Contact is a film about a scientist so committed to empirical evidence that she rejects faith — who then has a transcendent personal experience, returns with no physical evidence it occurred, and is expected by the film to continue believing in her experience regardless. The film’s argument is that she should trust her unverifiable experience despite the absence of evidence, which is exactly the epistemological position she spent the entire film arguing against. The story invalidates its own protagonist’s worldview and calls that growth.
My rating: -10. Stupid story, bad ending. The specific stupidity is structural: the film builds a protagonist defined by a coherent epistemological position and then requires her to abandon that position as the film’s resolution. That’s not character development. That’s the writer winning an argument by rigging the scenario.
What the Film Sets Up
Jodie Foster’s Ellie Arroway is one of the better scientist protagonists in science fiction cinema. She’s specific, driven, willing to sacrifice personal relationships for professional obsession in ways that feel like actual scientific obsession rather than dramatic convenience. Her history — the father who died young, the radio telescope that became a surrogate for connection, the career built on the conviction that humanity is not alone — is developed with enough specificity that she feels like a real person rather than a symbol.
Her epistemological position is stated clearly and repeatedly: she believes in evidence. She doesn’t believe in God because there’s no evidence for God. She doesn’t believe in alien contact because there’s no verified evidence for alien contact. She applies the same standard to everything. This is not presented as arrogance or limitation — it’s presented as intellectual integrity, as the honest position of someone who has thought carefully about what knowledge requires.
The first contact storyline builds slowly and with real care for the institutional mechanics of how SETI research actually works, how government and military apparatus would respond to verified alien signals, how the international community would negotiate access to alien technology. The procedural honesty of the first two acts is the film’s most valuable quality, and Foster carries it with complete conviction.
Contact’s first two acts demonstrate how procedural honesty can serve science fiction. By depicting how institutions actually work — the funding politics, the interagency competition, the international negotiation — the film makes the extraordinary premise feel grounded in recognizable reality. When you’re writing science fiction that involves institutional response to the extraordinary, do the research. How would a government actually respond to alien contact? How would scientific institutions manage competing claims? The procedural honesty is what makes the fantastic feel possible rather than convenient.
The Third Act and Its Failure
Ellie travels through the wormhole device. She experiences eighteen hours of subjective time, travels through wormholes, possibly encounters alien beings in the form of her dead father, receives messages about humanity’s future and place in the universe. She returns to Earth after what appears to be an instantaneous jump — her recorder contains eighteen hours of static, but all external evidence suggests she never went anywhere.
The film then asks her — and the audience — to accept that her experience was real despite the absence of evidence. The government panel asking her to verify her account presents her with exactly the epistemological challenge she would have presented to anyone claiming an unverifiable transcendent experience. She has no evidence. She has only her testimony. And the film presents her insistence on the reality of her experience as the correct and growth-filled response to this situation.
This is not a film about science and faith in productive tension. It’s a film where the scientist learns that faith in unverifiable experience is epistemologically equivalent to faith based on evidence. That’s not a synthesis of science and faith. That’s faith winning by putting the scientist in a situation where her scientific standards can be turned against her.
Ellie spent the film arguing that evidence is the foundation of knowledge. The film put her in a situation where she had experience without evidence and asked her to maintain the belief her evidence-based epistemology couldn’t support. Then it presented her maintaining that belief as growth. That’s not a philosophical synthesis. It’s a philosophical ambush.
Contact’s failure is a protagonist whose established values are invalidated by the story’s conclusion rather than challenged and tested. If your story is going to challenge your protagonist’s worldview, the challenge must be honest — it must come from a direction that the worldview’s own logic can engage with rather than from a scenario specifically engineered to make the worldview fail. Ellie’s scientific epistemology isn’t wrong. She’s put in a situation where it can’t be applied. That’s not a test of the epistemology. That’s a trap.
The Verdict
Contact earns its -10 as a film with a strong protagonist, solid procedural honesty in its first two acts, Jodie Foster working at the top of her range, and a structural failure so fundamental that it damages everything else. The specific stupidity — invalidating your protagonist’s worldview by giving them an unverifiable experience and calling their acceptance of it growth — is a craft failure at the story’s deepest level. A different ending, one that honored Ellie’s epistemology while acknowledging the genuine difficulty of her situation, would have been a far better film. The ending Zemeckis delivered is the film’s defining failure.
