Rhoda contemplates Earth Two in "Another Earth."
(Mike Cahill, 2011)
August 28, 2011
by Joel Crary
There is a wide difference between admiration and love. The sublime, which is the cause of the former, always dwells on great objects, and terrible; the latter on small ones, and pleasing; we submit to what we admire, but we love what submits to us; in one case we are forced, in the other we are flattered, into compliance.
- Edmund Burke, “On the Sublime and Beautiful”
Space has long fascinated me, and the fascination hasn’t changed fundamentally since I began to learn of the solar system in the third grade, back when Pluto was still called a planet and Pathfinder hadn’t yet landed on Mars. I keep superficial tabs on NASA developments (I’m no physicist), and feel humble and small when the Kepler satellite sends back information about earth-like planets entirely out of reach. Will we ever come to know the nature of these seemingly unattainable worlds? What does their presence mean for us, all the way across the galaxy?
Everything in “Another Earth” unravels over a blue dot in the sky. Said dot catches the attention of 17-year-old MIT hopeful Rhoda Williams (Brit Marling), out driving after a celebration. So captivated is she by the sight of the dot that she obliterates a family’s sedan on the road, killing the mother and child and putting the father into a coma. Rhoda is imprisoned for four years on a manslaughter charge, her dreams shattered. When she exits the detention centre, the blue dot is now an enormous planet hanging overhead impossibly, like something out of an Arthur C. Clarke novel.
Rhoda tries to pick up the pieces of her life, but she’s plagued by an incredible sadness. She seeks out work as a janitor at the high school she used to attend. Scraping graffiti from the walls of bathroom stalls distracts her from the image of the young boy lying still at the side of the road, burned into her brain. A headline informs her that the father in the car, a composer named John Burroughs (William Mapother), has awoken from his coma; Rhoda takes the train out to the country to visit him, and finds him a deteriorating shell of his former self. Too afraid to tell him the truth about what happened that night, she offers to clean his house. It’s something.
The visits turn routine. John and Rhoda’s situation is something picked from a tragic Greek parable. Slowly they become attached, reliant on each other, a bond born out of the wound between them. Their relationship is paced believably, with both hesitant to accept it. Elsewhere, Rhoda’s co-worker (Wes Anderson regular Kumar Pallana) at the high school begins showing signs of mental instability, and a scene in a hospital room hints at an unspoken mistake gone unatoned for. Rhoda can’t bring herself to be completely honest with John, knowing that the honesty would destroy his life all over again.
Contact with the planet is made in a harrowing CNN segment, during which the director of the SETI Institute finds that she is speaking with herself. We discover that there are different versions of ourselves on the second planet, who share our memories and experiences. Is it exactly the same? Even if it were, wouldn’t interactions between the two planets change things irrevocably? Mostly, we’re left wondering. I think that’s okay. Cahill pretty much lets Earth Two hang there, occasionally using its presence to intensify the character drama.
It’s often smart for an indie film to avoid overextending itself without the money to back it up. Cahill and Marling have enough appropriate faith in the story to not smother it with a “Jodie Foster in the space transporter” moment. Thematically, “Another Earth” becomes not about what a world literally parallel to our own would have to offer, but the reasons why we would demand anything from that world to begin with. Rhoda submits an essay to win a contest put on by a Richard Branson type, offering a civilian trip to Earth Two. “If you met yourself, what would you say?” John asks. “Better luck next time,” Rhoda responds. “Actually, I’d probably be speechless.”
Cahill delivers a tone that’s moody and nicely understated. He’s a subdued and assured director, shooting most of his scenes in haunting post-golden hour bluish hues and letting silence reign as if the entire world outside of his frame is fast asleep. The film isn’t entirely without its faulty asides – a story about a Russian cosmonaut falls flat when its timing demands otherwise – but the drama is hard-hitting and artful. Consider a scene in which John chastizes Rhoda for washing a sweater. The characters know what this signifies, but they’re not in sync with each other, and the connection comes on like a punch in the gut.
These are characters settled deep into their conditions. I had a lot of questions akin to John’s during “Another Earth,” but as the movie went on, I realized that answers were beside the point. The film is presented foremost as an idea. It requires faith in its awe-inspiring premise. To question its plausibility at great length would make for a stilted viewing experience. My advice is: don’t. Sit back and let the movie’s “what ifs” resonate. You’ll find something buried underneath the sublimity of its spectacle: human truths about regret, loss, forgiveness, and singularity. The film ends with a shot that sums up its existential quandaries perfectly. What needs to be said is said, and left unsaid.
Trailer for “Another Earth”:
Excellent review! I’ll be seeing this quite soon!