Nothing, honey. Your dad's going to the Moon.

Rating: 6/10 (3 November 2018)

As with La La Land, Damien Chazelle's First Man is shot on celluloid, with rich film grain and colours and tones which seem to blend together. Shooting on film is an aesthetic in itself, visual nostalgia imprinted on the strips of emulsion. The roving, handheld camera works to mimic the look and feel of a dusty home video unearthed from a box of old tapes. This is considerably effective when Chazelle wants to capture the mood of a lazy summer afternoon as the kids chase each other around the backyard, or thrust the viewer into the shoes of Neil Armstrong being assaulted by a frenzy of camera flashes and microphones. It's riveting even when the camera locks down onto the astronauts in their tin capsules and refuses us the closure of cutting to a wide shot; we are strapped in there with them, resigned to the same fate of hoping thousands of calculations and scribbled numbers will bring success. There's nothing precise or mathematical about these scenes; it's pure, edge-of-your-flimsy-seat tension. But there's only so much shaking you can do, and in the domestic settings it just feels nauseous, and dampens the tension of the climax when we've already been shoved inside a metal container and shook vigorously for the last couple of missions.
Unlike La La Land, which was framed from head to toe to capture the full efforts of its choreographers, First Man forces the camera up close and personal, often not even allowing the whole head into the frame. While in some instances this can be effectively suffocating, it's much too frequent for a decade-long biopic with a runtime of 141 minutes. Where is the time for stillness, for the audience to take a breath? There's surprisingly little patience shown for a film of this length, with serene moments like a harp and theremin serenading their lonely ascent into space a rarity.
It's important for film criticism to avoid the territory where you're merely denouncing a film for not being something else. For First Man, taking on the monumental task of telling the intimate tale behind a mythological figure of modern America, meeting all expectations seems impossible. We want him to live up to the legend, and yet expect a personal, human story behind the glamour and fame. Chazelle doesn't oblige this paradox, wading through pre-release controversy about the omission of the planting of the American flag. This is a symbolic move of the clearest intentions; First Man isn't about America's political standoff against the Soviets. There's no customary shot of Houston exploding into cheers when Armstrong breaches that cosmic frontier. The film is for Elliot See, for Ed White, for Apollo missions 1-10, and for Karen Armstrong.
But all that is for naught when you consider Ryan Gosling's rendition of Neil Armstrong, who remains so highly strung throughout that we're never quite sure how to feel for him. While I'm not a fan of restricting 'good acting' to tremulous explosions in the vein of Michael Shannon or Daniel Day Lewis, someone really should tell Gosling he is allowed to act like a normal human being. His stoic shtick may have worked when he played a near-android in Lars and the Real Girl, or an actual android in Blade Runner 2049, but here he's entirely too tight, rendering an icon into a bundle of nerves and murmured lines. There's no need for his famous one-liner to be revelatory - it's not that kind of movie. But after two hours of the same monotone, it spills out like a mere afterthought, deflating the moment.
This wouldn't be a deal-breaker if it wasn't for Chazelle's re-positioning of the moon mission as the ultimate catharsis for Armstrong, looking to memorialise his late daughter. But partnered with Gosling's reservation, the effect is an emotional chasm between Armstrong and the rest of his family, who are little more than pawns in his resolute mission. Even as it gives Claire Foy a platform to be more than just a worried suburban housewife (she's remarkable considering what she is given to work with, and how all the grieving is strictly allocated to Gosling), it places too much emphasis on the landing to be life-changing at the expense of his other sons. And to think that the Armstrong's marriage lasted another 20 years, when here it is depicted at breaking point. To where could he possibly go next? This Neil Armstrong seems destined to remain behind an exhibit behind the quarantine glass.