The Astronaut

The Astronaut, the feature debut of writer-director Jess Varley, arrives with the sort of ambition that is both admirable and precarious, a film that dares to orbit two very different genres but doesn’t always manage to land them in sync. What begins as a taut, unnerving science-fiction thriller with shades of horror slowly morphs into something closer to sentimental melodrama, and that uneasy shift is precisely what has divided audiences since its SXSW premiere. Yet despite its uneven trajectory, the film remains compelling, not least because of a commanding lead performance by Kate Mara and the unmistakable atmosphere conjured by Jess Varley and her collaborators.

The premise feels immediately familiar yet engaging: Captain Sam Walker (Kate Mara), a NASA astronaut returning from her first mission, crash-lands in the ocean under mysterious circumstances, her helmet cracked and her capsule damaged. The opening sequence, a dizzying set piece in which military teams converge to rescue her, is underscored by Jacques Brautbar’s pulsating score, a thunderous blend of triumph and menace. It’s a superb hook, the kind of opening that convinces you the director knows exactly what she’s doing. From there, Sam is relocated to a secluded, sleekly designed house hidden in the woods—an isolated quarantine that feels part high-security safehouse, part luxurious prison. Production designer Alan Gilmore gives the space an uncanny sheen: mid-century furniture, spotless surfaces, and vast windows that open onto forest expanses where anything might be lurking.

What follows is essentially a single-location thriller, as Sam undergoes rehabilitation under the watchful eye of her adoptive father, General William Harris (Laurence Fishburne), and periodic visits from her husband Mark (Gabriel Luna) and daughter Izzy (Scarlett Holmes). She is tested daily, her mental and physical resilience scrutinized, but the deeper she sinks into routine, the stranger her reality becomes. Bruises bloom across her body, her arm develops an unsettling ash-colored rash, and auditory hallucinations blur into the unmistakable presence of something outside the house. One of the film’s most effective sequences simply tracks her as she follows a trail of dirt across the patio, the sound design amplifying every creak, knock, and breath. Cinematographer Dave Garbett, known for his work on Evil Dead Rise and Sweet Tooth, renders the woods around the compound as both beautiful and oppressive, a stage where paranoia festers.

The real tension of The Astronaut lies in Sam’s silence. Convinced that admitting to her visions or physical ailments will ground her from future missions, she hides everything—even from her family. This decision, while narratively shaky at times, speaks to the crushing pressure placed on astronauts, who are expected to embody resilience at any cost. In a way, Sam’s plight recalls the chilling corporate demands seen in Alien: the human body becomes expendable, its suffering secondary to the mission. Kate Mara channels this conflict beautifully. Her performance is a slow-burn disintegration, maintaining an outward composure that only highlights the cracks spreading underneath. Watching her fumble nervously while cracking eggs or pausing at shadows beyond the glass feels almost unbearable; she’s constantly at the edge of collapse but refuses to admit it.

There are moments when Jess Varley demonstrates remarkable control. The film’s midsection, with its measured rhythms and invasive sound design, captures the essence of great haunted-house cinema, only here the house is a NASA safehouse and the ghosts are possibly extraterrestrial. One can see why critics have suggested she’d be a natural fit for an Alien installment. Yet, it’s in the third act that The Astronaut falters. What initially presents as a story of psychological torment and extraterrestrial dread swerves suddenly toward something akin to Steven Spielberg’s Amblin-era optimism. The reveal of what has haunted Sam offers clarity but undercuts the tension so carefully built. Instead of leaving viewers shaken, it leaves them puzzled, some even betrayed by the tonal whiplash.

This miscalculation is compounded by uneven visual effects. The glimpses of the alien presence—long-limbed, insectoid, unsettling when glimpsed in shadow—are effectively eerie at first. But once revealed in full light, the digital rendering falters, drawing unfortunate comparisons to mid-1990s CGI. A sequence that recalls the kitchen raptor scene from Jurassic Park all but invites that comparison, and Jess Varley’s creature simply cannot compete. It’s a reminder of how horror thrives on suggestion and how overexposure can strip fear of its potency.

Still, The Astronaut is far from a failure. At just eighty minutes, it has the propulsive energy of a filmmaker testing her limits, and its shortcomings feel less like incompetence than overreach. Laurence Fishburne brings his usual gravitas to General Harris, embodying the protective yet controlling paternal figure, while Gabriel Luna lends warmth and anxiety to the husband caught between concern and helplessness. Even brief appearances from Macy Gray and Ivana Milicevic add texture, though their roles are underused.

What lingers most, beyond its narrative stumbles, is the film’s atmosphere—the eerie quiet of the forest, the sterile chill of the safehouse, the constant sense that something has followed humanity home. At its best, The Astronaut asks a compelling question: what if the greatest danger of space travel isn’t what lies out there, but what we bring back with us, hidden in our bodies, our psyches, our very sense of identity? That idea, even half-realized, is enough to keep the film alive in memory.

Jess Varley’s debut feels like a mission that launched beautifully but struggled with re-entry. It doesn’t stick the landing, but there is undeniable craft in its ascent. Kate Mara’s performance alone makes it worth the journey, and the film signals a director with talent, even if her storytelling compass wavered. The Astronaut may leave you frustrated, but it also leaves you curious—about where Jess Varley will go next, and whether she will find the balance between horror, wonder, and humanity that she so ambitiously reached for here.

The Astronaut
Written and directed by Jess Varley
Produced by Brad Fuller, Eric B. Fleischman, Cameron Fuller, Chris Abernathy
Starring  Kate Mara, Laurence Fishburne, Gabriel Luna
Cinematography : David Garbett
Edited by Terel Gibson
Music by Jacques Brautbar
Production companies : Fuller Media, Beehive Productions, The Wonder Company
Release date : March 7, 2025 (SXSW)
Running time : 90 minutes

Seen on September 9 2025 at the Deauville International Center

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