Interstellar

Interstellar is riddled with ridiculisms. And yet: Nolan, a notoriously chilly filmmaker who’s never shown much faculty with matters of the heart, is pinning that heart squarely on his sleeve. Boldly swinging for the rafters, he’s uncharacteristically willing to embarrass himself here. There’s a lot to admire in that. Interstellar is about humanity’s last-ditch effort to find a habitable planet in another galaxy after it becomes clear that Earth is death-rattling. McConaughey plays single dad Cooper, who agrees to pilot the expedition, even though it means missing out on raising his children. So much of Interstellar, baggy and beautiful in ragged measures, comes qualified: Its science-y info-dumps sound so serious one suspects they’re actually very silly; even the most predictable plot turn zings with Nolan’s master hand at tension-building; and if the script is overly enamored with front-porch poeticisms and turgid monologues about love – oh, how the heart aches when a child cries for her father.