Ten Years Later, the ‘Interstellar’ Ending Still Doesn’t Work For Me

Christopher Nolan-mania is more prevalent than ever these days, which, duh—he finally won Best Picture and Best Director Oscars, the hype around his next film is at a fever pitch even as there are approximately three to five competing theories about what it’s actually about, and even re-releases of his old films can sell out your local IMAX theater faster than the Supreme website on Thursdays at 11am. But it doesn’t feel crazy to say that 10 years ago, his hold on the film streets was, if not just as tight, then at least approaching the fever pitch it’s reached now. His Batman trilogy feels so long ago that it might be hard to remember what the energy was like when he finally completed it. As classic as that series is, The Prestige and Inception proved that he somehow had even more to offer outside of it, on an equal if not grander scale. So once his Gotham commitments were up, it felt like we were in for a truly generational run.

Which it has been! But as the first film of that new era, Interstellar had an impossible amount of pressure on its shoulders. I can’t remember what my expectations were before screening it at the Kips Bay IMAX a few weeks before it was released, but they were not met. I left feeling like it was missing something intangible; I don’t think I’ve watched it in full again since.

Until last Friday, when I snagged a seat at a proper IMAX theater—some New Yorkers might say the only real IMAX theater, the nine-story screen at AMC Lincoln Square on 68th—for the 10-year anniversary re-release in glorious 70mm. This is, inexplicably, the hottest ticket in town—it sold out through the middle of this week in the same instant totality that Oppenheimer, Nolan's most recent film, did last summer. So when I scored a great seat in an inopportune bright-eyed 10:45am Friday morning showing, I didn’t hesitate to pull a Don Draper, which I am only admitting to my editors here because they’re getting content out of it.

Even in the morning, the energy felt different than the countless other films I’ve taken in at that IMAX mecca. I spotted several dudes in Carhartt approximations of the coat Matthew McConaughey wears as Cooper, Interstellar’s folksy astronaut hero. The ticket greeter was firing off quips to everyone he scanned, telling me that I had the best seat in the house. (I resisted the urge to reply “I know,” because I’m not new to this—left of screen, row J, if you’re wondering.)

Unsurprisingly, the verdict 10 years later is: I get it now. The sentimentality, which took so many people by surprise in the worst way, all lands; it doesn’t feel too long; Jessica Chastain is doing some of her best work lowkey. And man, that sequence where Cooper returns to 20 years worth of video dispatches from his kids—watching that 10 years older knocked me out. These days especially I feel preoccupied if not obsessed with how I’m spending my time; it’s never felt more valuable to me and I’ve never felt more acutely aware of how easy it is to waste. Maybe Interstellar is reverse-engineered to get better with age as you age with it; I can only imagine what it would be like to watch that scene as an actual parent.

And yet, it’s not a slam dunk. That ending still left me wanting…more. In some ways, Cooper’s reunion with his daughter Murph is inevitably anticlimactic. It’s been like eight decades; I’m not confident that even ‘90s Aaron Sorkin could’ve written a scene that communicated the full weight of these two finding each other again across space and time. And yet, even with Ellen Burstyn acting her ass off, this scene feels…rushed? The wisdom of age, the validation of her dad’s mission, has Murph so content that she barely spends five minutes with the guy before basically saying “Don’t even trip bro, go on get outta here and reclaim the streets.” It’s all so odd that a core sect of fans believe this is all a fever dream Cooper’s having while he dies in space. I’m not a fan of this theory; it’s a trend that pops up often when an ending goes a protagonist’s way, as in the case of Top Gun: Maverick or even the Breaking Bad finale. News flash, guys: Hollywood loves “happy endings,” if you can even call those endings “happy.” (OK, Maverick’s ending is indeed pretty happy— but Tom is a classicist.)

Maybe Murph telling Coop to absolve himself of any duty he feels to her, save himself from having to watch her pass on, and go find Anne Hathaway’s Dr. Brand instead would connect a bit more if Cooper and Brand’s romance felt substantial enough to end on. I love the actual final image of Cooper suiting up, TARS in tow, to go get his girl, cross-cut with Brand settling in on mankind’s new home planet. It should feel romantic and swoon-worthy. But I don’t know that the script does a great job of building them up as such to make that moment land. They certainly have some kind of chemistry, but it rarely feels like the kind of tension that could be converted to romance later beyond the conventional expectation of such from opposite sex A-listers.

Brand spends the entire film pining for a scientist on the planet that she ends up on; he inspires the big love monologue. And even if you want to assume Cooper is pining for her in lieu of that, Amelia will not go down as one of Nolan’s greatest female characters. He’s saddled Hathaway with a pretty thankless role (and an even more thankless haircut), which is nuts considering those of us with taste know she practically steals Dark Knight Rises out from under Christian Bale and Tom Hardy. As Brand, she’s the dour, humourless, wet blanket to start and then the goof who costs Cooper decades on the water planet.

The more I write about it though, the more I talk myself into at least seeing what the Nolan brothers were swinging for, even if it didn’t connect. It’s a far cry from how I felt about the film 10 years ago. My Nolan rankings are in shambles now: I don’t know what’s up (Prestige) or down (Tenet—I’m sorry.) Someone tell Chris to run the Dunkirk IMAX re-release, so I can inevitably come around on that one, too.