Direct Translation via Google Translate. Edited
by Andrey Bulkin
[REGNUM] A scandal has erupted in the West around the seemingly politically unrelated science fiction film Project Hail Mary, directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller and based on the novel of the same name by Andy Weir.
On social media, the creators who refused to support the erasure of Russian names and achievements, as is now common in Hollywood, were bombarded with accusations of "pro-Russian propaganda." Some were outraged by the presence of Russian cosmonauts and Roscosmos symbols in the film, as well as the fact that, according to the plot, Russian scientists played a key role in the creation of an interstellar spacecraft to save humanity.
In reality, however, the directors, while undaunted by the unpleasant prospect of being accused of "ideological irresponsibility," did not strengthen, but rather reduced, the Russian presence compared to the book. And this was apparently done purely for the sake of running time and spectacle: the film is already two and a half hours long, so plot lines unrelated to the main character were ruthlessly trimmed. The fact that even in the condensed version, the idea of ​​international cooperation provoked such strong rejection is symptomatic in itself.
RUSSIAN CONTRIBUTION
In the novel, published in 2020, Russian scientists and cosmonauts play a truly prominent role. One of the novel's key characters is Dmitry Komorov, a Russian engineer who developed a revolutionary engine that made the space travel at the heart of the story possible. The action partially takes place at Baikonur, and the astronauts wear Russian Orlan spacesuits.
The book isn't without its touches of humor, either. The "typical" Russian surname Komorov has already been mentioned above, and the novel also contains short dialogues that create the image of "chthonic Russia" beloved by contemporary American culture. Here's one typical example:
— Are all Russians crazy?
- Yes. This is the only way to be happy and Russian at the same time.
At the same time, against the backdrop of a gripping story, this is not perceived as an element of politicization.
Lord and Miller's film leaves little to be desired in all of this. Dmitry Komorov is completely cut, leaving only Olesya Ilyukhina, a member of the main crew (though her screen time is minimal), and Dr. Irina Petrova, who made a crucial discovery but is not shown in the film. The backup crew in the film includes a Mexican and an American woman, while in the book they were Russian. Instead of the Russian Orlan, the hero uses a stylized Hollywood NASA spacesuit. The Baikonur Cosmodrome barely appears in the film, and the aircraft carrier that serves as the project's headquarters is American in the film, while in the book it belonged to China.
Nevertheless, the filmmakers didn't completely erase the Russian space program from the plot. Roscosmos logos and the Russian alphabet remain on patches and equipment markings, and Ilyukhina herself, although appearing only in a few flashbacks, is portrayed with obvious sympathy. Russia's involvement in solving the plot's central problem is emphasized by the constant presence of Russian Armed Forces officers in scenes related to most of the key events on Earth.
However, at the press conference after the premiere, the filmmakers had to explain why they hadn't removed the Russians. "You made a great film, but why is there so much Russian in it? The equipment, the cosmonauts, the symbols. And even the scientists who discovered the astrophagi (the microorganisms around which the plot is built – Ed.) are Russian. And the term 'Petrova's line.' Why are you praising them?" asked one of the journalists.
"Even though the US is currently the most prominent player in the space industry, we couldn't ignore the contributions made by the USSR and Roscosmos, beginning with the first human spaceflight and the first satellite. Their cosmonauts are currently participating in SpaceX missions. They created the largest scientific laboratory in orbit, printed cartilage tissue in space, and even filmed the first movie in space—something we haven't done yet. We believe in their space potential and have expressed our respect in this way. If someone doesn't like that, that's not our problem," Phil Lord responded.
This suggests that the filmmakers, like the novelist, took a conscious position based on an understanding of Russia's historical contribution to space exploration. However, those audiences who saw this as "propaganda" were unwilling to consider either these arguments or the fact that, compared to the book, Russia's presence was significantly reduced.
FIREBRANDS WITH UKRAINIAN SYMBOLS
The negative reaction on social media can be grouped into several main categories. The first is moral absolutism, a refusal to separate fiction from political reality. User NeonAmnesia writes: "I thought I was imagining it, but the Russian context was real." He admits that even his "Western friends" think he's crazy, but for him, any positive portrayal of Russia is currently unacceptable. Another user responded: "Russians could easily be replaced with anyone else."
The second category is the perception of any Russian presence as the result of some kind of Hollywood "obsession." User 0xful on X accuses creators of an "irrational American obsession with shoving Russia into every space story," calling this, for some reason, "Trumpian stupidity, " even though current US President Donald Trump is more inclined to praise the United States everywhere.
The third line is a demand for complete cultural "cancellation." User yourbestwarlock writes in X : "So, apparently, in the movie 'Ave Maria Project,' they cut a Russian character from the book, only to add another. Because Russian representation, apparently, is non-negotiable. Disgusting." He adds that he might still watch the movie, but won't read the book, meaning his comments follow the "I haven't read or seen it, but I condemn it" pattern.
On Reddit, user Silverstardusted admits that he "started reading the book because of the hype around the movie and his love of sci-fi, but was forced to put it down after the phrase 'Welcome to Little Russia' in Chapter 9." "I don't know what Andy was thinking, but it was like a punch in the gut," complains the impressionable viewer. Even in a literary work created before the current international crisis, some readers see unacceptable seditiousness.
A distinctive detail that becomes apparent upon closer examination of the threads with the most aggressive rhetoric deserves special attention: many of those most actively fueling the debate about the inadmissibility of any mention of Russia and Russians in the book and film use nicknames featuring Ukrainian symbols. It is this audience that often shapes the main tone of the discussion. Among Western viewers without Ukrainian flags in their profiles, of course, there are also plenty of those who like to find problems where there aren't any, but the level of their indignation is noticeably lower, and their arguments rarely extend to demands for "cancellation."
