The premise of I.S.S. is intriguing. Six astronauts on the International Space Station, three American and three Russian, watch in horror as the world below descends into nuclear war. Both crews receive separate orders from their governments to seize control of the station from the other “by any means necessary.” The orders disrupt the station’s collegial atmosphere. As entire continents are obliterated on Earth, up in space, it becomes every man for himself. Up to that point, the astronauts have agreed they are a species “evolved” beyond the petty conflicts below, and a Russian is even dating an American. Soon, Russian turns on American, then Russian on Russian, and American on American.
No one on board the station seems to have any idea of why the International Space Station might be strategically important to Russia or the United States, and no one seems too curious about finding out. Not that they could, anyway. The space station has lost contact with the ground, and it is unclear whether there is any ground left to contact. Early on, the film’s hero, Dr. Kira Foster (Ariana DeBose), discovers that one of the Russians is working on a cure for radiation poisoning, possibly useful, supposing anyone down below survived the blasts. But any interest in it is abandoned as soon as the crew members begin killing each other for control of the satellite.
Throughout, everyone attempts to justify his or her actions with moral statements, which inevitably slows the action down. A Russian, Nicholai (Costa Ronin), calls murdering the Americans his duty. An American, Christian (John Gallagher), calls offing the Russians self-preservation. It doesn’t really matter if either is right — both are dead by the film’s end. And, of course, no one gains control of the International Space Station. Instead, Foster and Alexey (Pilou Asbæk), the last remaining Russian crew member, joined in an uneasy alliance, abandon the station in a shuttle rocket, unsure of their destination or purpose.
I wish I could say that I.S.S. is as gripping as its premise. But under Gabriela Cowperthwaite’s direction, it plods along in an overly explanatory manner, leaving very little room for thrills. Perhaps this is a fault of its odd production history. The screenplay was written in 2020, at a time when American antipathy for Russia was largely the province of those nostalgic for Cold War enmities. Production began in January 2021 and wrapped before the Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, an event that tightened the relaxed tensions between the two superpowers. But by the time that occurred, the filmmakers couldn’t do much to reflect in the finished product the changes the Ukraine war would have wrought on the astronauts. A few lines are thrown in at the beginning to gesture vaguely at a conflict on Earth. “We sure as hell don’t talk about what’s going on down there right now,” one American declares. “You forget about everything that happens down there when you see the beauty from up here,” a Russian agrees. And to be certain that the viewer doesn’t miss the message, the film’s title card emphasizes that the story is set in the “present day.”
But all of this is a poor cover for the fact that I.S.S. is actually set in the very recent past, when American attitudes toward Russia were, to be sure, not positive, but nor were they altogether hostile. The truth is that the situation presented in the movie could not have occurred in the “present day.” The Russian government announced in 2022, a few months after an American-led coalition attempted to strangle the country with economic sanctions, that it did not consider cooperation on board the International Space Station a priority anymore and that Russia would be leaving it in 2024. The country plans to launch its own rival space station sometime in the indeterminate future. That decision triggered something of an international crisis itself since, without Russian cooperation, the station’s rocket boosters cannot function properly, and the whole thing risks falling into the Earth’s atmosphere. Now, that might make for an interesting movie.
In any case, the reignition of tensions between Russia and the U.S. nearly led to the I.S.S.’s cancellation. Cowperthwaite worried that its general tone — the Russians on board are not portrayed as willing agents of an evil regime, just as desperate people — might not connect very well with American audiences.
“It became a very real question: ‘Can you come out with this movie right now? Is this too much of an Achilles’ heel for most of the world?’” Cowperthwaite told Variety. She decided to go forward with it, arguing that the movie was just as relevant now as it was two years ago: “It’s about the little people who bear the brunt when any nation tells them, ‘That person is no longer your friend, they’re your enemy.’”
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If I.S.S.’s meager box-office numbers are any indication, Cowperthwaite was right to hesitate. (It probably doesn’t help that the special effects look cheap.) The Russia vs. America genre only really works for most people when there is minimal moral ambiguity. It demands heroes, American heroes. This is why Red Dawn and Rocky IV are classics. And it’s why any number of other films that approach the same international matters in a more self-conscious manner tend not to make such a splash. I.S.S. very much falls into this latter category. It refuses to consider either Russian or American as hero or villain — they are all just fallible people attempting to muddle through their predicament as best as they can.
“The most important thing is that we stick together,” the astronauts tell each other at the beginning of the movie and continue to assure each other throughout, even as they give into their own national demands. By the end, that line, which, by the way, is a quote from Buzz Lightyear, becomes a mantra. And it passes as the film’s ultimate moral pronouncement: For peace, a generous sense of humanity must always transcend the bonds of nationality. The emphasis on this sentiment is absurd: When you’re trapped in a metal tube hurtling 17,000 miles per hour more than 250 miles above an exploding Earth’s surface, you’re not thinking about world peace. The only thing left is your own survival.
Nic Rowan is managing editor of the Lamp, a Catholic literary journal.