he spacecraft Voyager II was more than just a scientific tool designed to accumulate priceless data about the enigmatic outer planets of the solar system. It was also, quite literally, an engraved invitation for extraterrestrial lifeforms to stop by and visit Earth.
But when an alien being (Bridges) decides to accept the offer, he finds humans somewhat less hospitable than the welcoming messages encoded on Voyager's anodyne disc promised. In fact, from the moment his ship enters Earth's atmosphere, he's pegged as hostile, and soon the military is firing missiles at him. The attack damages his spaceship and forces him to crash far off course, in the sparsely settled wilds of northern Wisconsin. Now his only chance to return home is to assume human form and find help so that he can get to a rendezvous site in Arizona before his life-force fails.
Soon thereafter, Jenny Hayden (Allen), a young widow still coping with the loss of her husband, wakes up in the night to find an unearthly infant in her living room, in the throes of rapid metamorphosis. First alarmed, then horrified, she watches it grow and reshape itself into the full-grown image of her dead spouse, Scott.
The visitor, driven by fear of those who shot him down, coerces the terrified Jenny into starting toward Arizona, unaware that they're being closely pursued by a fascinated scientist who doesn't realize at first that he's the tool of a xenophobic government administrator. As the trip unfolds, the strangely alien Starman complicates Jenny's emotional state by displaying vulnerability, unrelenting curiosity and pure compassion. Jenny in turn progresses from hysterical fear mixed with a yearning for Scott, to respect, protectiveness and finally love for this unique being. It is her hand that guides the dying Starman to the rendezvous and the final confrontation with the military, which assumes without question that he must be an enemy.
Bringing out our best and worst
Starman is a successful film on a number of fronts. The first of these is that the placid, somehow pure Starman serves as a lightning rod for every kind of human emotion, frailty and virtue. Merely by being alive he has stirred the humans around him, intensifying their own existence. While other science fiction films that explore human nature seek to instill a certain level of shame in the audience, Starman wants viewers to see themselves through the visitor's eyes, eyes which, even after enduring persecution, still look with interest, hope and compassion.
Yet this is not a sickly sweet film, nor is it a gothic romance with a science fictional backdrop. The story is told in a straightforward manner, allowing viewers to experience the full interplay of emotions that Jenny feels, sometimes in succession, sometimes all at once. Her growth toward rediscovering her own life, and the visitor's deepening understanding of humans through his growing involvement with Jenny, begin to upstage the more stock aspects of their plight: the pursuit, the deadline. Even their very real and spontaneous romance has more than one level: on the one hand, it's a physical connection between a numbed widow and a noncorporeal alien; on another it's a demonstration of what a wholly alien visitor is able to find in common emotionally with the intelligent savages of Earth.
The film is admirably directed by John Carpenter, who carefully circumscribes the "wow" moments--in particular the early metamorphosis and the late starship landing--so that they don't get in the way of the story. For her part, Karen Allen portrays Jenny's crucial emotional expressions in a fashion that seems wholly natural. And the carefully nuanced alien--with just the right mixture of human qualities and otherness--would in lesser hands have been overplayed, but Jeff Bridges superbly navigates the dangerous role, creating an indelible image of an otherworldly visitor who discovers what it is to be human.