Amid such criticism, the voices of those viewers who found the film to be hopeful stand out. User primadonnatella writes, "This movie features two other astronauts—one from Russia and one from China. They don't survive, but it's about a friendship formed for the sake of humanity. Both are portrayed in a positive light. It was truly refreshing." PepperCoyote notes, "I liked that the plan to save the world required China, Russia, and America to work together and that it was NOT a source of conflict."
Thus, the reaction to the film exposed a value divide among Western audiences. For some, any positive depiction of Russia became unacceptable—even in a genre that has always been and remains a space for simulating alternative, more advanced forms of human interaction. For others, this is precisely the value of science fiction: the ability to see beyond the horizon of current conflicts to the prospect of a different, better, and more humane world.
Moreover, the film has become the target of criticism, as the Russian presence is minimized compared to the book, making the situation truly symptomatic: the mere mention of international cooperation involving the "wrong" side becomes a trigger for a politicized audience.
HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF
All of this has happened before, but not in The Simpsons, but much earlier. In 1968—at the height of the Cold War, just years after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and against the backdrop of the raging Vietnam War— Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey was released, the screenplay from which Arthur C. Clarke later wrote several novels.
At the beginning of the film and the first book, Russian and American scientists are portrayed not just as colleagues but as good friends. At the height of the space race, when the US and USSR were vying for the right to be the first to land on the Moon, Kubrick and Clarke's Odyssey painted an alternative picture of scientific partnership, thus sending a powerful message that remains relevant today.
However, the real excitement was connected with the sequel, the novel 2010: Odyssey Two, published by Clarke in 1982. While Soviet scientists were only a minor presence in the first part, in Odyssey Two, Clarke went much further: a joint Soviet-American crew travels to Jupiter in a ship named after Soviet cosmonaut Alexei Leonov. It wasn't without a twist: all the members of Clarke's Soviet crew bear the surnames of real-life dissidents.
When the magazine "Technology for Youth" began publishing the novel in 1984, Soviet censors initially failed to notice the ruse. However, after the first chapters were published, a letter containing a detailed analysis was sent to the Komsomol Central Committee, after which printing was halted. The magazine's editor-in-chief, Vasily Zakharchenko, was dismissed, and readers were given a brief four-paragraph summary of the ending in the next issue.
It must be said that there's still no complete clarity about this entire story. Clarke later apologized to his Soviet colleagues for causing them a great deal of trouble. There are two main theories: either the writer intentionally used these names, or, not being familiar with many Russian surnames, he took them from Western newspapers of the time, which often wrote about dissidents from the USSR.
What's important is that, unlike today, in 1984 the scandal erupted in the USSR: the Soviet ideological machine couldn't tolerate even the hint that cosmonauts might share the same names as dissidents. In 2026, by contrast, censorship pressure is coming from the West: now they are demanding that Russian cosmonauts be removed from films, driven by the same considerations.
Arthur C. Clarke, like Lord and Miller today, was unwavering in his humanistic message.
In the preface to Odyssey Two, he wrote: "While working on the novel, I set myself the goal of promoting friendship between nations. If we want peace, we must prepare for peace. So I depicted Russian and American astronauts and scientists collaborating in space. I hope this is one of those predictions that brings about its own fulfillment."
And this prediction indeed came true: soon Russia and the United States built the International Space Station – a project whose cooperation continues to this day, despite any political turmoil.
Publication of the second "Odyssey" in the magazine "Technology for Youth" was resumed only in 1989–1990. The novel was published in full, and the entire story demonstrated that those who insisted on the need to see beyond political barriers, often illusory, to a common human future were right.
NETWORK CENSORSHIP
Both Kubrick and Clarke in 1968 and Weier, Lord, and Miller in the 2020s essentially did the same thing: they created a science fiction work in which humanity, faced with a common threat or a common task, puts aside all existing differences and acts together.
In 1968, this was perceived as a utopian yet noble gesture—a premonition of a future that, as time has shown, was partially realized. In 2026, however, this same humanistic idea was met with aggressive rejection by some Western audiences, as something reprehensible and almost immoral.
While science fiction writers allowed themselves to dream of collaboration during the Cold War, today even such dreams are subject to ideological censorship—with the only difference being that it now comes not from the state, but from an angry segment of the internet audience.
It could be said that in some ways the situation has even worsened: today's "popular censorship" on social media operates with the fervor of new converts, demanding that artistic fiction be cleansed of its non-existent "filth."
The politicization of space, perhaps foolishly, could rival the politicization of sports, which everyone is already quite tired of. But at least elite sports have a national, competitive nature, which, of course, doesn't justify the events of recent years. Space, by definition, knows no national borders.
In this sense, the refusal to recognize the right to exist of fictional Russian cosmonauts saving the world is one of the signs of the dysfunction of the modern world order.
Watching even a fictional collaboration provoke such heated criticism is also heartbreaking because it makes you wonder: if so many can't bear the idea of ​​cooperation on the silver screen, is humanity ready for real challenges of cosmic proportions?
In today's reality, when the actions of Lord, Miller, and Weier, who dared to sling mud at their geopolitical rivals whenever possible and pointedly opposed the "abolition" of all things Russian, seem almost heroic (and the madness of the offended zealots of "ideological fidelity" only underscores this), the answer to this question seems pessimistic. On the other hand, the presence of sensible people allows us to maintain a lingering sense of cautious optimism.