Mission To Mars
The dumb to Supernova's dumber.

One small step for man, one giant piece of crap for mankind.

Imagine Contact with the emotional range and intellectual depth of a Hallmark card and you've got Mission to Mars, one of the stupidest smart people's movies to appear in quite some while. It is really remarkable to see a film like this fail so abysmally -- after all, it has the cast (Tim Robbins, Gary Sinise, Don Cheadle), it has the director (Brian De Palma, of Carrie and The Untouchables), and it has the stunning visual FX that define modern-day sci-fi. Of course, look closer and you'll see this magnificent failure isn't quite so unexpected -- after all, it has the cast (Connie Nielsen, a veritable Kathy Lee Gifford in space), it has the director (Brian De Palma, of Snake Eyes and Raising Cain), and it has a bunch of one-note characters and a plot so inane it gives new meaning to the term zero gravity. Yes, we have another big-budget moron movie on our hands -- only this time, it's worse. Mission to Mars seems to think that it is actually saying something, that it has -- dare I say it? -- a mission.

Mission to Mars -- or, as it prefers to be called, M2M, a sure sign of suckdom from the outset -- chronicles the adventures of a group of astronauts who must rescue one of their own (Cheadle) from a failed voyage to the red planet. This group includes Robbins as Woody Blake, a man unfortunately married to his NASA coworker Terri, played by the grating Nielsen. While the whole movie borrows generously from other alien flicks, Nielsen seems to be channeling an odd movie ghost - namely, Denise Richard's "I'm smiling even though my arm fell off" performance in Starship Troopers. Thankfully, the presence of the always great Cheadle and Sinise even the score a bit, although the primary emotion invoked is generally pity for these fine men having to endure this movie in the first place.

"You're making me feel astro-naughty, baby."

The first twenty or so minutes take place on Earth of 2020, where ordinary Americans have succumbed to an extreme overdose of cheese. In the future, it seems, we must constantly black-slap each other, make mercilessly corny jokes, and express only cheerful good humor and saccharine sweetness. These traits hold up well in the face of space exploration, where our brave NASA warriors spend their time boogeying gravity-free to "Dance the Night Away." (Glad to hear Van Halen still stands up 40 years later, at any rate.) You would think the trip to Mars -- a planet where red sandstorms run wild and a strange face appears in the ground -- would make things a little less hokey, but this is not the case. The characters are underdeveloped and annoying even in the face of tragedy, and even when photographed in De Palma's gorgeous Martian landscapes. It also doesn't help that by the end of the film, Mission to Mars has taken a pseudo-philosophical turn, asking the tough questions like where we are from, what is our purpose, where is our home, and why did we pay for this movie, anyway? There is nothing here that hasn't been done before, and done better in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Contact, or any of the various Arthur C. Clarke or Ray Bradbury works to which the movie owes its storyline.

"No Tim, I'm sorry, but you will never be a sex god like Gary over here."

To be fair, I did learn a lot from Mission to Mars. I learned that, in the future, product placement will be so obvious that the merchandise (Dr. Pepper, anyone?) will literary float across the camera's path. I learned that our alien ancestors are infinitely more wise and beautiful than we are, which is why they so closely resemble creatures from the infinitely superior, older films as Close Encounters. I learned that even the great Ennio Morricone can compose a score that sounds like a long-lost Super Mario Brothers soundtrack. I learned that Gary Sinise has really nice arms. And I learned that even the most kick-ass digital technology is no match for smart storytelling and strong characterization.

My only hope now is that Red Planet will utterly kick ass. See, Red Planet (opening in November) is the other mission to mars film, following in that strange "coincidental" Hollywood trend which brought us dueling insects, asteroids, and haunted house remakes in the past. My theory is that, between this and Supernova, America will grow weary of morons in space, and long for some truly intellectual and compelling fare. Sound crazy? It's not -- after all, it did take Independence Day to open the space movie trend for genuinely terrific flicks like Gattaca and Contact. And if I'm wrong, hey, just a few months 'til the ass-kicking (if not terribly cerebral) Pitch Black hits DVD, right? Mmmm, Vin...

DROOL FACTOR: First of all, it's almost impossible to rate the drool factor in a movie where a computer intones "Orbital insertion -- insertion angle approaching" over and over and you're expected not to issue a big Beavis-style laugh. That said... Gary Sinise. The arms, baby. And the eyebrows. And the attitude. I love this man -- although I can't say the same about his recent choice in roles.

GROSS-OUT FACTOR: That our ancient ancestors resemble a Colorform.

STRONG CHICK FACTOR: Oh hells no! Miss Piggy from Muppets in Space had more personality and attitude than bimbo Connie Nielsen, whose hyper-cutesy shtick is only enhanced by her (as far as I could see here) utter lack of acting ability. And for those who care, NYPD Blue's Kim Delaney is utterly wasted in her two paltry scenes.

-- Sarah Kendzior

Mission to Mars releases nationwide on March 10. Avoid!

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