The criminally easy pitch for Sputnik is to assign the movie as Russia’s Alien. Ridley Scott’s 1979 masterpiece is inspiring, imitated, and most times, blatantly replicated, to borrow a word from another of Scott’s resume. Fortunately, Sputnik is more inspirational work than a mere copy. Whereas Alien might bring more blood to the game, Sputnik counters with flesh and all the emotions that come within. In these times of reboots and reimagines, Sputnik breeds nostalgia. More Stranger Things than slasher scare. More Starman philosophical than Predator rampage. And when the lights go out? As fun as Gremlins.

OPENING THOUGHTS:

DIRECTION:

First-time Russian director Egor Abramenko constructs a deceptively tight feel to his movie. In the sci-fi world where too much is never enough, Abramenko channels Hitchcock and masterfully restrains, builds pressure, and awaits an inevitable explosion. Instead of a neo-spectrum of stars, he creates a Soviet utilitarian universe of concrete gray; of wood panels and analog devices. Sputnik looks and feels like a contemporary 21st century movie yet breathes Cold War complacency.

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A guarded Kazakh institute provides Earthbound claustrophobia replacing that of the Nostromo, but the elements remain. Abramenko makes good use of those hallmarks of Eastern European war theater: the drab, twisting corridors and ever-vigilant security cams. Everything gives off a surface appearance of control. When that nighttime action does ramp up? Then fear assumes control. For Abramenko? Horror is cool.

PLOT: