Synopsis
The Sun, the source of energy for our solar system, is infected. Alien bacteria—astrophages—are slowly devouring it, and soon it will burn out, taking the Earth with it. This is the premise of the new film based on the novel of the same name by Andy Weir: Project Hail Mary. Unlike other films of the same genre, this time it will not be the most qualified scientist who attempts to save the planet from an imminent catastrophe. Instead, a simple middle-school science teacher will become the hero of the story. Ryland Grace (played by a remarkable Ryan Gosling), whether he likes it or not, must embark on a space journey to Tau Ceti and discover why it is the only star not infected by these star-eating bacteria.
Review
4 min read
Reviewed by Achille
· 13. March 2026
Who would have expected such an evocative and direct reflection on human existence from a science-fiction film centered on space bacteria and rock-like aliens?
Perhaps this is precisely where the fascination of Project Hail Mary lies: in the element of surprise.
Perhaps this is precisely where the fascination of Project Hail Mary lies: in the element of surprise.
Entering the theater, one expects a science-driven film in which scenes of escape from black holes alternate with breathtaking shots of the infinite cosmos. And indeed, these elements are present in the film—but they remain in the background. In the foreground stands the human being, or rather human existence itself, in all its ambiguity. To represent an essence so elusive—one that escapes any definitive description—it must be placed in dialogue with other realities and their attributes.
Humanity, or rather Ryland Grace—who here acts as an ambassador for humankind—is, throughout the film, bombarded with events that inevitably force him into a denial and subsequent reworking of his understanding of himself and, more broadly, of humanity.
Through flashbacks scattered throughout the film, we discover, together with the protagonist, that Grace never volunteered to become an astronaut for the mission. Instead, he was sedated and brought aboard the ship while in a medically induced coma. The last words he catches before losing consciousness for a long time are: “Don’t worry—you’re good at this.”
And that is precisely the case, because Grace was exactly what the mission needed, exactly what humanity needed: hope. Our protagonist is unusually clumsy and self-ironic for a molecular biologist sent on a secret mission to save the world. Yet his clumsiness is lively and genuine, like that of children or the elderly, who do not concern themselves with overanalyzing or rationalizing things: they observe. They simply observe. They allow themselves to be persuaded by colors and forms—just like our scientist.
When he and his rocky friend approach Tau Ceti to collect samples, while the machines are busy performing their tasks, Grace simply remains there, floating in space. A space that is not silent and abyssal like that of Interstellar, for instance, but rather a canvas on which to paint. In the deepest darkness of all, the bioluminescence emitted by the astrophages seems to compose a river of stars. And when the rocky alien asks our human what he is doing there, standing still in astonishment, he replies: “I’m enjoying it.”
Here lies the full ambiguity of humanity: a being undeniably small before the universe, yet endowed with consciousness. Human beings have been granted the possibility of living, of feeling emotions, and of being aware of themselves—and this is something they should always remember.
“Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature; but he is a thinking reed. The whole universe need not arm itself to crush him: a vapor, a drop of water is enough to kill him. But even if the universe were to crush him, man would still be nobler than what kills him, because he knows that he dies and the advantage the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing of this.
All our dignity, therefore, consists in thought. It is through thought that we must raise ourselves, not through space and duration, which we cannot fill.”
— Blaise Pascal
All our dignity, therefore, consists in thought. It is through thought that we must raise ourselves, not through space and duration, which we cannot fill.”
— Blaise Pascal
Project Hail Mary is also a philanthropic celebration in the way the two characters relate to one another. Grace cannot save his home alone.
To complete the mission, he must rely on one of humanity’s most emblematic attributes: cooperation. Only by combining his scientific mind with that of Rocky—the name of the rock-like alien he encounters, equally brilliant—does he understand how to confront the astrophage infection. Yet their friendship goes far beyond a simple alliance driven by utilitarian purposes. They are two profoundly social creatures, drawn toward knowing one another.
Grace demonstrates that in situations like this, friendship, companionship, and the possibility of listening and being listened to are as vital as water and food. Their bond, so strong and vital, seems driven by a shared and irresistible impulse, as if suggesting companionship as an essence of being rather than merely one of its attributes. And just as Grace cannot help but empathize with a four-legged rock, neither can the viewer—nor does the viewer wish to hold back.
In conclusion, Project Hail Mary is a message of hope for contemporary society. It is a call back to the roots of humanity, reminding us that before being scientists, we are hearts.
Before venturing into infinity, humanity should come to terms with its own finitude.
Before striving to save the world, it should first realize itself and care for those around it.
Before striving to save the world, it should first realize itself and care for those around it.
Perhaps the answer to the deepest ontological questions lies precisely in a starry sky.
“The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.”
— Blaise Pascal
— Blaise Pascal
