There’s a sci-fi genre problem I’ve been complaining about forever. Most of these movies fall into one of two traps: they get so wrapped up in hard science that you need a PhD just to follow the plot, or they go the other direction and give you the most generic, paint-by-numbers space adventure imaginable. Either way, you leave the theater feeling kind of empty.
Which is exactly why it’s so hard to find a sci-fi film that actually works.
Project Hail Mary, though? This one gets it right. And I mean really right.
I went in completely blind. Zero knowledge of the story, no trailers, nothing. The only reason I even gave it a shot was that it’s based on a novel by Andy Weir, the same guy who wrote The Martian, and I have a soft spot for that one. So honestly, I was already predisposed to like it before the opening scene even played.
And I loved it. Genuinely, completely loved it.
I did not expect to walk out of that theater with a full heart — having laughed out loud in some scenes, been on the edge of my seat in others, and yeah, actually cried. More than once.
Project Hail Mary is a sublime film. Yes, it echoes plenty of things you’ve seen before, but what doesn’t these days? Art has always been built from references. The real question is what you do with them, how you rearrange them into something new. And this movie feels like exactly the kind of thing people are going to be talking about for years.
It’s directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, the duo behind Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, and once you know that, a lot of the film’s personality suddenly makes sense. These two have an incredibly sharp comedic sense of timing, but they also know exactly when to go for the gut punch. They understand how to move an audience, how to pull the exact right emotion out of you at the exact right moment.
The screenplay adapts Weir’s novel, and from what people who’ve read it say, the adaptation is faithful and well-executed. I haven’t read the book, but I can tell you the film works perfectly on its own terms. You don’t need any prior knowledge to follow it or feel it.
The premise starts simply enough: Ryland Grace wakes up alone on a spacecraft with no memory of who he is or why he’s there. The story unfolds through flashbacks that piece the puzzle together alongside the audience, which works brilliantly because you’re experiencing the same confusion and dread as the character. The way the film weaves past and present as two parallel threads, both moving forward at the same time, is genuinely sophisticated storytelling. It earns it.
What’s most impressive is how the science never feels like a lecture. The stuff about fuel and energy and interstellar travel is laid out in a way that’s convincing without being alienating. You don’t need to be a scientist to buy into the logic of it all. You just do.
Ryan Gosling delivers one of the best performances of his career here. He’s funny when the film needs him to be, emotional when it calls for it, and he never oversells any of it. He’s just absurdly good. And Ryland Grace is a genuinely strange character, but endlessly fascinating, and you can feel how intelligent he is just from watching Gosling’s face.
Sandra Hüller, who got an Oscar nomination for Anatomy of a Fall, has a crucial role here. Her character is odd, mysterious, occasionally unsettling, but absolutely magnetic. Hüller plays her with a very specific kind of gravity that still carries this understated dry humor, and her scenes with Grace in the flashbacks are some of the best in the film. Something real builds between them, the kind of connection you don’t notice forming until you’re already completely invested.
But the true heart of the movie is the relationship Ryland builds with a being that couldn’t be more different from him. They share the same goal despite belonging to species that literally cannot breathe the same air. And somehow, impossibly, what develops between them is one of the most genuinely human bonds I’ve seen on screen in years. You cannot help but get attached.
Rocky is the best thing in this film. Full stop.
I have no idea how much credit goes to the original book versus the adaptation versus the direction, but I never imagined I’d be crying over a spider-shaped alien rock that somehow manages to be completely adorable. It reminded me of the feeling I had crying over a boat in another story. Same kind of attachment, same kind of ache. I suffered with them, laughed with them, celebrated with them.
And honestly? When we finally do discover life beyond Earth, I hope there are beings like Rocky out there. Because I would very much like a Rocky in my life.
It also reminds me of E.T. In the beginning, this creature feels strange and unknowable. Then slowly, almost without you realizing it, you understand who they are, you get close, and before long you’re completely head over heels for them. It’s practically a masterclass in making audiences care about a character without ever telling them they should.
The tone of the film is maybe the biggest surprise. Everything about the premise could have made this an unbearably heavy watch — we’re talking about a desperate last-ditch mission to save humanity, after all. But the film never becomes suffocating. It knows when to breathe, when to be light, without ever losing its impact when it counts.
It’s a full emotional ride: funny, tense, genuinely sweet from beginning to end. And because it balances those registers so well, the moments that are truly serious catch you completely off guard. At minimum, you will cry.
At two hours and thirty-six minutes, there’s not a wasted scene. The film never drags. And I am exactly the kind of person who notices when a screenplay starts padding things out.
Not here. I’ve watched it twice, and I’m pretty sure this is my new comfort movie. What an extraordinary film.
Without any hesitation, it’s on my favorites list now. And any time I need to feel all of it again — the laughter, the heartbreak, the warmth — I’ll go back to Rocky and Grace’s journey without a second thought.