A film that raises big questions—about gods, monsters, and the cost of creation—and then answers them with pseudo-intellectual hooha and a bunch of splatters. It’s poetry for meatballs. A creation myth written by someone who forgot the difference between being mysterious and confounding. There’s a premise here. But it never shows up on screen. The director described the film as having [layers of metaphor]. By minute 20, my response to him would be: “Uh nah bruh … you ain’t that deep.” The characters are emotionally unbalanced idiots. This crew is supposedly trained for deep interstellar colonization. No backup plan. No safety protocols. No sense of hierarchy or mission discipline. They panic, scream, and grieve like they’ve just lost soulmates—they are too young to have known each other or been through anything more severe than a power point presentation. They lack agency. They don’t make decisions—they react, flail, and sometimes avoid shooting themselves or blowing themselves up...