Five science-fiction movies that changed cinema
There are many directors and stories that have left their mark on the science fiction genre; Alien, Dune, The Thing, and Blade Runner are all recognised as some of the greatest sci-fi movies of all time.
From their stylistic world-building to atmospheric sound design and chilling thematic strands that explore the nature of power and control, these stories have had a lasting impact on the tropes that continue to define the genre.
Many other writers have recognised and discussed in great detail the reasons why these films are so widely celebrated, but today, I would like to focus on the slightly more unconventional additions to this genre: the underdogs and perhaps more subtle variations of these stories, and in particular, the humanitarian core of these films that bring these stories down to earth.
So, without further ado, in descending order, here are my choices for the top five unconventional science-fiction movies that have changed cinema as we know it.
Five sci-fi movies that changed cinema forever:
High Life (Claire Denis, 2018)
High Life, directed by Claire Denis in 2018, is a strange and otherworldly film about a man struggling to raise his daughter while living in space. With many of Denis’ other films leaning more toward naturalism, High Life occupies an interesting spot within her filmography as something so modern and clinical.
While utilising some conventional trademarks of the sci-fi genre, it is tonally completely different from films like Gravity and Alien, which share a similar setting. In High Life, space is merely a backdrop for Denis to explore themes of reproductive freedom and bodily autonomy, creating a stifling and disturbing mood within a space vessel that highlights the horror of not having control over one’s own body. Early in the film, we learn that all the passengers (except for one scientist, played by Juliette Binoche) were previously criminals on Earth, and their punishment was to be sent into space to participate in a trial. This “punishment” is painted as an opportunity for rehabilitation, with the idea that few people get the chance to visit space, framing it as an improved form of incarceration.
However, we quickly learn that there are ulterior motives within this mission, and the ideas of freedom, consent, and autonomy are all explored through the slow torture of watching these prisoners slowly being stripped of their rights for the sake of science and human advancement, asking the question of what we are risking for the sake of progress? Why do we force ourselves to move backwards in the name of moving forwards? As the passengers aboard the ship slowly start to die out, the one thing that transcends the true horror underneath this mission is the hope and persistence born from unconditional love. While Monte might be trapped and most likely unable to escape, his daughter and the idea of a better life are what allow him to persevere.
Denis has always been a master of visual metaphors, but in High Life, she takes it to a new level, exposing the injustices of the human world through something alien, highlighting our own detachment from the monstrosities that happen on this very planet.
Melancholia (Lars Von Trier, 2011)
Melancholia, directed by Lars Von Trier in 2011, is a singularly catastrophic piece of work. Following the collective shock of Antichrist and Dogville, both successful films within the Dogme 95 movement, Melancholia seemed quite different from Trier’s previous work. With hardly any sex, violence, or gore to speak of, it was hard to find anything controversial about the film’s style that would live up to the notorious reputation of its predecessors. However, Melancholia is grotesque in an entirely different way, tackling human selfishness and our indifference toward suffering through the story of a planet crashing into Earth, told from the perspective of two sisters.
The film starts with what should be a happy and joyous occasion, Justine’s wedding (played by Kirsten Dunst). However, there is an immediate sense of unrest and disturbance, with Justine taking a bath in the middle of the reception, her boss chasing her about a deadline during the celebrations, and the guests discovering that a planet is shooting towards the sky and appears to be heading towards earth. We are reassured that this planet will not hit Earth, and we desperately hope that this is true, but alas, it is a Lars Von Trier film. What are the chances?
The rest of the film follows Justine and her sister Claire (played by Charlotte Gainsbourg) in their reaction to the planet’s journey towards Earth, with each sister existing as the personification of depression and anxiety. Justine is unbothered and detached from the imminent tragedy, with a nihilistic approach towards life and death, whilst Claire is frantic and distressed, constantly fretting about the threat that it poses and the unbearable weight of uncertainty.
Von Trier’s take on the science-fiction genre acts as a commentary on mental illness, highlighting the extremes of the human mind and our inability to care for vulnerable people who need our help as the struggles of these sisters largely go unnoticed and ignored.
Her (Spike Jonze, 2013)
Her, directed by Spike Jonze in 2013, is a futuristic tale of love and isolation that follows Theodore, a lonely writer who falls in love with a newly formed Operating System called Samantha.
It’s a difficult film to talk about because, with the rise of dating apps and technological advancements, it’s a future that doesn’t feel that far away. In fact, it feels more relevant within the world of romance than it ever has.
As Theodore forms a relationship with Samantha, Jonze forces us to reflect on the role of intimacy and connection in an increasingly modern world, specifically, whether people will be seen as necessary components within this human pursuit. Will robots and machines entirely replace the need for emotional fulfilment and love? And will this ever truly fulfil us?
Out of all the films on this list, Her has the most deceiving presence. It disguises itself as a love story, only to reveal itself as a bittersweet and achingly sad story about what it means to replace the most human needs with non-human sources and how the journey to find something ‘real’ will become nearly impossible as we continue to sacrifice our humanity for the sake of progress.
Arrival (Denis Villeneuve, 2016)
Some people might be screaming and frothing at the mouth over my decision not to include Dune on this list, but personally, Arrival is my favourite from Denis Villeneuve’s body of work for many reasons.
It’s hard to make a science fiction movie feel tender and delicate, and it’s a testament to Villeneuve’s genius that he is able to do this. Released in 2016, the film follows a linguist who is recruited by the military to determine whether an alien force that has recently landed on earth is threatening or peaceful. As the story unravels, we are slowly enveloped by this soothing weight of stillness and compassion as a team of scientists work together to try and understand something unfamiliar, never acting upon their feelings of unease in the face of the unknown, in the face of something that could potentially be dangerous and life threatening. The film is propelled by the tension of whether or not the alien’s are harmful, but regardless, it still has this blanket feeling of comfort and steadiness, a soothing core that tells us they will sooner understand than they will act reactively.
While the film uses the visual language that we associate with the sci-fi genre, with a cold colour palette, steely looking interiors and plenty of wide shots, nothing else about the Arrival matches the tone of other films about military officers and potentially life-threatening aliens. The film uses our expectation of violence and disturbance against us, showing us the importance of patience and understanding, making us feel guilty for ever assuming that aggression and force could be the solution. The process of understanding these alien creatures unravels alongside a parallel storyline of the linguist, Louise Banks, processing the death of her child, and the combination of this plotline mixed with all that takes place at the military base, shows us that love is the strongest force, and that when we lead with kindness and compassion, all will be right with the world.
Memoria (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2021)
Memoria, directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul in 2021, is an ethereal tale about a woman named Jessica (played by Tilda Swinton) who hears a sound that no one else can. The sound initially haunts her, a terror that wakes her up at night and disturbs her entire being. Determined to put her mind at ease, she embarks on a journey to discover the source of the sound and to eliminate this mysterious presence that only she can perceive.
However, as the story unfolds, we learn that much like everything else, the answer is not so simple, and whilst Jessica wants to discover the source of the sound, we learn that this quest is motivated by a desperation to understand pain and find closure, that the sound represents the empathy that Jessica possesses and that in her quest to not feel sadness, she’s willing to switch off the one thing that connects her to the world around her.
As Jessica travels around the country in search of answers, we slowly learn that the reason she hears this noise, is because she’s in tune with the collective memories and subconscious of the people around her. There are people experiencing new feelings and experiences every day that leave traces of themselves behind, and Weerasethakul shows us that sensitivity and empathy is a dying quality, and on Jessica’s quest to find the source of this noise, she learns that empathy isn’t a burden, but a gift, and that if you truly listen, you can feel the lives and experiences of the people all around you.
