By Robert Scucci
| Published
Everybody handles grief differently, but most of us are fortunate enough not to mourn a loved one while also dealing with an alien apocalypse. If you’re wondering how that might play out, you can check out 2018’s Starfish, a strange gut-punch of a film that, despite its disjointed storytelling, ultimately gets its point across. I call it disjointed, but part of me thinks writer-director A.T. White was intentional with his delivery, because grief is never linear, which makes a lot of sense here.
At its core, the film is about loss, but while our protagonist works through a range of complex emotions like regret and sorrow, there’s a much bigger threat waiting outside, and we catch glimpses of what might be the end of the world. These two storylines don’t always intersect cleanly, but I’m okay with that because of how beautifully Starfish is shot. Speaking strictly in visual terms, this movie makes me feel nostalgic for a moment that never existed. It’s a kind of second-hand sorrow that’s hard to put into words.
Aubrey’s Alien Odyssey
Starfish keeps things vague at first, but its themes roll in naturally, which further supports my assumption that White knew exactly what he was doing structurally. We meet Aubrey (Virginia Gardner) at her best friend Grace’s (Christina Masterson) funeral. One attendee mentions a collection of mixtapes Grace made that only Aubrey will understand, which sends her to Grace’s apartment, where she decides to stay for a while.
At first, Aubrey mostly mopes. She’s living in a space that used to feel alive, but now plays like a shrine to missed opportunities. We don’t learn much about Grace directly, but it’s implied that toward the end of her life she became increasingly reclusive and erratic, often ranting about conspiracy theories.
Aubrey begins seeing monsters outside that come and go without any clear pattern, and she’s eventually contacted over a walkie talkie by someone who claims he was close to Grace near the end. He tells Aubrey that Grace discovered a signal through radio waves that opened a gate, allowing an alien lifeform to enter Earth and wreak havoc.
Initially dismissive, Aubrey slowly realizes that Grace may have been telling the truth, and that she’s now expected to finish what Grace started. She finds a cassette tape addressed to her, with Grace explaining that there are seven more tapes hidden, each containing a song and a clue leading to the next. Played in the right sequence, these tapes could theoretically close the gate and stop the invasion that, from Aubrey’s perspective, has already wiped out most of the world.
Grief Rears Its Ugly Head In Beautiful Ways
My first thought while watching Starfish was that Grace was unbelievably cruel for sending her best friend on a scavenger hunt during an alien invasion right after her funeral. What becomes clear, though, is that this may have always been part of some larger design, as if Grace understood something Aubrey didn’t.
Aubrey, feeling closer to Grace than ever, throws herself into the mission, believing it has real global consequences. There’s also a strong implication that Grace’s consciousness is still present, communicating with her in real time.
Or, none of this is real. It could all be a manifestation of Aubrey’s grief as she processes the loss of someone taken too soon. I lean toward the idea that the invasion is actually happening and the world is collapsing, but the monsters operate on such strange rules that it’s just as possible they’re projections of Aubrey’s internal state and unresolved feelings about Grace.
One detail I’m still chewing on is the animated sequence that pops up when the monsters start closing in. It could be a budgetary workaround, since animation is cheaper than rendering large-scale effects. Or it could be a deliberate stylistic shift, signaling that Aubrey’s perception of reality is slipping as she struggles to cope.
Don’t Worry So Much About The Storytelling
The storytelling in Starfish can feel uneven, sometimes intentionally vague and other times hyper-focused, but the overall experience lands. It’s a film where the whole carries more weight than any individual piece.
Visually, it’s stunning. The grainy texture feels deliberate, not like a limitation. Colors are saturated but soft, and everything has this dreamlike quality even when the tone turns somber.
The standout element, though, is the music. The mixtape concept works well throughout, but I wasn’t expecting the final needle drop to be Sigur Rós’ “Ekki múkk.” That alone is enough to make even the most stoic person stare out a window and rethink their entire existence.
Equal parts gut-wrenching and hopeful, Starfish doesn’t follow a traditional path, but it still tells a complete story. Like grief, it moves in circles rather than straight lines, and that feels intentional. What it lacks in conventional structure, it makes up for by forcing you to feel exactly what it wants you to feel.
As of this writing, Starfish is streaming for free on Tubi.
