Filmmaker Ido Mizrahy was fascinated by space travel isolation from a young age, inspired and awed by science fiction films like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Alien, and the original Solaris. And he eventually turned that fascination into the documentary Space: The Longest Goodbye, which explores NASA’s psychological research in preparing for mankind’s longest voyage yet: a mission to Mars.
Ido talks to us here about what he learned about the rigors of being isolated in space for a long haul and how it can connect with the isolation we all felt here on Earth during the pandemic. He also gives us his picks for the fictional works that most accurately capture what it is to be isolated in space.
What led you to want to do a documentary specifically about the psychological strains of being isolated in space?
The evolution of how we’ve arrived at this storyline, is the kind of unexpected turn of events that can only happen when you’re making a documentary. We had no idea we were going to make a human drama disguised as a space exploration story.
When we started researching this story we knew we wanted to do something related to the mission to Mars. In fact, I was even trying to convince NASA’s mission to Mars folks they should let me get on that first crewed mission (“You’ll need a storyteller on that spaceship,” I pitched). A few fascinating research trips later we were introduced to Dr. Al Holland, a psychologist based at Johnson Space Center whose job is to keep astronauts mentally stable in space. That changed everything.
That’s when we realized, we were not going to make a doc about the mission to Mars… not in a traditional way. We were so taken by how NASA, while trying to figure out how to send people to Mars, inadvertently became the world’s biggest isolation/loneliness laboratory.
Back when we started, the idea that some of these efforts to help astronauts stay connected to their roots, while floating away to Mars, could be applied to Earthbound populations who experience isolation was incredibly inspirational. These ideas could really help the elderly, reclusive teenagers, and many others, we thought.
Then COVID happened. And suddenly we ALL knew what it felt like to be removed from our social support systems.
This “space” challenge was suddenly about all of us. And the tension so many of us live with daily, between the desire to go as far as we can (to cultivate a better life for ourselves), and the need to stay connected to home, is universal, and as terrestrial as it gets.
Related to that, what can learning about outer space exploration tell us about our own existence and mental health here on Earth? How does Space: The Longest Goodbye inform our pandemic isolation experience?
This story is a meeting place between space exploration and one of our most pressing terrestrial challenges.
Space exploration continues to fascinate us and offer a sense of escape and wonder. It’s a powerful thing that unites all of us. But right here on Earth, this story opens a window into a threat we’ve all faced in recent years: having to isolate from the closest people to us, confined to our homes or temporary ones, and, for the first time for many of us, having to ask ourselves what our social contacts mean to us.
How much of our mental well-being is supported by contact with our loved ones? The answer can be surprising at times. I’ll admit that while I missed physical contact with loved ones terribly at the beginning of the pandemic, when it was finally time to get back to seeing people in person, I dreaded it. And it wasn’t even the fear of catching anything—it was this strange new feeling of not wanting to be around people. Of needing to get back to my…. isolation.
There was a sense of comfort in loneliness that was suddenly gone. I thought our complex relationship with the idea of being isolated was worth exploring.
This transformation in my feelings about isolation I felt while we were editing Space: The Longest Goodbye—from dreading to accepting and eventually pining for a transformation—had a big impact on the third act of the story, as the movie shows the difficulty of returning from space, of assuming old roles within the family, among loved ones who’ve embarked on their own journeys.
Who are you to them now, and who they are to you, might be its own exploration mission.
What’s your own relationship to stories about space and space travel? Did you grow up being fascinated by it?
Space movies inspired more joy, awe, and terror in me than any other films I was raised on, as a young filmmaker. 2001, Solaris, Moon, Gravity, Arrival, Alien: All these masterpieces I love and admire turned space exploration stories into potent metaphors about our most basic existential questions. They “bribe” us with the allure of space travel to help us ask human questions which, undisguised, can be too painful to face.
For me, making films, especially documentaries, always felt like venturing into something bottomless. So you better be a good teammate, enjoy the freefall but never lose sight of the mission.
What fictional film, series, or book do you think did the best job portraying the psychology of deep space isolation?
Of all the films that dare venture into this theme, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris [1972] stands out. Much like in the wonderful films Gravity and Moon, that line between what’s actually happening and what’s a figment of the protagonist’s ever-warping mind gets blurrier as the story moves forward. Solaris, like all Tarkovsky films, doesn’t bother holding the viewer’s hand as it spirals out of control.
This kind of unforgiving storytelling reminds us there might not be a way back. Isolated in space, indefinitely, these protagonists lose touch with reality, at times driven to madness and at other times relieved [that they’re] able to let go of the illusion of having control over their destinies. Isolation in that sense, is both terrifying and freeing in these movies.
The other thing Solaris does so poetically (and accurately, I find) is remind us that even in our most isolated moments, away from everything we know, we continue to be surrounded by our loved ones, practically embodying them as they are forever imprinted in our memories.
We are never truly alone, these movies remind us.
What did you learn about astronaut mental health that surprised you the most?
One of the many surprises on this journey was how open and candid the astronauts featured in Space: The Longest Goodbye—Cady Coleman, Kayla Barron, and Matthias Maurer—were. These are the stars of the space program, folks we idolize but also erroneously assumed would be fairly guarded or even closed off. Instead, we found the opposite.
At times, it felt like they were pushing us to be even more direct and personal in our questions. It’s as if they’ve been waiting to be asked some of these intimate questions about leaving family behind, parenting from space, fears of being monitored, and other very private confessions. Or they didn’t realize how much they wanted to talk about these things.
I remember suddenly realizing their superpowers weren’t credentials and field experience, but their ability to process the most personal things and not be phased by it.
I wasn’t facing perfect people who can deflect at will; these people are open and thoughtful and can admit pain and fear, which is why they can perform at these levels for such long periods, and why they might be on that first mission to Mars. They are present and can handle whatever will come their way, and ask for help when they need it.
It made me happy: We were clearly sending the best of humanity to space.
How did you get NASA on board to allow you to make this documentary?
The truth is that after years of furnishing NASA with various assurances and story treatments, the one thing that finally made their stamp on the project official was ITVS’s and PBS’s involvement! The ITVS team made this movie happen in so many ways, creatively and logistically, and I’m forever grateful for this collaboration.
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