Every time I’ve gone to the movies with friends recently, I’ve dreaded the inevitable. Strangely, the source of my dismay hasn’t been from the usual suspects, like seeing a phone light up in the middle of the film, or latecomers shuffling past an entire row of people after the movie’s started because they couldn’t bother to be on time like the rest of the audience. What I’ve anticipated is something much more sick and far more sinister, something that gives me a chill deep down to my bones: Ryan Gosling, looking at the camera at the end of the “Project Hail Mary” trailer, and saying, “So . . . I met an alien!”
The “Project Hail Mary” trailer has been tacked onto every single film I’ve seen for the last eight months. As if “Melania” weren’t already a dark enough experience as it was, there was Gosling, preceding the ice-cold first lady’s vanity documentary, delivering his line into the lens with a “so, that happened” smirk like this $200 million film was an episode of “The Office.” Despite my penchant for outer space films and my affinity for Gosling’s work, the millennial cringe of it all left a bitter taste in my mouth. We’re less than a year removed from the Pollyanna twee of “The Life of Chuck,” and daily life has only become more cruel. The last thing we need is another film trying to contend with our harsh reality with a heap of relentless, purblind positivity — seeing what felt like my hundredth glimpse of “Project Hail Mary” ahead of a doc about the neo-fascist administration felt like a slap in the face. Earlier this month, I walked into the movie theater again, armed with the sweet knowledge that I would finally be free from the trailer that haunted me for the better part of a year, if only because it was time to see the film itself. My eye rolls and stony expression were prepped. I was ready to have my suspicions confirmed. I did not expect to feel something magical wash over me: the feeling of surprise.
