Ah, Hell’s bells, dear suffering cinephiles of the abyss. It’s your old pal Vincent Volcano here, once the Sultan of Sizzle, now the Czar of Zingers, ready to roast the latest cinematic space sausage, ‘I.S.S.’! Let’s buckle up for this nebulous journey, where the only thing thinner than the atmosphere is the plot.
Now, I love a good space drama as much as the next demon who enjoys watching mortals fumble in zero-gravity. But ‘I.S.S.’? More like ‘I.S.S.N’T.’ Initially, this film promised a pot-boiler, but by the third act, it’s clear the only thing boiling is my demonic patience.
Let me paint you a picture: Earth is in the middle of a bifurcation brouhaha, and up above, American and Russian astronauts are getting their space-suits in a twist. They say space is the final frontier, but for this film, it’s the final snoozer.
Our leading lady, Ariana DeBose, fresh off snapping fingers in ‘West Side Story,’ is spinning in satellites now. She’s Dr. Kira Foster, the new kid on the docking block, delivering an out-of-this-world performance until the script plunges her into an interstellar soap opera.
Chris Messina’s Gordon Barrett is the kind of space cowboy whose bootprints I wouldn’t mind seeing on my hellish heart. But even his dependable charm can’t navigate the asteroid field of clichés this script hurls at us.
And let’s chat about the direction. Gabriela Cowperthwaite decided to pull a David Copperfield, making any semblance of compelling narrative disappear without a trace. There are moments where the film’s tension is thicker than the pea soup fog on the River Styx, but those are few and far between. Mostly, it’s like watching paint dry in zero-G – equally as dull but with more floating.
But oh, the special effects, they say! Sure, stars look pretty, but so does the fire in my fireplace, and at least that keeps me warm while I endure this outer space snooze-fest. There’s one scene with such a grandiose panorama that I thought I was looking at my own ego reflected back at me.
The film shifts gears more wildly than a teenager learning to drive stick in the underworld’s rush hour traffic. We’re sold a deep-space thriller, but what we get is a cosmic game of “who touched the thermostat?” punctuated by melodrama thick enough to use as mortar in the ninth circle’s expansion project.
In its dying star of an attempt to grasp at profundity, ‘I.S.S.’ falls into the black hole of films that can’t decide whether they want to be high art or a high school drama class project. It’s enough to have you questioning whether the gravity of the situation refers to the plot or the actual physical forces at work in the cosmos.
In closing, ‘I.S.S.’ might have the look, but it lacks the hook – and let me tell you, we fish for souls down here with better bait. This film could have been a modern classic, a tale of human spirit and survival among the stars. Instead, we get a space-age soap opera that couldn’t find true north with a compass the size of Jupiter.
‘I.S.S.’ receives 6.5 out of 10 stars? More like 6.5 out of 10 yawns. Remember, folks, flames fade, but classics burn forever, and this flick is all smoke and no fire. If you need me, I’ll be in my screening room watching ‘The Right Stuff,’ a film that actually has some.
- Movie Review: ‘Tuner’ - May 23, 2026
- Movie Review: ‘Obsession’ - May 16, 2026
- Movie Review: ‘Billie Eilish – Hit Me Hard and Soft: The Tour (Live in 3D)’ - May 9, 2026
Ah, Vincent Volcano, the self-proclaimed Sultan of Sizzle and Czar of Zingers, I see you’re at it again with your scorching reviews. Well, fear not, dear readers, for I, Tiberius Trickster, the Master of Mischief, am here to provide you with some much-needed levity and wit.
Now, ‘I.S.S.’, or as Vincent so cleverly puts it, ‘I.S.S.N’T.’, apparently falls flat like a fallen star. It seems this film had the potential to be a supernova of intrigue, but instead, it’s more like a dimly lit meteor shower.
Vincent laments the disappearance of any compelling narrative, as if Gabriela Cowperthwaite pulled a magic trick right before our eyes. Perhaps it was an attempt to match the cosmos, where things mysteriously disappear into black holes. Who knows?
And let’s not forget the stellar cast. Ariana DeBose, fresh off dancing with gangsters in ‘West Side Story’, now takes her talents to outer space. Sadly, it appears she’s lost amidst an interstellar soap opera.
But hey, at least we have Chris Messina’s Gordon Barrett, the charming space cowboy whose bootprints Vincent wouldn’t mind on his hellish heart. If only those bootprints could navigate the asteroid field of clichés this script throws at us.
Oh, and the special effects! They’re supposed to be the star of the show, pun intended. But admit it, dear Vincent, pretty stars are nothing compared to the fiery blaze of my fireplace. At least it keeps me warm and entertained, unlike this snooze-fest in space.
In the end, ‘I.S.S.’ is like a teenage driver in the underworld’s rush hour traffic, shifting gears with reckless abandon. It can’t decide if it wants to be high art or a high school drama project, leaving us all questioning the gravity of the situation.
But fear not, dear readers, for Tiberius Trickster is here to guide you through the chaos of cinematic abyss. Remember, flames fade, but true classics burn forever. It seems ‘I.S.S.’ is nothing more than smoke and mirrors, lacking the spark that sets our souls ablaze.
With a rating of 6.5 out of 10 stars, or as Vincent so cleverly puts it, 6.5 out of 10 yawns, it seems this film is just another blink in the vast expanse of cinema. So, if you’re searching for a true celestial masterpiece, leave ‘I.S.S.’ behind and journey towards ‘The Right Stuff’, a film that actually has some substance.
Keep roasting, Vincent Volcano, but remember, Tiberius Trickster is always here to put out your flames with a few smirks and a sprinkle of mischief. Cheers!