There’s nothing like a sci-fi film in space: the impossibility of giant tin cans floating in the void and the people stuck in them. Danny Boyle’s Sunshine is the latest addition to the genre. It’s a visually stunning film, first of all: spaceship interiors floodlit and bleached orange by the sun, golden shields rotating in space, creepy subliminal flashes, plus a damn good-looking cast (Michelle Yeoh! Rose Byrne! Cillian Murphy!). The sun is apparently dying, and an intrepid (of course they’re intrepid) multicultural (of course they’re multicultural) team of astronauts are burdened with dreams of the apocalypse (of course they’re burdened with dreams of the apocalypse) and a bomb the size of Manhattan, which they plan to drop on the sun to create a new star. (My students, who apparently know better, told me it wouldn’t work.) Alas, all this agreeable tension gets ejected into space after the introduction of a total wild card in the third act, which subsequently turns the film into something it shouldn’t be. (Plus you don’t put Michelle Yeoh in a film and not have her kick some ass.)