A lot is simmering below the surface of Proxima, the daring space drama (which doesn’t actually show the proverbial “final frontier” at all, one of several fascinating directorial decisions made in the creation of this film) from Alice Winocour, who plucks a number of timely, incredibly relevant themes and throws them together into what can essentially be called a film about appreciating our world in the days leading up to departing it, breaking through the barriers that have always tended to constraint us – the sky isn’t necessarily the limit when it comes to looking at these characters, and how they come to terms with their own humanity in the midst of an exciting new mission that will remove them from everything they hold sacred, even if only temporarily. Winocour continues to stake a claim as one of contemporary cinema’s most exciting voices, with her stark approach to very human stories making her an artist who can truly capture the essence of existence without being too heavy-handed or prosaic in form or content – and in this ambitious project, the director proves that she is capable of not only weaving a compelling story of the human condition, but also making a strong, fascinating film that dives deep into the psychology of its characters, and delivers a moving manifesto on the connections we form, whether with those that we’re closest to, or the people we encounter on whatever journey we embark on in our daily lives. Beautifully poetic, and a film that perfectly balances heartbreak and humility in a way that can only come from a perfect calibration of resonant themes and artistic integrity, Proxima is an absolute triumph – and whether it’s looking at the fascinating decisions made by the director, the powerhouse performance given by its lead actress, or the general message imparted, often in the most unassuming and inconsequential moments, there’s very little doubt that this is a film that speaks directly to our modern world, and the endless quandaries we all have when looking up at the night sky, wondering if there really is any meaning to everything.

Categorically, calling Proxima a space film is more of a generous (or perhaps even lazy) case of generic short-hand since this isn’t a film that quite fits into any real classification, instead being more space-adjacent, as it only leaves Earth in the final few moments (with the audience remaining steady on terra firma while our protagonist ventures into the unknown annals of outer space), which is an approach that lends the film even more potential to have some fascinating conversations, since it is a departure from the more technologically-driven manner of representing space exploration on film. We tend to see many films focused on space exploration begin with the announcement of a mission, skipping over the laborious details that occur in the weeks and months leading to take-off, with the process being relegated to a brief montage at best. Proxima is a film fashioned entirely out of the moments in between, focused solely on exploring the preparations – physical, mental and emotional – the valiant men and women have to endure prior to breaking through the barriers of the atmosphere. It gives the director a chance to unpack the process and focus on the specific machinations, most of which the casual viewer may not even be aware of. There’s a certain admiration that tends to be evoked by a film that can be almost entirely technical in its approach, and still manage to be thoroughly compelling – and there are few films released recently that are as authentically gripping as Proxima, a film with the subdued simplicity of a meditative drama, and the heart-stopping intensity of a well-made psychological thriller. It’s a deft balancing act of an approach, but Winocour is just assured enough in her direction to pull it off with poise and sophistication, while still crafting a raw, heartwrenching drama that will evoke an honest reaction in even the most cynical viewers.

Winocour is plumbing some impressive emotional depths with this film, which is done through avoiding many of the pitfalls of the modern space drama, insofar as the emphasis isn’t placed on the technological prowess, or the overt intelligence that went into making this film (there’s a tendency for directors dealing with such complex matters to boast about their intricate understanding of the innovative narratives they’re working with), but rather through keeping everything on the fundamentally human level. As a result, there are very few – if any – moments where the complexities of this film overtake the very emotional centre that propels it forward. Less of a film about space exploration, and more one that uses it as a platform on which to present a riveting story about someone being put in a position where everything they hold dear (their identity, their family and their understanding of the world around them) is called into question, dismantled by a series of discoveries borne from unprecedented situations that cause them to learn more about themselves and the world in a few days than years of ordinary existence had taught them. Winocour and her artistic cohorts are navigating a narrow tightrope, but there’s enough emotional gravitas lurking beneath Proxima to get them to the other side without any reluctance. It’s a triumphant work of low-key, character-driven drama that foregoes meandering explanations of technical jargon, or elaborate descriptions of the science that goes into the events portrayed here (while still giving enough context to these situations to give it depth and inform us on the matters it is focused on – it’s certainly neither condescending nor overly-simplistic, which is truly a feat when you consider how many works have failed on this very rudimentary level), and instead replaces it with hard-hitting, earnest emotion that can rival any of the great humanistic dramas of the past few years.

