Lembit Öpik is Chair of Asgardia’s Parliament - the world’s first digital democracy. Here he boldly goes where no Chairman has gone before, with a wistful look at the cinematic portrayal of life in space versus the likely reality… and how it might inform the policies of Asgardia, the first space nation.

You underestimate the power of the Dark Side", says Darth Vader, arguably the galaxy’s most imposing dictator, and he’s right. There’s a Dark Side in all of us, and its impact on our behaviour forms the motive power behind countless space adventures, portrayed in black-and-white and glorious technicolour by the moviemakers.

But how realistic are these films? Is there anything we can learn from them? And will the reality of living in space be less glamorous, more mundane and, well, more like living on Earth than Hollywood would have us believe? Simple questions with important answers. So, let’s start with this: what’s the most realistic portrayal of life in space in popular cinema?

Apollo 13 film promotional poster.

Realism candidates

Human nature won’t change in space, so the idea of an Empire that becomes immensely self-protecting, with a power-hungry ruler, is quite plausible

There are several candidates for the prize of being highly authentic depictions of space on the silver screen. A shining example is Apollo 13 (1995) starring Tom Hanks. The film relates the tale of the ill-fated third attempt at a Moon landing with almost documentary accuracy. A violent explosion rocks the spacecraft, leading to an urgent scramble at Mission Control to rescue the three marooned astronauts before their resources run out. For added realism, much of the film was shot in an aircraft capable of sustaining short periods of free fall - weightlessness – in a series of parabolic flights. So the actors really are weightless in many of the scenes.

Apollo 13 is very much worth watching because it effectively shows three points of particular interest to would-be space voyagers. First, space is tremendously inhospitable and, for now at least, living conditions are likely to be claustrophobic, meaning that when things go awry there’s bound to be a mood that’s saturated with danger. Second, resources are rare and precious and we simply can’t afford to have a ‘disposable society’ up there, so everything must be considered intelligently and with a mindset of reuse and economy. Third, for the time being at least, if you have a pressing problem then the only thing that Earth can give you is advice.

Original poster artwork for the seminal science fiction film 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Three other films seem relevant in what they say about life in space. Stanley Kubrick’s ground-breaking 2001: A Space Odyssey has superb visuals of a space station and a Moon base, made even more impressive given that, at the time of its release in 1968, no human had walked on the Moon. Another one is a less well-known film called Marooned, which was released in 1969 and presciently illustrated the Apollo 13 emergency a year before it happened. An understated film in many ways, it’s another warning of the dangers of that inhospitable environment. And then there’s The Martian (2015), which recounts an astronaut’s struggle for survival after being accidentally left behind on Mars. The inevitable adaption of some realities for the sake of dramatic effect is not an issue – remember, it’s not real!

Space society

There are also films that don’t add much to our understanding of life in space

In terms of human issues, there is a plethora of cinema to choose from. While Gene Rodenberry’s iconic original Star Trek series boldly went where no physicist had gone before, there are forgivable reasons for this. ‘Warp drive’ saves millions of years in travel times and means that the programme’s true purpose - of exploring American internal and international policy issues - can be explored within the parameters of the poetic licence needed to get Captain Kirk from one moral dilemma to another at lightning speed.

This leads to what I think is the most interesting aspect of space cinema, beyond the CGI: namely the representation of society in space. And here, high marks go to the Star Wars franchise, but perhaps not for the reasons you’d expect. This multi-film franchise owes its core narrative to the simplest of tales – the eternal struggle between good and evil. The original film, now called Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, released in 1977, was essentially conceived as a ‘western in space’. Its representation of an Empire that has ‘gone bad’, and the valiant Jedi fighting for freedom, is a common theme in human politics right back to when politics began. Human nature won’t change in space, so the idea of an Empire that becomes immensely self-protecting, with a power-hungry ruler, is quite plausible. After all, wars have been fought on Earth because of that very same premise.

hereIn Star Wars the Death Star was the Empire’s ultimate weapon: a moon-sized space station with the ability to destroy an entire planet.

