The Martian starring Matt Damon reviewed by Alison Rowat

WITH perfect timing for the release of Ridley Scott’s action adventure comes the news that there might, just might, be life on Mars, even if it is just pond scum (and what, pray, is wrong with pond scum?). But so supremely entertaining is The Martian that it barely needs the publicity rocket booster. Word of this one will spread by good old fashioned word of mouth. Ground control to Major Scott: you have yourself a hit.

Let us get the negatives out of the way. First, at 141 minutes, Scott’s picture could do with a 20 minute trim. Second, those who feel they have seen one too many scenes of rapturous/despairing faces in Nasa control rooms will want to brace themselves for many more (Nasa should be delighted with The Martian, if only for the number of times its logo is seen on screen). Third, though the 3D in The Martian is outstanding, there is no sense here that Scott is boldly going beyond the special effects limits so successfully breached by Alfonso Cuaron in the awesome Gravity.

Even those caveats should not detract from the sheer rush of enjoyment that The Martian offers. A particular blast is the way the picture makes the viewer fall in love again with the romance of space travel, and be filled with wonder anew at a species - little old us - which dares to wonder what is out there. Reality might offer little hope for humanity, but there is always the movies.

Scott’s picture opens with astronauts performing routine duties on Mars. In the first sign that the film will not be succumbing to the idea that space travel is intrinsically hellish, the scene is ablaze with sunlight. Mars, with its brick red mountains and golden sands, looks like an out of this world Arizona, the kind of place that tourists would love to visit once someone sorts out the whole pesky lack of oxygen problem.

There is a storm coming, though, and the crew, led by Commander Lewis (Jessica Chastain as a Ripley-lite character), has to get out of Dodge quickly. In the ensuing mayhem, one astronaut, Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is left behind. Think that incident with David Cameron and his daughter at the pub, only much, much, worse.

Watney cannot simply contact Nasa and have them pick him up within the hour. Help is millions of miles and several years away. He has a choice: give up and die slowly, or figure out a way to survive. And so a twenty first century Robinson Crusoe is born. One who, moreover, is going to “science the ****” out of his problems.

The Martian is adapted from the book of the same name by Andy Weir, and the film wisely keeps the same good natured tone and sterling humour. Watney is in a fix, but you won’t find him blubbing about it or gazing wistfully at pictures of his loved ones and losing himself in memories of the life he once had. There is no time for this when there are potatoes to be grown. How does he grow tatties? Let’s just say it would make a very interesting discussion on Gardeners’ Question Time.

This is Scott, creator of Alien, back on the comedy terrain of Matchstick Men and thoroughly enjoying himself. There are plenty of good jokes, many of them linked to the only music Watney can find in his space pod - disco. In Damon, Scott has the perfect leading man. Funny, moving, bold, and wholly convincing as an action star, such is Damon’s talent he makes Tom Hanks look like a poor man’s Tom Hanks. There are plenty of other fine turns, from Chiwetel Ejifor as a scientist trying to get Watney home, to Jeff Daniels as a Nasa chief, but this is Damon’s picture.

Disco is not the only music option in The Martian. Of course there is a Bowie track, but not the obvious one. Like everything else in Scott’s picture, the choice of tune from pop’s original space cadet teeters close to cheesy but ends up being a triumph.