A frazzled, pajama-clad crew of two—one a distracted father (Jay Duplass) with what appears to be a chemical dependence that fuels an arguably unhealthy risk tolerance—the other his hyper-observant teenage daughter (Sophie Thatcher), clearly reliant on and yet wary of him. They complete a routine they’ve grown accustomed to, despite its precariousness. A window reveals a floating station amid an expansive view of outer space. They’re inside a clunky, smoke-spitting, claustrophobic capsule, while punching and clicking various aging banks of illuminated, classic-era analog sci-fi buttons and switches.
Imagine Archie Bunker slamming a ham fist onto an old tube television set on the fritz, and you get the idea of the version of unreliable future tech that Prospect realizes with well-worn, retro zeal. Executing a dicey decoupling from an orbital space station and the resulting journey (for reasons unknown) to the surface of a planet—some planet—seems borderline suicidal, until it appears to succeed.
Upon landing, it’s apparent that the atmosphere on this verdant world—a busy, translucent sort of air with visible ephemera impeding what might otherwise be a crystal-clear view—is anything but breathable. The oddly shaped floaters wafting across the sky (practical effects accomplished convincingly somehow using dust mites) resemble the protein-based particles we sometimes experience across our own eyeballs in Earth’s atmosphere and wonder about, but with a soupier viscosity. As a result, there’s an extra shimmer in the air, a sort of shiny pulse that heightens the sense that the alien world itself is breathing, teeming with these semi-visible signs of life, and everything everywhere is green. So green. Exiting the capsule, space suits and air filters with hoses attached are essential lifelines, as this atmosphere proves toxic, in more ways than one.
Though this film is in no hurry to get where it’s going and is much more focused on character-building than action set pieces, we soon learn the inventive, improvisational father-daughter team’s task at hand. It involves prospecting for something valuable found on this planet, as the film’s title suggests, but slowly emerging details are as cloudy as the atmosphere. Once we learn what this thing of value is, how it’s obtained and the requisite skillset, we’re treated to some classic creature effects, complete with dangerous (if only slightly disgusting) alien goop and glop.
Initial dialog within the capsule is minimal; once the action moves outside, discussions become intermittently garbled and difficult to discern from one astro-helmet to another, but this trend soon reverses itself. As new characters are introduced and harrowing events transpire, the increasingly personality-driven script takes on an eloquent, almost Shakespearean lilt. It imbues some characters, Pedro Pascal’s clever and chatty Ezra, in particular, with enlightened appeals to objective reasoning, hoping to preclude snap judgments amid a series of escalating, violent acts.
As relationships develop, the objectives of various mercenary groups collide, ultimately giving way to that of mere survival and the complex, quick-thinking compromises and varying allegiances that achieving it demands. As the film’s poster itself claims, “No one survives alone.” As a result, motivations are re-examined throughout, forcing weighty decisions onto multiple characters, as the viewer’s perception of protagonist and antagonist are repeatedly challenged. Thatcher’s increasingly determined and courageous, teenaged Cee telegraphs a kaleidoscope of emotions with her eyes. Intense but brief cameos by alumni of The Wire are welcome asides.
Shooting mostly outside in the Pacific-Northwest rainforest where they grew up, assuming as kids that it would one day serve as the perfect location for this very purpose, the team of first-time feature-length writer-directors Zeek Earl and Chris Caldwell could surely teach a master class on worldbuilding via stretching a low-budget buck. Renting a warehouse to construct all their interiors with a talented art collective of designers, mechanics, carpenters and cosplayers, their handmade props, ships and costumes are practical in a dual sense of the word—as in they look as though they could function plausibly in the fictional world as designed, and as in the fact that the whole thing is creatively realized using very little in the way of computer graphics.
Earl and Caldwell have stretched their synonymous 2014 short film into feature length here, this time with a $3.9 million budget, 40 shooting days and gripping results. In the spirit of the films they grew up admiring (Alien, Blade Runner, the original Star Wars trilogy), they’ve managed to create a convincing production design built around a heavily used, lived-in aesthetic that houses, at its core—like the best sci-fi always does—a compelling story about human nature.
It’s all quite immersive, and not just due to the convincing performances, on-location shooting, creative original costuming, and unique gear and creature design. Daniel L.K. Caldwell’s pulsing, haunting, at times operatic score draws the viewer further in, ratcheting up the tension as the stakes are elevated. I look forward to seeing what these guys come up with next.