Of all the entries in the ongoing cycle of “legacy-quels”– long-belated follow-ups to beloved movies and TV shows, complete with long-in-the-tooth original stars– few are as maddening as 2016’s Independence Day: Resurgence. On the one hand, unlike the majority of creators lured back into the fray of lucrative nostalgia, director Roland Emmerich resisted the urge to simply repeat the formula of his 1996 alien blow-em-up classic; instead, he presented an ambitious, fantastical continuation involving an alien-tech-infused alternate present and an eons-spanning alien civil war. Unfortunately, Independence Day is one of the few cases where a simple rehash would have not only been acceptable, but welcome. Independence Day is not a great movie because of its world-building, or because it possesses a particularly original premise. Instead, it has stood the test of time because of its sheer, simple-minded thrills: square-jawed heroes and smart-mouthed scientists delivering gloriously unironic speeches amidst the fiery destruction of world-famous landmarks. Its lowest-common-denominator spectacle is a feature, not a bug, and any attempt to flesh out its story has the ironic effect of watering it down.

In many ways, Moonfall, Emmerich’s latest bubblegum apocalypse, feels like a corrective to Resurgence. While it, too, is saddled with a needlessly complicated premise, once the world starts ending it’s tough not to crack a big, goofy smile.

Moonfall opens on a space mission with astronauts Jo Fowler (Halle Berry), Brian Harper (Patrick Wilson), and a third guy whom the audience should know not to get too attached to. In the midst of a discussion about the lyrics to Toto’s “Africa,” the astronauts’ easy banter is interrupted by a big, black, swirling something which seems to be coming out of the moon on a beeline toward their shuttle. After Third Guy inevitably eats it, Harper manages to steer the ship to safety; however having no evidence for the malevolent whatsit which attacked them, he is dishonorably discharged.

The action then jumps ten years. Brian is now broke, divorced, and reduced to delivering guest lectures at his local planetarium. His existence gets a little more interesting, however, with the entrance of Dr. K.C. Houseman (John Bradley, who is a poor substitute for Jeff Goldblum in the jittery scientist role, but at least has the decency of not being James Corden), a conspiracy-theorist Youtuber who comes bearing troubling news: it seems the moon (which Houseman has dedicated his life to proving is an artificial “megastructure”) has drifted off its orbit and is circling exponentially closer to earth. This jibes with data collected by Fowler, now a high-ranking NASA operative. Once word gets out, the world spirals into chaos, as tides become erratic and looters raid the streets. With danger looming ever nearer, it becomes increasingly clear that Harper, Fowler, and Houseman have no choice but to blast themselves into space and defeat the moon.

In case it isn’t clear, Moonfall is a deeply stupid movie– but I say that with some affection. Like Resurgence, it suffers from a needlessly complicated premise which can’t be summed up in a single logline (I would not be surprised to learn that some of the ideas here were drafted for a scrapped Independence Day 3). Much of the film’s first hour is consumed by long-winded scenes of characters repeatedly trying to impress upon each other exactly what the moon is doing, what that means for earth, and why they should trust this person who looks and/or sounds crazy (compare this to Independence Day, which effectively communicates the threat by simply showing enormous spaceships emerging from the clouds). So much time is sponged up by exposition that major dramatic beats are often ludicrously rushed, as when Fowler’s superior resigns and makes her the acting head of NASA in the space of a thirty-second scene of dialogue. Indeed, the precise what of what’s going on is so weirdly complex that, by the time it’s fully revealed, we scarcely have time to revel in its nuttiness before the obligatory high-octane conclusion.

But I can forgive much of Moonfall’s puttering because, once the gears are in motion– once our heroes grit their teeth and strap themselves into a space shuttle with “FUCK THE MOON” spraypainted across the nose– it settles in and becomes exactly the sort of lunkheaded popcorn fun it needs to be. Halle Berry is game as always, and Patrick Wilson is one of the few remaining movie stars who can sell the sort of inspiring hokum that made Bill Pullman one of our greatest screen presidents; in a cinematic environment still hospitable to mid-budget dramas, he would be starring in courtroom procedurals and high-class erotic thrillers rather than genre blockbusters. And when the moon finally starts raining chunks of death upon the earth, Emmerich gets to indulge in the sort of operatic destruction on which he’s made his name. Much of the third act is devoted to a B-plot about Harper’s reprobate son (Charlie Plummer) driving an all-terrain Lexus through the post-apocalyptic Rockies to safety; ordinarily I would roll my eyes at such extraneous business as padding, but the fact is that these scenes are tactile and thrilling enough that I was happy as a clam.

Moonfall feels like a deliberate throwback, and not just because of the vintage spacesuits the teammates wear into the stratosphere (with NASA decommissioned, they need to get their gear from museums, you see). Rather, it hearkens back to a day when not every Hollywood megahit needed to be a reboot or an adaptation or a cog in an ever-expanding cinematic universe. Independence Day wasn’t the most original film in the world (it is, at its core, a high-tech spin on War of the Worlds), but it was still an actual story, and became a hit on its own merits rather than as an extension of brand loyalty. Writing an original script about the moon turning evil shouldn’t feel revolutionary, but in 2022 it is nothing less than a breath of fresh air.

Again, I don’t want to give anyone the impression that Moonfall is not a stupid movie, because it’s most certainly that. But walking out of the theater, I found myself filled with two hopes. My first hope is that Moonfall is an unqualified hit, that America ventures out of their pandemically-induced depression to go see the moon explode on an enormous screen. My second hope is that we never get a sequel, that that inky menace from the moon is well and truly vanquished and that Brian Harper and Jo Fowler have completed their missions. I’m not particularly optimistic on either count; it’s tough to imagine the current moviegoing public coming out for this one in droves (particularly when they can sate both their nostalgia and their appetite for destruction with Jackass Forever), and if they do the studio will almost certainly try to milk them for all they’re worth (sure enough, Moonfall leaves a door open to future installments, though I genuinely cannot imagine the movie they’re teasing getting made). But imagine if, against all odds, Hollywood looks at the success of Moonfall and determines that America wants to see stories and characters they haven’t seen before? In a cinematic era almost violently opposed to trying anything new, it is worth celebrating when an original idea makes it to the multiplex– even if, as in Moonfall, it is a profoundly stupid one. I’m reminded of that Oscar Wilde quote about the moon– or maybe I’m thinking of David Cross.

Moonfall
2022
dir. Roland Emmerich
130 min.

Opens in theaters Friday, 2/4

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