Several years ago, I listened to an enjoyable 1950’s era radio drama about an astronaut who falls prey to dementia after prolonged exposure to the solitude of living in deep space. So I very much looked forward to Moon, for all appearances a philosophical sci-fi thriller in the same vein. If Moon disappointed me on some level, it probably had more to do with my expectations than its delivery.

Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) hasn’t seen another human being in nearly three years. An astronaut miner assigned to a remote base on the dark side of the moon, Sam is only two weeks shy of completing his contract and returning to Earth where his wife and daughter eagerly await his return. While the solitude has been enlightening, Sam is lonely, eager to make up for lost time, and growing increasingly uneasy with the isolation. Some days he feels like an old man coming apart at the mental seams. He’s even started seeing people who aren’t really there.

After a debilitating accident nearly kills him, it becomes clear to Sam that he may be more disturbed than he initially thought. Waking up in sickbay, he discovers his replacement has finally arrived. But Sam is flabbergasted when the man appears to be his identical twin. Is the newcomer yet another figment of Sam’s increasingly addled imagination or something far more nefarious?

Moon, a stylish and moody psychological sci-fi outing in the tone of Steven Soderbergh’s Solaris, is the first feature film by director Duncan Jones. It is, quite simply, an astonishingly good debut, supremely confident and assured. The production values are first-rate, the use of models rather than CGI deliciously refreshing, and composer Clint Mansel’s repetitive nature perfectly suited for the film’s monotonous countdown of days.

Sam Rockwell, who is in nearly every single frame of the film, and most times, pulls double duty, is simply terrific. Though he is playing the same man, the two Sams could not be more different. One is all business, ridged and squared away. The other is all quirks and personality, accustomed to a life spent without the burden of even basic hygienic niceties. The two men don’t talk much, but why would they when they both already know the answers and the questions.

Sam’s sole companion is a robotic assistant named Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey), which moves about the facility via rails embedded in the ceiling (think OTO in WALL*E) and has a small screen that displays various emoticon representations of the machine’s programmed emotional state. As the film goes on, it becomes increasingly obvious that, like HAL in 2001 or Mother in Alien, the computer is not telling the whole truth and is withholding information vital to its human companion’s survival. However, what Moon does with this familiar man vs. machine trope is infinitely original and satisfying.

Where Moon ran afoul of my expectations was that it was not the philosophical treatise I was hoping for, but rather something far simpler and far more literal. What I assumed to be metaphor turned out to be reality. While I can’t help feeling that the narrative stopped short of greatness and ended far too quickly and tidily, Moon is nonetheless an enjoyable film, a throwback to straightforward, unfussy storytelling, acutely uncluttered by philosophy or deeper meaning.

© Copyright 2009 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.