I now offer a thought you may not have entertained before, in that Star Wars is also a case study in political ‘spin’. Consider that, if human space dwellers are similar in nature to human Earth dwellers, then it’s likely the overwhelming majority of them aren’t going to be particularly interested in politics. Sorry, Asgardian Parliamentarians, but most of them will be ‘just about managing’ on their home planet or space station. This is, in fact, an unintentional subtext of Star Wars, revealed by the fact that almost all the non-central characters are seen going about their jobs, getting on with life, while the key protagonists are fighting their fights. Sure, it’s far from ideal if you happen to live on Planet Alderaan and the Death Star wipes you and the other two billion residents out of existence. But, again, there are clear parallels to the application of military power on our home planet.

Here’s a further thing you probably haven’t realised. The Death Star is crewed by 1.7 million military personnel but also employs an on-board compliment of 250,000 civilians, associated contractors and catering staff. So even on the Empire’s most lethal weapon, many souls on board are just trying to make a living, perhaps with the hope of sending money home and seeing a bit of the galaxy. Sound familiar?

However, all these civilians were - spoiler alert! - incinerated by the successful Rebel Alliance attack in the final scenes of the original film. We call these casualties ‘collateral damage’ when they occur in terrestrial battles, but the moral issues are never touched on in the films, indicating a clear example of an age-old political reality in war: the Rebel Alliance won and winners write the history. In Star Wars, despite this phenomenal death toll meted out by Luke Skywalker in a lucky strike with his final missile, public inquiry was there none. The Rebel Alliance owes a lot of people an apology!

What can we learn from this? Politicians in Asgardia and elsewhere need to remember that our job is to serve the people, and when we do this well the public don’t pay attention to the politics. Although the appearance of a Rebel Alliance usually means something is wrong, my point is that it could be the Rebel Alliance that’s the problem, bearing in mind that it seems that most inhabitants and sentient species we meet around the Empire across the 12 films seem fairly content to do a job, raise a family and drink in a bar (such as Chalmun’s Cantina in Episode IV).

The original Ridley Scott Blade Runner film released in 1982 was set in a futuristic Los Angeles in the year 2019.

Beware the technology

Wherever we go, we take our human nature with us

There are numerous other portrayals of society in space. A personal favourite is The Forbidden Planet (1956) and its spectacular portrayal of the legacy of the mysteriously departed Krell species that once inhabited Altair IV. In a gripping story, as well as being the first to present a faster-than-light human spacecraft, this movie considers the ‘Monster in the Id’ and the capacity of alien civilisations, and perhaps humanity, to play a dangerous game through the naïve use of technology. I find this film fascinating primarily for its philosophical import: there has to be a limit to our technological potency, because with omnipotence comes the immediate risk of self-destruction. This is clearly a highly pertinent observation for communities living in orbit or on other planets.

Blade Runner (1982) is arguably the ‘best in class’ treatise offering a dystopian future where humans have reached far into space with the aid of sentient semi-biological androids. These beings struggle with their built-in obsolescence which will cause them to cease to function, raising fascinating questions of rights. The film also references the long-running debate about the status of consciousness. What makes Blade Runner so notable is its philosophical challenge, the melancholy consideration of our built-in mortality and inevitable reliance on highly intelligent computers as we venture into space. That could lead to conflict in future – and potential problems back on the home planet. These matters need to be considered now, for dealing with them when they arise is a recipe for trouble. Incidentally, did you know the original ending was regarded as so bleak that the movie was revised and released with a final scene intended to strike a more optimistic note?

On a similar and even more sombre theme, Silent Running is a comparatively low budget, but beautifully made movie, centring on space greenhouses that harbour species lost on Earth due to mankind’s profligate disregard for nature. Though I have personal doubts about humanity’s effect on climate, this film strikes a valuable and apocryphal tone. It is in Asgardia’s stated mission to protect life on our home planet and Silent Running is highly relevant in that regard. Considering it was made in 1972, I’m rather more impressed with this film’s prophetic messaging than the sometimes shrill preaching of some modern-day catastrophists.

By the same token, Avatar (2009), which is one of the world’s highest grossing films (at around US$3 billion), depicts a very plausible scenario whereby humans snatch resources from another inhabited planet. Where have we seen this before? That’s correct, right here on Earth - ever since humans came to the view that ‘greed is good’, which was long before Wall Street ever existed.

