I.S.S. is a thoughtful, disquieting consideration of loyalty and tribalism. Set in the near future aboard that symbol of cooperation, the International Space Station, it posits what would happen to the six scientists and military personnel aboard if war broke out down below.
Gabriela Cowperthwaite has created a spare work that pushes aside the impressive special effects, particularly the weightlessness involved, necessary to tell the story in order to dissect human nature under duress. The tense, literate script by Nick Shafir wastes little time in getting to the point, introducing us to life aboard the I.S.S. via the newcomer, Dr. Kira Foster (Ariana DeBose), a bioengineer who needs weightlessness to perfect growing organs for transplant. From the flight up with advice from returning American and single dad, Christian Campbell (John Gallagher, Jr.), to the protocols each nationality uses when opening the door, to how the station is run with an open, sharing atmosphere that makes life in close quarters, and without gravity, is exposition is handled deftly and quickly. The stage is set, the personalities established, and without further ado, the contention begins.
Over welcome drinks, the comely, wryly funny Weronika Vetrov (Masha Mashkova) explains that they are highly evolved up there, avoiding politics after the American commander, Gordon Barrett (Chris Messina) makes a faux pas while joking with the other Russian brothers Pulov, Nicholai (Costa Ronin), the brooding one and Alexy (Pilou Asbæk), the sweet one Almost as sweet at Christian, who is a nebbish always ready with some ibuprofen for space sickness, and advice about how to sleep in zero gravity.
That evolved state will be tested when the Earth’s surface erupts in fireballs that can only mean nuclear war. Just before radio communications are lost, Gordon is told by his government to take over the station by any means necessary. He shares this only with the other Americans, and as they debate what to do, the idea arises among them that the Russians may have been told to do the same thing by their government. And that they are also withholding this information. Thus begins the paranoia of who can be trusted in a confined, cramped space, and who will follow orders while below them, the planet burns.
The impersonal vacuum of space is the perfect backdrop. By reducing the conflict to six people, none of whom know who started the war, the artificial construction of nationality in the face of human interaction is set in high relief. It also become the microcosm with which to examine the results of that artificiality, the taint it brings to relationships, and the forbidding prospect of following military orders remotely in a place not actively involved in combat. The setting is integral to the sense of unease, the lack of true privacy, and this is heightened by the way these characters, and we, parse conversations for hidden signals of veracity or treachery. Betrayal is committed with mixed emotions and received with disbelief. A smile becomes a warning sign, and a scene of making a sandwich becomes a study in carefully chosen words and movements, where one mistake could lead to bloodshed.
DeBose is deeply affecting as the new member of the crew, fretting over her lab mice, and wanting to believe the best about the others, and not giving up on all of them when she is disappointed by someone. She has a touching vulnerability, when she finally opens up, to go with a quiet confidence that culminates in a scene of true horror. She is presented as the one person everyone, including we in the audience, can trust as the others, who have worked together longer suddenly find that they don’t know each other at all. Not for sure.
The visual acuity of working in such a small space is skillful, adding to the sense of tension as characters’ wariness increases. This is a highly detailed workspace with no glamor as well as nowhere to hide. The recognizable technology of the near future engendering a gritty reality to the sometimes metaphorical flourishes the film integrates into its lean and mean story.
I.S.S. telegraphs a little too much with its callouts to later action. Spilled liquor at the beginning forming the same spheres that blood will later, or the way Russians always knock three times while Americans barge in. There might be little nuance in the crew awestruck watching the planet before the trouble begins, commenting on the lack of borders, or watching Gordon spacewalk with the burning planet in the background, but it serves a larger purpose of perspective about a battle in space over a war that is so far from them. Yet the characters do have nuance, and the twists have the requisite shock value making for a solid thriller set in a vast cold emptiness.
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