On First Man

Death is a constant feature throughout Damien Chazelle’s stunning follow up to La La Land (2016), First Man. Whether it is the actual act of dying or the constant threat of it arriving, death is as present as a shadow. From the killing of a fly that foreshadows near catastrophe, to the frequent phone calls that bring yet more news of pilots and astronauts killed in duty.

The film begins with us locked in a cockpit of a plane that is reaching the atmosphere. We don’t travel outside, instead we stay locked on the face of the pilot, Neil Armstrong; his reactions, his fear, his claustrophobia. The creaks and groans of the machine, the spinning dials are all closely focussed on. This is his world and we are to share it as this perspective sets the tone for the rest of the space travel. Rarely does Chazelle linger on the long shots, choosing instead the mechanics and realities of (as close as can be represented) the cockpit. The only time we see, in long shot detail, a rocket taking off is as Armstrong passes a small window.

What follows this opening slimmest of survivals is the domestic. The harsh and upsetting realities of a sick child. The death of a child and the heartbreak. This picture of domesticity, beginning in Texas is reminiscent of Terrence Malik’s free flowing camera; always watching, always moving, never interfering. Chazelle captures the details, such as the empty bed, the strand of hair wrapped around a finger and so much is said with hardly anything being spoken. There is much subtlety in these early scenes; they pack the same power as the later scenes of space exploration. And the two become intertwined. The more Armstrong absorbs himself in work, the more his domestic life suffers. The stresses of his job are shown to not just affect him, but the whole family.

It is the death of his daughter that hangs over Armstrong for the duration and again, here, Chazelle finds a way to approach this with respect, while developing his protagonist. His desire to reach the moon becoming the realisation of his inability to escape the pain and daily reminders. Only when he drops his daughter’s bracelet into a lunar crater does the film even get close to melodramatic, yet by this stage his closure is welcomed.

Themes of despair and death are prominent, but this is not a dark film, for there is as much hope and optimism in both the need to achieve the near impossible and the optimism of Janet Armstrong for repairing their family. There are few films that end at exactly the right moment, but First Man, with Neil and Janet on either sides of glass, unable to hear each other, touching fingers on either side is perfect. When this image is thought about alongside the one of a recent widow lost in her driveway as her son watches through the window, we can read First Man as an allegory for the merits of struggle.

There is also the excitement of and need for Nasa to succeed resonating through First Man. We want them to reach the moon whether we agree with space travel or not. The danger is so real and the tension so heightened within the cockpit scenes that just like Gravity (2013), our heartrate increases as the threat does. Objections at space travel are present and, like much in the film, handled in a manner that communicates a lot with the slightest of touches. The black poet discussing the diminishing quality of life as the white man soars, Kurt Vonnegut wondering why tax payers’ money is being spent reaching the moon while New York City is uninhabitable are effective reminders of the wider context that not everyone wanted them to succeed, despite millions being gripped. These are minor scenes in First Man, but neither is it the main concern. There is another story to be told in the merits, ethical and actual, of space travel.

And then there is the emotional and sublime moon landing. A stunning cinematic achievement.