There are awful films and there is Interstellar by Nolan brothers. Film where everything feels so profoundly wrong that I felt like watching an artefact from the alien culture. I soon remembered Erich Fromm and his book The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness (1973) and his description of “necrophilous character”:
Here we see the essential elements of necrophilia: worship of speed and the machine; poetry as a means of attack; glorification of war; destruction of culture; hate against women; locomotives and airplanes as living forces.
Today they’re called “technologically oriented geeks” and Interstellar is good only for testing the geekness of your partner. If he/she passes, it’s time for divorce, so he/she’ll be free to fly with the robot into the sunset like the hero of Interstellar (the robot looks like the closet – everybody speaks about coming out of it and here we have a person getting into it).
I was wondering how low writer’s self-esteem must be to keep on pounding us with monologues about nothing, blinding us with science that is just fluff of empty words. Why not just relax and let the story flow (because, if you cut out all the unnecessary speeches, there isn’t much of it left).
Interstellar is uncomfortable viewing for emphatic people: you’ll suffer for actors who must speak this hogwash without pause, even when fighting or falling into black hole, etc. They look agonized, suffering; Matthew McConaughey spends most of the screen time looking like in the middle of acute attack of hemorrhoids.
And then, there is Anne Hathaway, poor girl. So lost, so bad. My heart shrank when she had to give that awful speech about love as the fifth dimension. Look at her face, suffering, asking why I’m doing this, why I have to speak all this nonsense.
For the first time, being a Hollywood star looked like a tough and degrading job.