Perhaps it’s a possibility that tensions between the countries of the U.S. and Russia will never cease. It doesn’t help matters when a meh, broad yet stylish space thriller soars up to tell us, “Hey, there is an issue between our countries, so now we’re locked in these cramped spaces, and we’re going to distrust one another while the world crumbles to red in our eyes.” Not to be overtly political, but I.S.S. becomes more of an urgent exercise to vaguely discover the recklessness behind blind nationalism. See, the key here is these six astronauts (three from each country) are confined to the compact space of the space station, and when the last transmissions before the world is rocked by nuclear warfare state, “Take control of the station by any means necessary,” you know something sinister must transpire for the narrative to progress.
For the first thirty minutes, director Gabriela Cowperthwaite impressively stages the setting and conditions between these crewmates and sets up the remainder of the act. The vexing matter is it all goes to bust because a formulaic structure ensues, and some characterization becomes arbitrary and preposterous. Granted, it would be cumbersome to top what Gravity and Alien achieved within 95 minutes, but at least make some of the distrust a nail-biter. Having further time to commit to the claustrophobia and not devolve into backstory shenanigans is a plausibility of work, yet insufficient in this case.
The feature revolves around six astronauts: Dr. Kira Foster (Ariana DeBose), Gordon Barrett (Chris Messina), Alexey Pulov (Pilou Asbæk), Christian (John Gallagher Jr.), Nicholai (Costa Ronin), and Weronika (Maria Mashkova). Kira, Gordon, and Christian are from the American side, while Alexey, Nicholai, and Weronika represent the Russians. It’s a tightly knit group where each slowly tries to comprehend the other with their different languages while sharing tense exchanges. The rails come off after each side receives their transmission, and it’s another rehash of space cliches and some whimsical self-sabotage that only ironically destroys the last act’s essence. The committed performances by DeBose and Gallagher keep some of the gravity pockets grounded, and it does not squander when it thrives on the grand cinematography for a B-level work.
However, the ending combusts into a lifeless measure, and quickly another reminder that some more character-driven philosophies and depth could’ve made I.S.S. launch further beyond some fruitless attempts to bolt to bloodshed and deception. The rehash of the Cold War movie in space loses its oxygen and gravity by the time it all wraps up.