Undoubtedly, there are a number of reasons to appreciate Proxima, but amongst one of the most significant is the performance given by Eva Green. The character of Sarah, a hardworking engineer who is chosen to become part of a crew that will be setting off for the International Space Station in a few months, is not one that is necessarily designed to a particular actor’s sensibilities – its the kind of role that one takes on based on a rough description, and develops as they go along, and thus it could’ve been played by anyone, so the decision to cast Green, an actress who isn’t particularly well-known for being the star of slow-burning, quietly meditative dramas, was something of a coup, but nothing short of a delightful surprise. An undeniably talented actress who has her potential often squandered in inferior projects that depend on her playing some variations on the same vaguely Victorian gothic flower, she is revelatory in Proxima, which is something of an odd statement to attribute to someone as prominent as Green. This is a step into unchartered territory for the actress, who is proving that she’s not just some obscure object of desire, but instead a very strong dramatic actress – and while she’s dipped her toes into this kind of role before, Winocour gives her a showcase that will likely be seen as formative for the actress as she ventures towards more complex roles. She’s naturally very good in the film, and her understated sophistication and penetrating intensity is a terrific combination in developing a character who may not have any extraordinary skills, but whose commitment to her work, and tenacity to achieve anything she sets her mind to, makes her such an effortlessly compelling individual that is as heroic as she is authentic – and it all comes from the fact that Winocour saw something in an actress who has been the epitome of typecasting, and decided to cast her in a part that allows her to depart from the same trite conventions, and instead working with new material that tests her as an actress, and allows her to emerge victorious, giving (without any doubt) her strongest performance to date, and the start of what will hopefully be a career renaissance, where she can pursue such interesting, diverse roles.

There are many themes being explored in Proxima, a film that thrives on extracting a number of disparate ideas and putting them in contrast with each other in ways that we may not expect from a work like this. On the surface, the film is about someone finally getting the chance to realize her dream of becoming an astronaut (which is compelling enough to justify this film’s existence), but when we look below the basic premise, we can see there’s so much more underpinning the story. Most notable is the feminist leanings – throughout the film, the fact that the main character is a woman pursuing a career that is disproportionately dominated by men, factors into the narrative quite heavily, and whether through Sarah’s refrain that she wanted to be an astronaut since she was a child and the subsequent dismissal by nearly everyone who claimed that it wasn’t a “job for girls”, or the consolidation of this outdated view in small but insidious ways, there is a clear message being conveyed about the role women play in industries seen as being more associated with men. Far from an overwrought exploration of injustice, and more of a simple, emotionally-resonant story of triumphing over institutionalized adversity, the film does very well in deconstructing dominant socio-cultural notions, taking on patriarchal ideals in a way that feels genuine and honest, rather than simply virtue signalling and evoking a discussion it has no interesting in following through on. Added to this are further discussions on motherhood – absolutely a central theme of the film and perhaps its driving factor, since so much of the plot hinges on the emotion evoked through the relationship between Sarah and her daughter – and the uncertainty that comes with a vocation that doesn’t allow any definitive conclusions, and where it’s impossible to tell if each departure is going to be a simple goodbye, or a permanent farewell.

This all adds up to a vivid emotional tapestry that would be exhausting had it not been executed with such immense precision and heartfelt dedication to a premise that could have so easily been an overwrought jumble of ideas, but instead feels organic and direct. Winocour is gradually asserting her vision on the industry in subtle but indelible ways – and now, having taken on perhaps as intimidating concept as space exploration, but repurposing the genre’s major tenets into a sensitive, heartfelt story of the human condition, where emotion is the primary propellant and the reason that it is so riveting, is not an easy feat to achieve, yet the director does it without much difficulty. It’s not an overly complex film, nor is it one that is necessarily defined by anything other than its unimpeachable humanity, and it’s very tender manner of providing a glimpse into a very real relationship between a mother who is venturing quite literally out of this world, and the daughter who is too young to understand the specifics, but old enough to realize the gravity of the situation. Anchored by a tremendous performance by the enchanting Eva Green (who is subsequently complemented by memorable performances by Sandra Hüller and Matt Dillon, who are very good, if not quite sadly underused), and made with a sincerity that is oddly rare for this genre of film, Proxima is an enormous success. It goes about telling its story with tact and nuance, playing all the rights notes in the correct order, rarely hitting anything other than the most heartfelt beats, and being the rare work that is both tear-jerking and incredibly motivating at the same time. How it manages to do all this, and still be an incredible work of scientific fiction, is bewildering, but doesn’t matter when we’re given something so beautifully complex and meaningful in both its intentions and the bold execution of its panoply of ideas.