Like many sci-fi stories before it, Voyagers is driven by humanity's need to find a new planet to inhabit. In this case, scientists have discovered a promising option, but it will take 86 years to reach, and they fear people who have grown attached to Earth won't be able to endure the journey. Their solution is to genetically engineer 30 children, raise them in isolation, and then launch them into space, where they can then reproduce and raise the next generation, to complete the mission. Needless to say, that doesn't go exactly as planned. Yet it's not the intricacies of the mission that interest writer and director Neil Burger. Instead, he uses his premise as a jumping-off point to explore human nature, leading to a sort of Lord of the Flies-in-space that is often absorbing and interesting, even though it falls apart toward the end.
After blasting into space, the children of Voyagers lead a dispassionate, programmed existence for years. That is, until computer whiz Christopher (Tye Sheridan) notices something is awry with the spaceship's metrics. However, when he asks Richard (Colin Farrell), the lone adult onboard, what's going on, he doesn't receive a satisfying answer. Curious, Christopher and his friend Zac (Fionn Whitehead) hack into protected files and discover the "Blue," a drink they consume daily, includes a drug that suppresses their personalities and dampens pleasure. So the next day, Christopher and Zac quietly pour out the Blue and begin to feel the full scope of human emotions for the first time.
Soon, the entire crew has stopped taking the drug, resulting in them giving into their most basic instincts for anything that provides pleasure -- violence, sex and food. Of course, the characters weren't socialized in normal circumstances, so they've never learned to regulate their emotions. As a result, they cross lines without any real understanding of what they're doing and why it might be wrong. Soon, the crew has fragmented into tribes, and Zac arises as something of an autocratic figure who uses fear and scapegoats to cultivate and maintain loyalty while attacking those who disagree with him.
The first two-thirds of Voyagers presents an interesting, if sometimes familiar, portrait of the characters discovering their own human impulses. The initially disciplined nature of the crew's existence is supported by the austere, white design of the spaceship's interior and the spare tonal score. However, the clean aesthetic of the production design quickly stands in contrast to the characters as they start to experiment with what brings them pleasure and pain, and begin to use the ship's spaces in looser, messier ways -- sitting on tables, failing to pick up after themselves and breaking objects.
Of course, not everyone reacts the same way to their newly discovered capacity for emotion, with some of the young adults maintaining self-control even as their peers behave in ways they can't comprehend. That enables Voyagers to explore fundamental but conflicting human impulses toward rationality and chaos, power and intimacy, individuality and society, and the film delves into these ideas in an interesting and layered way. Whitehead, who has the showiest role, shines in these scenes, fully committing to Zac's desire for loyalty and power.
Unfortunately, the final act devolves into a predictable, action-heavy conflict, and ultimately comes to a pat conclusion that feels much too easy given everything that came before. Yet, while Voyagers isn't always successful, for the most part it is heady sci-fi that will leave you considering the most fundamental question of all: What makes us human?
Written and directed by Neil Burger and starring Tye Sheridan, Lily-Rose Depp, Fionn Whitehead, Chanté Adams, Isaac Hempstead Wright, Viveik Kalra, Archie Madekwe, Quintessa Swindell, Madison Hu and Colin Farrell, Voyagers premieres in theaters on Friday, April 9.