Star City is a series about longing. Within the walls of the Soviet complex dedicated to space exploration, its inhabitants reach out into the cosmos in search of a connection they can't find on Earth. They're prisoners tasked with mapping out the frontier from a prison. Everyone must wear a mask to survive, even with loved ones. It is only in space that they can drop their pretense and exist as people. There is a quiet, desperate tragedy that permeates every frame of Star City, and it is deeply compelling.
Compared to its sister show, For All Mankind, it is a far more subdued, internal series. For the most part, space, in all its romanticism, is an esoteric, distant concept. Getting there is dangerous, but staying on Earth might be worse.
Star City unfolds in slow and tragic beats. Where its sibling series began as an optimistic and bright series – before turning into a dire procedural in limited sets on Mars – Star City is muted, drab, and rarely shot in anything wider than a two-shot. It is a claustrophobic vision of a world where everyone distrusts one another by design.
Even as they are the first to the Moon, there is little celebration. It is of minor importance in the grand scheme of things. Shadowy men in dimly lit rooms with cigarette smoke for curtains grumble and nod as progress leaps forward. Cosmonauts become tools of government power plays, while engineers work in secret to devise methods to explore the stars.
It is undeniably fascinating, and, at times, far more compelling than anything For All Mankind has been in years. The cast, led by the brilliant Rhys Ifans, is uniformly excellent even as they're forced to speak English with the occasionally questionable accent. Each actor must play two roles: the government's public-facing tool and the anguished dreamer trapped within. Sometimes, they will switch character mid-sentence, and the results are always fascinating.
If it existed in a vacuum, Star City would be a compelling examination of vision and brilliance in a society that considers both existential threats. But those who've seen For All Mankind know that in this universe, the Soviet Union (along with other countries, except for South Korea) remains in stasis. Even as America turns into a utopia of sorts, the fantasy depicts Russian life as one of eternal control in a bleak tundra.
This creates a sense of inevitability that makes for lackluster drama. For All Mankind is a series about triumph against all odds, even when adversity might be self-inflicted. It is a fantasy of pioneers fighting against the establishment where they can find it.
Alternatively, Star City is the story of chasing adversity at the cost of success. It is a fantasy that frames the characters as losers even in the moment of their triumph. Their initial victory is an upset, an outlier that happened once. In For All Mankind, we learn that every other win came about through espionage and murder, not ingenuity. The cartoonishly imperialist version of the future in the sister series forces Star City into very strict confines, and it's honestly incredible how well it thrives within them.
The first season is mostly all introductions. Even when grand events take place, there is a muted, almost distant feel to them. Death comes often and with cold finality. Some characters treat it with the same disregard as opening their bills. The way the series frames dreams and thoughts of breaking through the atmosphere in cramped offices and in hidden conversations is breathtaking. It beautifully captures how a desire to create cannot be subdued, and how oppression only makes the resistance grow stronger.
The deliberate pacing and incessant bleakness may prove too much if viewed in quick succession. If anything, Star City is a fantastic showcase for the weekly format that allows the audience to breathe and take in the richly textured drama.
This is not something you binge or consume half-heartedly. It rewards patience and perspective. In a just world, we'd still view these series as a community and then debate them at work or during hobbies the following day. In isolation, through this flood of streaming content, it becomes harder for singular, complex shows like this to thrive. There's something tragically poetic about that, especially considering the subject matter.
