As Nolan's movies grow increasingly cold and limp, it's nice to return to the 45 minutes or so of Interstellar that actually work, though the moments of real emotional and intellectual substance here are so randomly scattered throughout the film, it's hard to really say that any of it works at all. It's pretension sold as insight and nowhere is that more obvious than in Nolan's core belief that every bit of gadgetry and scientific marvel he's decorated his surfaces with is, in fact, insignificant in the face of love. If you buy it, chances are the movie had nothing to do with your conclusions. It's an often laughable mess, so self-serious and calculated that the runtime becomes a sort of joke. It's bad science-fiction based in cheap melodrama, and bad melodrama wasted on good science fiction. It's a Beckett play - much ado about, what in the end, is nothing.