Sci-Fi Movies That Shaped My Understanding of Space

When I was in 6th standard, my papa took me to watch Star Wars in Bhatwal Talkies. The moment those ships drifted across the screen, I forgot to blink. Once we came back home on our Bajaj Scooter, I kept asking him the same question again and again:

• How did they make this.
• How can someone create a world like this on a screen.

He laughed at my excitement, but that night stayed with me. It was the first time I realised that space was not just a chapter in my science textbook but a universe that storytellers could build, reshape, and explore with pure imagination.

In this piece, I want to revisit the films that shaped the way I look at space today and share a few hidden gems that echo the spirit of Interstellar without repeating its path

Solaris (1972)

There is a strange stillness in Solaris that never leaves you. Tarkovsky turns space into a place where memory breathes on its own, where a planet responds not with violence but with quiet, unsettling honesty. The story does not race toward answers. It lingers in moments where grief, longing, and guilt take shape in front of the protagonist, forcing him to confront truths he has avoided on Earth.

Watching Solaris feels like standing in a dim corridor between consciousness and the unknown, waiting for the universe to reveal a version of yourself you did not know existed. It is not a film you watch for the story alone. It is a film you experience because it whispers something that most space films never dare to say.

Why I love Solaris (1972):

• It treats space as a psychological mirror rather than a destination.
• The pacing allows emotions to unfold naturally instead of being overshadowed by spectacle.
• The planet behaves like a living presence, which fascinates me as a writer.
• The film blends philosophy and science without forcing either.
• It shaped how I think about memory and consciousness in my own sci-fi world.

2001: A Space Odyssey

If you talk about science fiction movies, can you really go home without mentioning Space Odyssey? Kubrick’s 2001 feels less like a film and more like an encounter. It moves with a confidence that does not explain itself, trusting the viewer to sit with silence, symbolism, and the unsettling vastness of space. The moment the monolith appears, the story shifts from human curiosity to something ancient and unreachable, hinting at a cosmic intelligence far beyond our understanding.

The film stretches time, slows thought, and pulls you into questions you didn’t know you were carrying. Every frame feels deliberate, every pause intentional, and by the time HAL begins to break down, you realise the film has quietly reshaped the way you perceive consciousness, evolution, and the unknown. It is the kind of experience that stays in your mind for years, resurfacing whenever you think about what it truly means to explore.

Why I love 2001: A Space Odyssey:

• It treats space with reverence, not urgency.
• HAL’s arc is one of the most haunting portrayals of machine consciousness.
• The film uses silence as a storytelling tool, not a gap to fill.
• The monolith sequences sparked my fascination with cosmic intelligence.
• It taught me that science fiction does not need answers to be profound.

Mr. India (1987)

Mr. India was the first film that showed me how imagination can sit inside everyday life without feeling out of place. It never tried to mimic Western sci-fi or overwhelm the audience with impossible technology. Instead, it grounded its story in warmth, humour, struggle, and the kind of optimism that feels uniquely Indian.

The invisibility device was treated not as a spectacle but as a responsibility, something that tested the character’s values more than his strength. Even Mogambo felt larger than life without losing the charm of old-school Hindi cinema. Watching this film as a child, I felt for the first time that extraordinary worlds could grow out of ordinary homes, and that science fiction could carry emotion, morality, and adventure in the same breath. It shaped my belief that sci-fi from India does not need to imitate anyone. It just needs to remember where it comes from.

Why I love Mr. India (1987):

• It blends science fiction with Indian heart and everyday realism.
• The invisibility concept is fun yet handled with emotional responsibility.
• The characters feel human and memorable instead of relying on heavy effects.
• The film showed me that Indian sci-fi can be original without losing cultural roots.
• It was my first lesson that imagination can grow from the simplest places.
  

Chand Par Chadayee (1967)

Chand Par Chadayee feels like a time capsule from an era when Indian cinema approached science fiction with raw curiosity and fearless imagination. Watching Dara Singh land on the Moon and then stumble into warriors and creatures from another world may sound fantastical today, but the charm of the film lies in how sincere it is. It does not hide behind complicated jargon or hyper-realistic effects. Instead, it invites you into a world where adventure is taken at face value and space becomes a playground for storytelling rather than a scientific thesis.

There is an innocence in its ambition, a belief that Indian audiences were ready to embrace worlds beyond Earth long before our cinema had the resources to make them convincing. That enthusiasm, more than anything, makes this film unforgettable for me.