FAQ
Isn’t the film making a legitimate point about the limits of empiricism?
The legitimate point — that some experiences are real even when they can’t be verified externally — is available in the material. But making that point requires engaging honestly with the epistemological challenge rather than simply putting the scientist in a situation where her standards can’t be applied. A version that wrestled with the tension between Ellie’s empiricism and her experience, without resolving it in favor of faith, would be a better film.
Does Jodie Foster’s performance save it?
It makes it more watchable than it deserves to be. Foster’s commitment to the character is complete and her technical precision in the procedural sequences is exceptional. She gives Ellie more interior life than the script earns. The performance is better than the film, which is a specific kind of gift from an actor to a project that didn’t fully deserve it.
What would an honest ending look like?
One that left the question open. The eighteen hours of static on Ellie’s recorder is evidence of something — not of what she experienced, but of a gap in the record that can’t be explained. A honest ending would leave Ellie with that gap, unable to prove what happened, unable to abandon her conviction that something did, living in the specific discomfort of an experience that has no verification. That’s the honest condition. The film should have ended there.
Palmer Joss and the Love Story Problem
Matthew McConaughey’s Palmer Joss — the religious thinker who serves as Ellie’s love interest and the film’s voice of faith — is the script’s most convenient construct. He exists to embody the position that Ellie’s worldview opposes, to represent what faith offers that empiricism doesn’t, and to be romantically available to Ellie in ways that are dramatically convenient regardless of whether they make sense given who both characters are.
The love story between Ellie and Palmer is the film’s most significant structural problem outside the third act. These are two people with fundamentally incompatible worldviews who are attracted to each other in ways the film presents as transcending the incompatibility. But the incompatibility is the point — Zemeckis wants the film to be about the synthesis of science and faith, and the love story is supposed to embody that synthesis. Instead it feels like two characters who shouldn’t work together being made to work together because the film needs them to.
Palmer’s specific function in the third act — providing the political cover that allows Ellie’s mission to proceed, then serving as the voice that challenges her to believe in her unverifiable experience — is mechanical. He’s the plot device that enables the climax and the voice that interprets what the climax means. Real characters drive plots rather than being driven by them.
Palmer Joss demonstrates the specific failure of a character who exists to embody a thematic position rather than to be a person. He’s the film’s representative of faith, which means his function is determined by the thematic architecture rather than by who he is. Characters who exist to embody positions are less convincing than characters who hold positions as a consequence of who they are. Build your thematic opposites as specific people first and thematic representatives second. The theme will be present in their positions. The character will make the theme land.
The First Contact Setup
The film’s procedural honesty about how scientific institutions work — the funding politics, the competition between researchers, the government and military apparatus that would surround a verified alien signal — is its most valuable quality. The SETI research is depicted with genuine attention to how that work actually happens: the patience of it, the statistical methodology, someone’s quality who has spent their professional life listening for something that most people assume isn’t there.
James Woods as National Security Advisor Kitz brings specific institutional weight to the scenes where government and scientific community collide over control of the first contact process. His priorities — security, national interest, political management of an unprecedented situation — are coherent and comprehensible even when they conflict with Ellie’s priorities. These scenes do what the film does best: show how institutions with different logics would actually interact when confronted with something outside any existing protocol.
The alien signal itself — mathematical, beautiful, containing the plans for a transport device — is handled with appropriate reverence and appropriate thriller mechanics. Who controls the plans? What is the device for? Can it be trusted? These questions generate real tension in the film’s middle act and the tension is earned rather than manufactured.
What the Film Should Have Been
A version of Contact that takes Ellie’s empiricism seriously — that follows the logic of her worldview through the alien contact experience without using that experience to convert her to faith — would be a significantly better film. The alien contact could have been ambiguous in ways that her empiricism couldn’t resolve without requiring her to abandon empiricism. She could have ended in a state of genuine uncertainty — not certainty of the experience’s reality, but certainty that the evidence she has doesn’t support a definitive conclusion either way.
That’s the honest condition for someone in Ellie’s position. She had an experience. The evidence doesn’t confirm it. The rational response is sustained uncertainty and continued investigation, not the leap to faith that the film presents as growth. A film willing to leave Ellie in that uncertainty — alive to the experience, honest about the absence of evidence, continuing to work — would honor both the protagonist and the premise.