As Hustlers was like a boring Goodfellas with strippers, Ad Astra is like a boring Apocalypse Now in space.
Rotten Tomatoes and its representative critics are in their collective wheelhouse of being wrong on this one, gushing over how Ad Astra is some sort of ode to fathers and sons. Nope. The fact that the mild-mannered Kurtz-ish character of Tommy Lee Jones happens to be Brad Pitt’s father is a side note at best, and more or less inconsequential to the doubly inconsequential, ridiculous story at hand.
Not that Ad Astra was all terrible. There’s a sort of ethereal quality and flow to a number of the sequences; a decent conveyance here and there of floating around in outer space etc. Flow is important. So walking out of the theater, I was thinking thumbs-down, but a hell of a lot better than those indie sci-fi pics from earlier this year; 5/10.
But there are just as many times when the sense of space is lost, and the frequent, chunky logic holes add up to a whole lot of no-bueno. Perhaps worst of all is the sappy, hackneyed message that seems to be its ultimate goal. The ultimate result, however, is a border-line insult to the entirety of the science fiction genre.
There’s maybe more sci-fi this year than average, but so far it’s all bad. 4/10