The final symbol of our species’ concern for itself is the rescue of a stranded astronaut. (First Gravity, now The Martian, both classics of the Space-Cinema-Sino-US-Detente Complex.)
There are narrative problems you could fly a starship through (with missing robots at the top of the list). It doesn’t matter.
Cinema is made for space (the outside of the terrestrial gravity well, not geometry), and the soul-crushing silence of the void annihilates all plot quibbles — if you get sucked out into it.
UF finds it impossible to watch these things without thinking: The only true wretchedness is to not be an astronaut. It’s probably the same strange religion we started with, but from the other side.
ADDED: A Randian movie?