Observations on Interstellar

Celebrating the 10th anniversary of its initial release in 2014, Interstellar returned to theaters in December 2024. I have only vague memories of seeing it the first time in theaters, and the last time I watched it was several years ago. So I bought a ticket early and marked my calendar.

While it can be easy to overestimate what a movie will be like in the theater (even if it’s been seen before), I’m happy to report that watching Interstellar remains a spectacular experience. It was like stepping back into an old home, exploring familiar rooms and hallways. At the same time, I left with new insights and discoveries (an attribute of this movie I’ve always been impressed with).

I’m writing down some of these discoveries here, in celebration of what this story means. It’s all a bit scattershot, and especially driven by emotional impact (you can probably guess which points in the film I was weeping in my seat). And a warning, just in case: plenty of spoilers ahead.

Save the World

and other intertwined ideas

While waiting for their engines to drain on Miller’s planet, Cooper and Dr. Brand grapple with the realization that decades will pass as they wait. Cooper is especially devastated — he wasn’t able to teach Murph about relativity before he left, and now the reality behind the theory is doing real damage to their relationship by the moment. Perhaps knowing how Cooper left things with Murph, and confused about the tension between them, Dr. Brand asks: "Couldn’t you have told her you were going to save the world?"

Cooper doesn’t hesitate:

No. When you become a parent, one thing becomes really clear. And that is that you want to make sure your children feel safe. And it rules out telling a ten-year-old that the world’s ending.

Brand has good intentions here. She believes that what she and Cooper are doing can be reduced to a single positive idea: saving the world. But Cooper can’t follow her that far. He recognizes that leaving to save the world also implies the world is in danger. These ideas are intrinsically linked. While one can hide behind the other, it is never far away.

This pattern is a recurring theme, and there are darker shadows of intertwined ideas throughout the story. It may take another watch for me to catch all the connections, but here are just a few:

Dr. Mann led the Lazarus missions in search of a habitable planet NASA knew was within reach. However, in his own words: "I never really considered the possibility that my planet wasn’t the one."
Professor Brand convinced Cooper and his fellow explorers to leave with the promise of solving gravity and saving mankind on earth. Unlike Dr. Mann, he had discovered the other half of this promise years earlier: a solution was not possible.
After Professor Brand’s death and while confronting his lie (in a stirring inversion), Murph realizes that Cooper wasn’t coming back. But finally, in the climax of the last act, she finds something more connected to this truth: he can still save them.

I love how these patterns explore faith, hope, doubt, and despair. Each of the characters wrestle with them so meaningfully. Cooper is no exception — in speaking with Brand, he reveals his own doubts about their mission. Although his hesitation to embrace saving the world comes from a wise perspective, it also betrays his worry that the danger might not be overcome and mankind might be lost.

This is why a short line from Cooper near the end of the film becomes so important. In the tesseract, Cooper realizes who They chose and why:

I thought they chose me. But they didn’t choose me, they chose her. (TARS) For what, Cooper? To save the world!

In these words, Cooper turns from careful realism to enthusiastic optimism and hope. His trust in the forces that led him here has been beautifully realized. Cooper now believes the world can and will be saved. He believes it enough to give voice to the idea in a way he wasn’t able to before. The intertwined ideas have given way to a new, transcendent reality.

Stay

breaking and being broken

The scene where Cooper leaves his family is the emotional climax of the first act, and one of the most powerful moments in the film. But for me, the most impactful moment of this scene does not happen at the end (when the music swells, the countdown begins, and the pain of separation becomes real for everyone). It happens at the very beginning.

As Cooper walks into Murph’s room, only moments before leaving, the first words they exchange are tragic and poetic. Cooper begins:

You have to talk to me, Murph. I need to fix this before I go.

Murph’s response is quiet and easy to miss:

Then I’ll keep it broken so you have to stay.

This line shatters me, every time. In these ten words, Murph reveals her vulnerability, pain, and anger. She is angry at Cooper for leaving, unable to understand why he would abandon her like this. The pain of that abandonment is immediate and life-changing. It will linger for 30 years.

And yet, Murph loves Cooper. She loves him so much that she is willing to endure this hurt, perhaps forever, if only it meant that he could stay.

Words fail to describe the beauty and humanity of this moment.

Final Thoughts

For me, Interstellar is a film of paradoxes.

It is widely acclaimed as one of the greatest movies ever made. Because of the large audience, it feels as if there is a universal understanding and experience of the story. And yet, watching it always remains a deeply personal experience. Ultimately, its beauty is in the eye of the (lone) beholder. Even in a crowded theater, Interstellar consistently transports each viewer individually and invites exploration of profound, beautiful themes.

The scientific plot can make it difficult to approach. With plot beats ranging from biology to astrophysics (which led to the real-life discovery of two scientific phenomena and a published paper), Interstellar is the polar opposite of mindless entertainment. It requires your mind to be engaged. But it is far from being purely intellectual. As I’ve explored here, the most prominent themes of the film are centered on identity, relationships, mistakes, and love. By design, Interstellar seems to argue that science is inherently human.

Finally, Interstellar is discrete. From beginning to end, it runs two hours and forty-nine minutes. It’s been a complete, published work for ten years. And yet ten years later it continues to open new doors, ask new questions, and evoke new feelings.

I expect it to continue, ever "rag[ing] against the dying of the light".