Why I Didn't Cry with Project Hail Mary (But It's Totally Fine If You Did)

"Why are you making that face?"

Why? Because I'm using every ounce of willpower to refuse this movie my tears.

"What face? That's just the way I look; the way I've always looked. The face you fell in love with."

I knew what she meant. Eyes all red and puffy, veins about to pop. Looking constipated. Hopefully not the face she fell in love with.

"If you wanna cry, just cry. Don't make it weird."

I was making it weird and I couldn't stop. I had to hold the tears because I didn't want to admit that dumb rock alien movie got to me.

"I'm not making it weird. I got some popcorn stuck in my throat."

That was a lie and she knew it. We didn't buy popcorn.

Fortunately, people started shushing us and she went back to watching the movie. But, from time to time, when the music swelled and it seemed like Grace or Rocky were not going to make it, she turned to look at me. To see if I was man enough to cry.

I wasn't. I did what I always do: I closed one eye to make it harder to see. I stared at the back of the seat in front of me. I told myself this was just a movie.

I tried to be a cynic. I told myself Amazon wouldn't make me cry, not even after spending millions and millions of dollars on manufactured emotion. Every tear my body reabsorbed was a spit in the face of the gigantic corporations running every aspect of our lives. A true act of resistance.

I told myself the science was dumb. I looked for flaws in the concept of astrophage; I labeled it stupid, even though I don't even remember all the ways in which a cell can reproduce. I made fun of the lightspeed math, even though I've forgotten how to do simple division and I'll probably forget times tables in a few years.

But there was a saving grace to all this: I wasn't almost crying because of Project Hail Mary; I was almost crying because of an older trauma.

"Look what I've created! I have made fire!"

But he didn't. It was all you, Wilson. Tom Hanks was just the muscle. You didn't say anything, but you knew he wouldn't have made it on his own. You were the reason for his success, his muse, his guide. You were born of his blood, like a son. Even closer than that, because you were born out of necessity.

He made you because he needed someone to brave the storms with, to help him endure the incessant sun. You were a salve for Tom Hanks' solitude. You were condemned forever to be by his side, without ever asking for it, without ever being given a choice. But always with a big, dumb, happy smile on your face because seeing him run around yelling about the fire made you happy. You had his back.

He gave you a mouth but not a voice. And still you found ways to get through to him.

I was biting my lip not to cry, but then that made me teary, so I had to stop. I had managed well enough up to that point. A few coughs, a bathroom break, but I was running out of moves.

And, with this film being so predictable, I knew the emotional gut punch was coming. After the suicide mission, Grace blacked out. This was the moment. Body, mind and soul were incredibly tense. I was not enjoying the cinematic experience at all.

Rocky broke out of his bubble. The alien atmosphere of Grace's ship was destroying his skin; he was turning into a cloud of black smoke. And, still, he dragged his bestest friend to the med bay. He gave up his life for his friend.

I could hear people around me crying, but that wasn't enough to break me.

Then Grace woke up. He found traces of Rocky's blood all over the ship. His friend had, quite literally, turned to ashes.

I kept thinking of happy thoughts, like puppies and birthdays, but the images on screen turned my memories into death. Your puppy will get old and die and you will have to bury it. That picture with your loved ones around you as you blow the candles on your cake? Everyone on it will fade out from existence and turn into ash, just like Rocky.

She kept looking at me with tears in her eyes.

"Why won't you cry?", she mouthed.

"What do you mean? This is not even that sad."

It was. I was glad I couldn't speak out loud 'cause I knew my voice would break.

"He's obviously alive".

But I didn't know for sure. My brain, my emotions, were all a mess. I couldn't think straight. It didn't matter how predictable the movie was, it had bested me.

I was ready to run of the theater and start a fight in case Rocky didn't wake up. Just blind rage and grief raining down on unsuspecting strangers.

"Wilson" Wilson" I'm sorry!"

Sorry is not good enough. Rocky jumped out of his bubble to save Grace, and Tom Hanks couldn't swim after you? You deserved so much more. You gave him fire, someone to talk to, someone to ground him and keep him sane after four years on the island.

And he just let you drown. Sink down into the unfathomable depths of the ocean. I would have saved you, Wilson.

Then he goes on telling himself that he has to keep breathing because tomorrow the sun will rise. Because you never know what the tide will bring.

But the sun will not rise for you, Wilson. The tide will never take you back to him.

I didn't want to cry because, in a weird way, it felt like Project Hail Mary was trying to erase the scar you gave me, Wilson. Not even heal it, just make it disappear. But I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't leave you to be forgotten like Hanks did.

You deserved a friend who would jump out of the raft to save you, the same way you had saved him from going insane.

The air was dry when we left the theatre. It did a number on my eyes.

"Did you cry?", she asked me, wiping away her tears.

But I had a big, dumb smile on my face, just like you always did.

"I did, yeah, but you wouldn't understand."

"What does that mean?"

I didn't answer. There was no need.

Most of all, Wilson, you deserved that house on the beach that Grace gets in the end. That perfect slice of heaven just for you. Your own little place to watch the artificial waves from. Your own place to be safe and wither away in peace.

I hope you found that at the bottom of the ocean.

Project Hail Mary2026

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