I.S.S., review: In space, no one can hear you yawn

I.S.S.
I.S.S. - Bleecker Street

The cupola of the International Space Station affords a humbling window on Earth – a swirling utopia free of borders when gazed at from the heavens. The multinational crew in ISS are inspired by this so-called “overview effect” to get along just fine, even though they consist of three Americans and three Russians, a balance of personnel quite true to who’s up there at the moment.

These aren’t only astronauts and cosmonauts, but scientists doing research in low-Earth orbit: in the case of a new arrival, Dr Kira Foster (Ariana DeBose), this means testing how lab mice get on in zero gravity. A spot of clunky foreshadowing darkens her mood, when she leaves the critters overnight to find they’ve savaged each other for no apparent reason: how long until human relations turn similarly feral?

What this takes, in Nick Shafir’s script, is full-scale nuclear war erupting below – no warnings, no explanation, no cutting to the ground. Our planet breaks out in an orange rash, as if the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 had a fresh sequel that no one managed to de-escalate. Classified orders come through to each faction on board, to take control of the space station “by any means necessary”.

This is a cloak-and-dagger business at first – like one of those party games with multiple assassins aiming to pick off the faithful. A wary paranoia descends. Gordon (Chris Messina, reliably looking alive) makes the rash decision to volunteer for a spacewalk, as if he’s never seen one of those antenna-repair scenes go wrong in 2001 or Gravity. He trusts the Russians not to cut off his comms or scheme to get rid of him. (He’s much too trusting.)

A good version of ISS would only gain tension from this point; a great one might consider what war really means for these particular characters. Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite (Blackfish) hasn’t made either of those films, but a herky-jerky thriller riddled with indecision, in which everyone takes turns grabbing hand tools to go on the rampage, and keeps flip-flopping on what their priorities are.

I.S.S.
I.S.S. - Bleecker Street

DeBose comes off poorly, not just because she’s playing the least experienced person on board: she over-signals basic emotions to the camera that would give her away to crewmates in a trice. (She’d be terrible at those party games.)

There’s a credibly distressed turn from McMafia’s Masha Mashkova, who can nevertheless do nothing with her bewildering final scene, while John Gallagher, Jr is encouraged to be creepy (he sleeps with his eyes open) and faintly reptilian to the last. With a modest budget of $14m applied to a concept bursting with potential, the film bides its time sensibly enough, but then screws up every remaining phase of its mission.


15 cert, 96 min. In cinemas from Friday April 26