Aniara (2018)
A typical fantasy of the western imagination is the perfect world of the future. Whether it be heaven, St. Augustine’s epochs, the communist state, or capitalist progress, the western mind is rather too susceptible to linear time (going up and to the right) and to the lie that this line will inevitably conclude with heaven (if you work hard enough). The adworld turns this fantasy virulent and insidious: you will become more yourself tomorrow, if you buy this Mercedes today (or a Uniqlo fluffy zip-up for that matter). Clearly these fantasies are symptomatic of our inability to grieve. Anyways, the bleak Swedish film Aniara—itself adapted from a 1956 science-fiction poem of the same name—crushes all these dreams of heaven with a simple question: what if there is no destination? What is supposed to be a routine three-week voyage, transporting some thousands of humans from a destroyed earth to life on a newly established mars colony, becomes prolonged indefinitely. A collision with human space debris (no doubt belonging to Elon Musk) renders the ship’s ability to steer inoperable. They will not be arriving on Mars or anywhere; Aniara, kept alive by meager life-support, is doomed to drift in space forever. The passengers deal with this sensational loss in the usual ways: virtual reality, weight-lifting, dancing, psychosis, violence, sex-cults, baby-making, drinking, drugs, despair, art, meditation; a fair depiction of a society denied a future. Sound familiar?
see also:
William Shatner’s View from Space
