Sunshine

At first blush, Sunshine seems like your typical situation-drama / psychological thriller, set in space: not unlike Alien, Solaris, or 2001: A Space Odyssey — with a dash of 'the earth's in jeopardy' themes explored in movies like Deep Impact and Armageddon. Mixing psychological conundrum with commercial appeal isn't easy, and while Sunshine succeeds more on the visceral side of things in its insidious exploitation of interpersonal relationships and base human nature, it's pretty damn scary and exciting, too.

Directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland (the team who brought us 28 Days Later), Sunshine focuses its beam on a close-knit crew of astronauts on a mission to save the earth by reigniting our dying sun. This is the second crew out — those on the Icarus I went out seven years before, never to be heard from again. Now, it is mission critical and the future of mankind depends on just a few: two women (Rose Byrne, and Michelle Yeoh) and six men (Cillian Murphy, Cliff Curtis, Chris Evans, Hiroyuki Sanada, Troy Garity, Benedict Wong).

The nearly-androgynous Capa (Murphy), a physicist who seems to physically and emotionally embody both sexes, is our cosmic representation of everything and everyone — and as such, he eventually emerges as our hero / antihero. I could type out every character's name, and what role they play in the film's fruition, but this is the kind of movie you are either going to be drawn to, or not: If you prefer your sci-fi fare more Kubrick than Lucas, then you'll already have your ticket to Sunshine purchased. It's an intimate drama that still manages to fulfill the demands of genre (including horror).

A couple of things I would like to discuss are the more technical aspects: cinematography, set design, costumes, and score. I have not seen all of Boyle's films, but judging by Trainspotting, A Life Less Ordinary, The Beach and 20 Days Later, Sunshine is definitely his most ambitious, audaciously cinematic offering to date.

Although Boyle hasn't previously worked with DP Alwin H. Kuchler, you can see an assuredness in the meshing of their styles: we still have Boyle's visceral grittiness, but it's smoothly glossed over with a brilliant shine and a masterful use of negative space that's often breathtaking in its stark beauty. There's a superb balance between the expanse of outerspace, and the intimacy of communal living within the walls of the Icarus II. The colors, too, balance nicely between warm golds and cool silvers.

The story takes place 50 years in the future, and the costumes seem believable enough — as does the specially designed, heat-reflecting spacesuit. The amenities on board are also credible; there's a mix of the tangible (live plants to augment oxygen production and food; a paperback book) and the high-tech (from specially-designed sunglasses to an omniscient super-computer system).

The music is mostly an unobtrusive accompaniment to the action, which is good — but there are a couple of standouts: the trailer music, Requiem for a Tower by the Corner Stone Cues, is a moody arrangement of Lux Aeterna from the soundtrack of Requiem for a Dream; and an upbeat vocal track called Avenue of Hope by I Am Kloot, is played during the credits (which actually shows the film again in its entirety, in bits and pieces from beginning to end).

The end of the film may divide some fans, as it is inconsistent with the previous tone of the film (and this where the horror, metaphysical, and supernatural elements come into play) — I saw it twice, and have to say that seeing it once is simply not sufficient. That may be a drawback for the casual moviegoer, but for the true fan of sci-fi horror, it's a hot invite.

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Reviewed by Staci Layne Wilson

Watch our exclusive on-camera Sunshine interview with Danny Boyle