Why I love Chand Par Chadayee (1967):

• It marks one of the earliest attempts at space exploration in Indian cinema.
• The film carries a fearless confidence despite limited technology.
• Dara Singh’s presence gives the story a grounded heroism I still enjoy.
• It treats space as an adventure rather than a spectacle.
• The sincerity in its execution reminds me that imagination always comes before resources.

Mr. X in Bombay (1964)

Mr. X in Bombay has a playful charm that makes it stand out even after all these years. It takes the idea of invisibility and wraps it around music, humour, romance, and a kind of innocence that old Hindi cinema carried effortlessly. The film never pretends to be scientific. It is far more interested in how a man disappears not only from sight but from the expectations of the world around him.

What makes it unforgettable for me is how smoothly it shifts between comedy and longing, especially when the iconic song “Mere Mehboob Qayamat Hogi” begins. There is something haunting about Kishore Kumar singing those lines while remaining unseen, as if the song was meant for every moment in life when you wish you could step out of your own body to watch your emotions unfold.

The entire film feels like an imaginative experiment that asks what it means to vanish and still be felt.

Why I love Mr. X in Bombay (1964):

• The invisibility concept is handled with humour and heart.
• Kishore Kumar brings personality to every frame, even when he is not physically visible.
• The song Mere Mehboob Qayamat Hogi creates an emotional depth the film never forces.
• It blends romance and sci-fi elements with an effortless touch.
• The film reminds me that sci-fi can be playful and still meaningful.

Contact (1997)

There is a moment in Contact that still feels impossible every time I replay it in my mind. Ellie runs up the staircase to save her father, the camera following her with rising urgency, and for a split second you believe you are watching a straightforward shot. Then the frame pulls back to reveal that everything you saw was happening inside the reflection of a bathroom cabinet mirror. No trick calls attention to itself. No visual noise distracts you. It is a quiet rearranging of reality, the kind that makes you question how much of our perception is shaped by what we think we are seeing.

That single mirror shot captures the entire soul of Contact. It blurs memory and time in a way that feels both cinematic and deeply human. Watching it when I was younger made me realise that science fiction is not only about distant galaxies. Sometimes it is about the illusions we carry inside our own minds, and how one moment of clarity can change everything.

Why I love Contact (1997):

• The mirror shot is one of the smartest visual illusions ever created in sci-fi.
• The film treats science and faith as two languages searching for the same truth.
• Ellie’s journey feels personal, introspective, and emotionally grounded.
• It explores loneliness in a way that mirrors the quiet tone I love in philosophical sci-fi.
• The movie showed me that cosmic stories can feel intimate without losing scale.

Interstellar (2014)

Interstellar is one of those rare films that grows with you, changing shape every time you revisit it. I remember watching Cooper drive through those endless cornfields, the dust hanging in the air like an unsaid truth, and feeling something inside me shift. The story is not built on spectacle alone. It is built on longing, memory, and the unbearable distance that forms between people who love each other but must take different paths.

Even today, when someone searches for Interstellar movie or tries to stream Interstellar on Netflix, I understand why it continues to pull viewers back. It still has a global search volume of 3.2 million on Semrush. Can you freaking believe that? 10 years since release and over 14K people are monthly looking for ways to watch Interstellar! 

The film carries a quiet philosophy about time, grief, and the fragile hope that lives at the edge of every impossible decision. The docking scene, the tesseract, the moment Cooper whispers to Murph through the falling books, all of it comes together to create a narrative where emotion becomes the true engine of space travel. Interstellar made me believe that the universe may be vast, but its most powerful forces are still human.

Why I love Interstellar:

• It blends accurate science with an emotional depth few films can match.
• The tesseract sequence is a perfect example of storytelling through intuition and wonder.
• Hans Zimmer’s score turns silence and time into characters of their own.
• The film captures the loneliness of space without losing its human warmth.
• Interstellar on Netflix reminds me how often I return to it for inspiration when writing my own story.

These films shaped the way I understand space, not as a backdrop for spectacle but as a landscape where emotion, memory, and silence reveal the truth of a character. Each one taught me something different. Solaris showed me how grief can take form. 2001 taught me that a story can breathe without explanation. Contact showed me the power of perspective. Mr. India and Chand Par Chadayee reminded me that Indian storytelling has always carried its own imagination.

Interstellar made me look at the universe through the lens of longing. All of these influences helped me build a narrative that carries the weight of science fiction without imitating any of them. I love this move so much that I went ahead and got inked on body where it says “STAY” in morse code! Maa was very angry!

My story is rooted in Indian thought , shaped my personal loss, and driven by the quiet search. Pre-order it today.