Likewise, the tremendously intelligent film The Day the Earth Stood Still – that’s the black and white original released in 1951 - explores what happens if aliens detect danger from human ambitions in space. The question of first contact is a recurring and relevant one for Asgardia. Whether or not you believe ‘first contact’ has already been made, this doesn’t diminish the beautiful narrative seen in the aptly named Contact (1997), inspired by the late Carl Sagan, which takes a circumspect and even intimate look at how a formal ‘close encounter of the third kind’ might actually occur.

Dr Ellie Arroway (played by Jodie Foster) in the 1997 film Contact.

Suspending disbelief

The truth is out there and it’s going to look nothing like the fiction we’ve invented down hereIn

At the other end of the scale, there are films I don’t recommend as serving a particularly useful purpose in terms of representing space as Asgardians might one day see it. Plan 9 From Outer Space, released in 1959, is an unintentionally comical and flawed attempt by mercurial director Ed Wood to portray a warning against human militarism in space. Dubbed ‘the worst film ever made’ in 1980, it’s worth watching just to reassure ourselves that, wherever Asgardia may go, we are unlikely to encounter extraterrestrial grave robbers who come here to raise ‘ghouls’ from the ground. "Can your heart stand the shocking facts about graverobbers from outer space?" - if not, you’d better skip this one.

There are also films that don’t add much to our understanding of life in space. These include Abbott and Costello go to Mars (1953), which among other things features a beauty contest curiously not on the Martian surface but on Venus; and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964), in which the Martian leaders purloin Santa to give their children presents. My main objection here is that I’ve always assumed that for Santa to complete his job in a single night his sledge must have the capacity to travel at close to light speed; and therefore surely, he could furnish all children of both planets with the requisite gifts? But I digress.

I also counsel against expecting particular enlightenment from My Stepmother is an Alien (1988). Let’s just say the core premise requires more than a little suspension of disbelief. However, I admit that if anyone were to become involved in such a strange menage, I’d expect it to be Dan Ackroyd, just as the film suggests.

On a lighter note still, I recommend Galaxy Quest (1999) as a lovable parody of what happens if an alien civilisation – the Thermians – misinterprets a fictional human TV series as ‘historical documents’. Then there’s Mars Attacks (1996) as the antidote to over-the-top space war films that, in my view, foolishly assume we could beat a conquering fleet of alien spaceships capable of traversing interstellar space.

Promotion poster for Avatar.

Human nature

What is the overall message from Hollywood? It’s a straightforward one that wherever we go, we take our human nature with us. The message in all the above is that we’ll always interpret our circumstances in relation to what humans care about: survival, safety, love, self-esteem and the realisation of one’s potential. And while it seems likely that, as long as we don’t annihilate ourselves, we’ll eventually meet other sentient beings, then all these factors will still apply.

As an aficionado of space films, I’d summarise it like this: the truth is out there and it’s going to look nothing like the fiction we’ve invented down here. However, for the foreseeable future, human nature won’t change, and therein lies the weakness and the strength we’ll find in Moonbase Alpha and beyond.

So, when we finally come across our fellow cosmic inhabitants, we’ll discover that Spock was indeed absolutely correct with his oft mis-attributed phrase: "It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it".

And that will make the political process of Asgardian interplanetary relations a true space odyssey, as we seek synergy between alien nature and our own. Moreover, it had better be a peaceful odyssey, for I sincerely doubt we’d do as well as Hollywood suggests in a ‘war of the worlds’.

About the author

Lembit Öpik was elected to British Parliament in 1977 and served for 13 years. In 2001, he was elected Leader of the Welsh Liberal Democrat Party and, during his years in that role, the movement achieved its greatest political advances since the party was formed. Since 2010, Mr Öpik has been very active in three areas: writing, broadcasting and public affairs. He is a published fiction and non-fiction author and a regular contributor and political commentator on national and international programmes. Mr Öpik is a qualified pilot and a professional aviation journalist, as well as a contributor to scientific and astronomy-based publications. He was elected Chairman of Asgardia’s Parliament in June 2018 at the first parliamentary session of Asgardia, the Space Nation.