Up in the Stars
It’s rare to see representation – deliberate or not – of autism in contemporary cinema, but French space drama Gagarine finds a sensitive, empathetic way to shine light on the specificities autistic people feel in their day-to-day. Logan Kenny writes on the film’s understanding of romantic love, the beauty of fixations and the comfort found in the stars.
Every autistic person I know shares the comfort found in the idea of space. While there are similarities between most of us – difficulties with reading social cues and overwhelming fixations, for example – space is the one commonality linking us all. In moments when we cannot think about anything except visceral anxiety and the desire to inflict pain, there is a connection to space’s weightlessness and silence. Space is a vacuum, with no sounds, no sensations to grate against skin.
It is a beautiful paradise where the entire potential of the universe is right before your eyes. But the overwhelming majority of the human race will never see space properly, we’ll never get to go to the moon or to a space station where we can look down at the Earth. The realities of space’s danger are things we likely won’t experience as individuals – the fears of losing oxygen or being lost in the void aren’t what come to mind when we dream of the cosmos. Instead, there is nothing but peace and the possibility of exploration. So it’s easy to stare at the stars, dreaming of a limitless tapestry to explore and find serenity within. The sky is always around us, always there for our imaginations to use when we need relief from the world.
Gagarine, an imaginative French coming-of-age film directed by Fanny Liatard and Jérémy Trouilh, understands an autistic person’s fixation on space and its potential for escapism. The story follows Youri (Alseni Bathily), an aspiring engineer who lives in the Gagarin apartment complex (named after the late Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin) whose life is thrown into disarray when the only home he’s ever known is set for demolition.
Together with his best friend Houssam and crush Diana, the 16-year-old attempts to find a solution to save the building. It’s clear from the start that Youri is autistic, even though it is never explicitly stated. He is an immensely talented engineer with a dense knowledge of space, and a fixation on preserving his secret garden at the top of the complex. He is socially awkward but vividly enthusiastic about those he’s close to, and constantly loses himself in daydreams of a better future. Instead of relying upon tics and stereotypes to bring Youri to life, Bathily embeds the character with compassion. He is a likeable, sincere young man with boundless hopes and dreams.
Magical realism gives Gagarine space to explore Youri’s imagination, best showing its understanding of autistic people. The film vividly envisions his inner thoughts with sensitivity and grace, using extraordinary effects to show Youri’s building take flight and jettison towards the stars. Leotard and Trouilh understand the necessity for autistic people to lose themselves in imagination, particularly in times of crisis. The film’s climax is profound and soulful, as Youri’s dreams become reality and he looks down at the Earth from space.
Yet Gagarine also understands the destructive impact major changes can have on autistic people. In spite of the impossibility of his task, Youri cannot process a world without his home, the building he views as his personal spaceship. He repeats to himself what has to happen, refusing to accept a future that isn’t in his plan. In most contemporary cinema with explicitly autistic characters, such as Sia’s Music and Jason Reitman’s Tully, little sensitivity is shown towards those who struggle with change, offering few insights into the psychological instability that major life events can lead to.
Autistic people don’t cope with changes in the way neurotypical people do – moving to a new house or losing a favourite restaurant cause major surges of panic, even amongst high-functioning adults. I’ve never seen a film that depicts the process of autistic crisis without a meltdown accompanying it. Most autistic people learn how to suppress their most violent impulses, reacting with fear, panic and heartbreak at the most vulnerable points of existence. Gagarine intimately understands the broad spectrum of autistic life, the beauty that our interests can lead to, the mental struggles that come from disruption and the intense emotional connections that we forge with the few people we choose to trust and love.
There is also an unfair, typically ableist sexlessness to most depictions of autistic people. We are often infantilised – autistic children are most commonly represented in cinema, but autistic adults are often portrayed in the same way, repelled by the idea of touch and emotional connection. From The Big Bang Theory’s depiction of Sheldon Cooper to Dustin Hoffman’s Oscar-winning performance in the 1988 film Rain Man, existing as autistic apparently makes romantic and sexual connection staggeringly difficult to achieve – but this is categorically false. While aromantic and asexual autistic people exist, the majority of autistic adults engage in sexual and romantic pursuits.
One of the most damaging stereotypes suggests all autistic people are all so overwhelmed by the prospect of socialising or experiencing human touch that romantic love becomes something alien to us. Gagarine bucks this cliché by giving space to Youri’s budding entanglement with Diana, thoughtfully played by Lyna Khoudri. Their relationship transitions from flirtatious friendship into a tender romance, falling in love while interpreting Morse Code together. Youri has social anxiety, but it doesn’t stop him going after what he wants and the connection that he feels.
Damien Chazelle’s 2018 Neil Armstrong biopic First Man is the only comparable film to what Gagarine achieves, as it also understands a man’s fixation upon space and studies existence as an autistic person. But whereas that film sent its protagonist to the stars, Gagarine remains firmly on Earth. Youri doesn’t physically get to fly his building into space, or to exist with his special garden in the cosmos forever. But the film makes space for the dreams of his spaceship to materialise, for him to experience the beauty of the stars, even if only for a few moments. In Gagarine, an autistic character gets to experience love, catharsis and the brief feeling of transcendence, even in impossible circumstances. There is no cruelty or exploitation.
The final moments are a testament to cinema’s potential as a conduit for healing, a few transformative minutes for anyone who has struggled with the constant uncertainty of life. There aren’t always easy answers, but for a little while it’s possible to escape, to close your eyes and remember all the people who love you. Any autistic teenager desperate for guidance and recognition must see this film – it has the potential to save a life, even if it never intended to.
Logan Kenny is an autistic film writer from Glasgow with bylines in The Film Stage, Little White Lies and anywhere else that will have him.