we would have preferred not to travel, but not lost entirely.
And if art can do anything, it can remind us of that.
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