I.S.S.

The view of Earth from the International Space Station is usually described by astronauts as a life-altering moment of Zen—the "Overview Effect," where national borders vanish and you realize we’re all just riding one fragile marble through the void. I.S.S. takes that beautiful sentiment and tosses it out the airlock within the first twenty minutes. Instead of a silent blue marble, Dr. Kira Foster (Ariana DeBose) looks out the window to see massive, blooming orange fractures spreading across the United States. It’s nuclear war, seen from the best—and worst—seats in the house.

I watched this film on a Tuesday night while wearing a pair of wool socks with a hole in the big toe, and honestly, that tiny bit of exposure to the cold air made the pressurized, metallic claustrophobia of the station feel even more immediate. There is something fundamentally terrifying about a "locked room" mystery where the "room" is a billion-dollar laboratory screaming through orbit at 17,000 miles per hour, and the "outside" is a planet currently turning itself into a charcoal briquette.

Trust Falls in Zero Gravity

Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite, who previously shook everyone to their core with the documentary Blackfish, brings a similar sense of clinical observation to this fictional thriller. She doesn't lean into the "space opera" of it all; instead, she treats the station like a cramped, sweaty submarine. The film centers on three Americans (Ariana DeBose, Chris Messina, and John Gallagher Jr.) and three Russians (Masha Mashkova, Costa Ronin, and Pilou Asbæk). They start as a team—sharing vodka, laughing about the quirks of space-hair, and performing delicate science.

Then the "orders" come in. Both sides are told by their respective governments to take control of the station "by any means necessary."

The tension doesn't explode; it curdles. Ariana DeBose is fantastic here, playing Kira with a reserved, watchful intelligence that makes her the perfect surrogate for the audience. She’s the newcomer, and watching her try to decode whether Chris Messina is being protective or manipulative is where the movie finds its pulse. The script turns the ISS into a high-stakes middle school cafeteria where the floor is literal nuclear lava. It’s a cynical, sharp look at how quickly "international cooperation" evaporates when a Slack message from the home office tells you your roommate is now your enemy.

The Beauty of a Mid-Budget Squeeze

In an era where every sci-fi movie seems to require a $200 million budget and a multiverse-shattering ending, there is something deeply refreshing about I.S.S. being a lean, mean 96-minute thriller. It was produced for around $13.8 million, which is essentially the catering budget for a Marvel movie, yet it looks spectacular. The way the characters move in zero-G is some of the most convincing I’ve seen since Gravity. There’s no "magic gravity" here; they are constantly tethering themselves, bumping into walls, and floating awkwardly during tense confrontations.

The production design team clearly did their homework. The station feels lived-in, cluttered with cables, velcro strips, and floating pouches of dehydrated coffee. This realism anchors the increasingly melodramatic plot. When the violence eventually starts—and it does—it’s clumsy and terrifying. Fighting in weightlessness isn't about cool kicks; it’s about grabbing whatever handle is closest and hoping you don't crack your skull on a cooling pipe.

However, the film’s biggest hurdle is its own momentum. It starts as a psychological pressure cooker but eventually feels the need to turn into a more traditional slasher-lite in its final act. There’s a specific subplot involving a "cure" for radiation sickness that feels like a vestigial organ from a much longer, more bloated version of the script. It’s a bit of "MacGuffin-itis" that the movie didn't really need.

Why Did This One Slip Under the Radar?

Despite its timely premise and solid reviews, I.S.S. struggled at the box office, barely making back half its budget. It’s a victim of the "January dump" release window and the ongoing struggle for original, mid-budget sci-fi to find an audience in theaters rather than on a streaming queue. It also doesn't help that the movie is profoundly grim. It’s not a "rah-rah" space adventure; it’s a movie about the death of diplomacy.

I suspect I.S.S. will find its true life on streaming platforms, where its tight runtime and "what would you do?" hook make it perfect Friday night fodder. It asks a haunting question: If the world ended tomorrow, would you still keep your promises to the person standing right next to you?

Turns out, turns out the filming was done in a studio in North Carolina, using a complex system of harnesses and "tuning forks" to simulate the weightlessness. Knowing that makes the performances even more impressive—Pilou Asbæk (who you’ll recognize as Euron Greyjoy from Game of Thrones) manages to be physically imposing while essentially being suspended by his hips.

I.S.S. is a sturdy, well-acted thriller that manages to do a lot with a little. While it doesn't quite stick the landing—the ending feels a bit like a shrug when it should have been a punch—the journey there is filled with enough claustrophobic dread to keep you checking your own oxygen levels. It’s a reminder that no matter how far we go into the stars, we’re still carrying all our terrestrial baggage with us. If you’re looking for a quick, tense watch that will make you appreciate being on solid ground, this is a trip worth taking.