Imagine that alien spacecraft, an even dozen of them, arrive
on earth. Actually, they are not exactly on the earth, but levitate about
twenty feet above ground. These ships are largely featureless, quite large -
maybe a thousand feet long - with a rough, vaguely metallic surface and a dull,
highly elongated, ovoid shape. They hover vertically. One hangs above a rural
meadow in Montana. Others are scattered around the world: in a remote region of
Russia, in India, and so forth. As you may well imagine, the people of the
world are anxious. Their governments, too, are nonplussed – hoping that these
craft have come in peace yet fearing that an attack may be imminent - while at
the same time, prompted by concerns of their military and intelligence leaders,
suspicious of one another. The situation is, we quickly learn, politically
fraught.
Every eighteen hours, a large door slides open to allow
entry to a few local humans. They get to
face off for a brief period with a couple of the extraterrestrials, seen
through a glass-like plate. I won’t describe them other than to say that they
are, um, quite alien in their appearance, and large. They emit sounds unlike
any earthly language. Louise Banks (Adams) is a linguist who, early on, is enlisted by the military to try to make sense of this language - if that’s what it is, and to communicate with the aliens. The question on everyone’s mind is: What are they doing here? What is their purpose? Have the come as peaceful explorers or fearsome conquerors and/or destroyers? Louise is tasked with getting answers to these questions. She is aided by a theoretical physicist (huh?). Other folks around the world are also trying to chat with the extraterrestrials. Politically, strategically this is a high stakes competitive race.
Okay, that’s the setup. We learn all this in the first ten
minutes.
Language, of course, is key to the growth of human civilization.
It allows us to communicate with one another, to learn from one another, to
share feelings, observations, and ideas, to accumulate knowledge, to trade and
to negotiate, as well as to threaten one another, to organize tribes, nations,
armies, and the like. Bad or careless communication can lead to misunderstandings,
arguments, inter-personal and international conflicts, and so forth. Louise
Banks understands all of this, and this theme is underscored by her centrality in
the picture.
Every modern drama or thriller protagonist has a
back story, and Louise’s personal life, in particular her relationship with a daughter, Hannah, is a significant part of the plot. Indeed, Arrival is framed
by Louise narrating the story (in her mind, at least) to Hannah.
Those story pieces that are not immediately connected with her encounters with extraterrestrial beings are presented as flashbacks or reveries. The screenplay is based on a wonderful 2002 short
story by Ted Chiang, entitled “Story Of Your Life,” an apt title, as things turn
out – although whether ”your” refers exclusively to Hannah or also to Louise (or
perhaps to all of us) is less clear. Such are the vagaries of pronouns and language.
As our involvement with Arrival deepens, these vagaries become more and
more interesting.
So do our assumptions about some very basic matters. Gravity
for instance. The “arrow of time” is a more central example. For the aliens, it
seems, time is not a one-way street. In its tangle with issues relative to the
fourth dimension, Arrival posits some very intriguing questions and, in
so doing, owes a significant debt to antecedents such as Chris Marker’s La
Jetee (1962) and particularly to Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five
(the 1969 novel more than the 1972 film), whose poor Billy Pilgrim became “unstuck
in time.”
The cinematography by Bradford Young [A Most Violent Year
(2014), Selma (2014)] is pretty close to perfect, giving us a sense of
wonder and awe as we encounter beings physically wholly unlike ourselves and from a
world far, far away; simultaneously capturing the frenetic, makeshift, high-tech military
installation set up on the fly in that outback Montana meadow.
The musical score is modern and effective, occasionally jarringly so. Icelandic
composer Johann Johannsson has worked with director Denis Villeneuve [Incendies
(2010), Sicario (2015)] twice before, and they are very much in synch. This
is Villeneuve’s most ambitious and most fully realized movie to date. (Next up for him is "Blade Runner 2049", a sequel to the 1982 classic, currently in process, due for release next Spring.)
I’m a longtime fan of Forest Whittaker [The Last King of
Scotland (2006), Lee Daniels’ The Butler (2013)] ever since The
Crying Game in 1992. Here, he’s an army officer, caught between his
adhesion to protocol and the chain of command on the one hand and his desire to
understand and even assist Louise in her efforts on the other. Like all effective
military leaders, Whitaker’s character, Col. Weber, is quick to analyze facts and makes necessary decisions firmly and expeditiously. A bespectacled Jeremy Renner [The Hurt Locker (2008), American
Hustle (2013)] does a fine job in a supporting role as the mild mannered physicist, Ian Donnelly, who becomes Louise’s
colleague and friend.
But Amy Adams is the star of this movie. She is on screen
for virtually the entire film and nails every scene, every moment in a nuanced,
pitch perfect performance. As an academic working out how to communicate with
aliens amidst the pressures of an international crisis, not to mention how to
communicate with the military and CIA brass for whom she works, Adams is first
of all fully credible (which not all actors can pull off with such panache). She comes across as serious, dedicated, a bit overwhelmed
at first, thoughtful, intellectually engaged, forthright, professional and very human. Eschewing
glamour, she appears un-made up, her hair generally pulled back in a ponytail, dressed
in non-sexy, low-fashion, ordinary people clothes (when she’s not inside a
bulky HazMat suit). And we can’t take our eyes off her
Adams’ emotional range, centered in those big, expressive
eyes, is astonishing. She can look scared one moment, awestruck in the next, inspired
by a new insight a second later. There is a scene near the end of the picture, where
Louise embraces her beau (who has just proposed to her), her head on his
shoulder, her cheek touching his. Seconds earlier she was warmly pleased at his
words. But for a flicker of an instant, Adams’ eyes reveal a deep, knowing
sorrow. It’s a devastatingly moving moment – one that we understand because we’ve
been along for the ride during the course of the movie, as Louise has learned so
much about herself and her life. It just floored me.
Could Ingrid Bergman have pulled this off? I’m not sure
about the scientist stuff, but the emotions in Louise’s eyes? Oh yes.
In wide release.
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