That Moment In ‘Passengers’ When Jim Knows Exactly What He’s Going To Do

Passengers is a 2016 science fiction film set in the far reaches of space and the middle of a moral impossibility.

THE STORY: Traveling on a 120-year journey to a new home planet, a huge interstellar space craft carrying five thousand passengers and two hundred fifty eight crew in hibernation pods passes through an asteroid field where it suffers what seems like minor, self-repairable damage. However, in the aftermath, a single passenger pod malfunctions, awakening mechanical engineer Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) ninety years too early. Isolated and unable to fix his pod, he wanders the ship for months upon months, growing ever despondent … until he comes upon the sleeping Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence), and makes a choice that will change both their lives.

READ MORE: Our full review of the the Chris Pratt / Jennifer Lawrence Sci-Fi film Passengers

THE RUNDOWN: Passengers is a strange film, a story that is built upon so much potential, leading us towards something important, before sidestepping this outcome for what ends up being a bit more messy. Rightfully so, the film met with some criticism for how it handles the deeply moral conflict it sets up by attempting to distract us with a big action set piece in the finale, however, there’s no taking away from the terrific performances from both Pratt and Lawrence, who do great work with the unfortunately funneled script. A tremendous first half is all but eroded by the end, leaving this a passable sci-fi adventure without much impact.

THAT MOMENT: (SPOILERS) What’s the longest you’ve been alone? Truly alone. I mean straight up ain’t nobody around alone. A weekend? Maybe. Well whatever you did, it surely wasn’t a year and three weeks. That’s what Jim ends up doing after being accidentally woken, his only company an android bartender (Michael Sheen) who is stuck behind the bar. And he’s not all that sympathetic.

Imagine a whole year with no human contact, isolated on a space ship that limits your access to food and entertainment due to the level of your social status. Even utopian futures have upgrades. You have no hope of surviving to the end of the journey and so are destined to die utterly alone in the vacuum of space. But what if you could wake someone up, say a person you find attractive, someone who – because of you – would be doomed to the same fate? Would you do it?

It’s a decision Jim struggles with for some time, his desperation for companionship nearly overwhelming him as he battles the obvious moral consequences of what might happen if he does wake up Aurora. Naturally, the story requires Jim to eventually sabotage Aurora’s hibernation pod, but it at least dedicates some time to him fighting his demons in making it happen, the hopelessness of unbearable loneliness versus a friend for the voyage to a death in space. The burden of immorality weighs heavy, and for a few moments, we witness what that means to Jim as he slowly breaks down, the choice one he probably knew he was going to make all along, putting him literally face to face with himself in a bathroom mirror where it all changes.

WHY IT MATTERS: This is really sketchy ground. Jim, in service to himself – hopefully to avoid a lifetime in absolute solitude – strips the most basic human rights from Aurora, she a victim left with no control over her own destiny. It’s a cruel act of selfishness that leaves her a victim, denied a chance for a new beginning in a promised new world of opportunity. How could we possibly get behind what he does?

Actually, we’re not really meant to. What the film wisely does is allow for some effective expression of doubt within Jim, a man who has suffered an entire year (and three weeks) already in isolation, looking at all his remaining years just the same. It’s important to see the slow metamorphosis of Jim’s descent into what is fundamentally an act of madness. He argues with himself about the implications of waking her, outright telling himself (and the bartender) that he won’t speak of it again, even as he continues to do so, his defiance in rousing her clearly weakening as his need for contact mounts an ever strengthening offensive. This is a lonely guy.

I really like how director Morten Tyldum puts some effort into pitting Jim against himself, showcasing the troubled man in a series of images that see him in horrible conflict over what to do, from punching bags to denials to researching hibernation pods and how to initiate early revival. We also see him falling ever more smitten with the woman herself, watching her interview videos and biographies, looming over her sleeping body, coming to feel she is in fact, the girl of his dreams, something a man in his position would surely come to think about any who might be able to join him.

This is very affecting. We sense not only the deep, scarring emotional trauma he’s been subject to, but his own recognition of what it has done to him. He flat out tells himself “Don’t do it,” even though he really already seems to know what he’s going to. After all, how long could you hold out if this were you? There are 4,999 other passengers on this ship. Is one more awake going to make a difference? Some awake and angry at me is better than being completely alone. See, even I am rationalizing the choice.

There is then one incredibly agonizing moment when we actually see precisely when Jim decides what he’s going to do, even as it’s not once explicitly said so by him. Standing in the bathroom, staring at his beleaguered image in the mirror, he manages to make one choice; cut off his beard. He even says, “I’m cutting off my beard,” and it’s these very words that seem to convince him that he must waken Aurora. As he scissors off his thick gruff facial hair, his face is twisted in remorse, a thicken sadness crushing whatever soul he has left inside. It’s heartbreaking because we realize too what he’s thinking. “Please don’t do it,” he whispers to his reflection. We’re right there with him.

This moment is crucial, with the split imagery of the two Jims, the only combatants in this fight coming to terms with their reality. Say what you will about the superficiality of the rest of the movie (of which I firmly agree), this moment, and a bit of what came before it, is staggering. Here we see everything fall apart, the man literally changing his appearance and position, now committed to a darkness that in all essence is murder, dooming a young woman to a prison of death she cannot escape. No matter where the film takes it from here, up to this moment, it’s a caustic tragedy with a man absolutely worn down to the very end of his hope. Again. What would you do?

That’s what’s so good about the first act of Passengers, a haunting, jarring, psychological nightmare that opens up a sensational can of ethical worms. While it’s too bad the film lacks the courage to really play this out with any lasting significance – the movie contriving its last act into an action-heavy romance – what it does at its start is really powerful science fiction. Pratt does some of his best work here, portraying Jim as a broken man caught in an impossible quandary with great effect, the comedic actor taking some risks in giving Jim some darkness. It’s a really good performance.

Passengers is an unfortunate misfire, more willing to stick to the safe side of the street than explore a more challenging quarter of the human condition. Either way, the first half is mind-bending, with a hopelessly lonely man cornered into a world of only two possible outcomes, leading to a horrifying choice in the great emptiness of space. It’s a great movie moment.