Danny Boyle’s Sunshine initially resembles a thinking person’s Armageddon, but by the end of the film, you can’t help but feel that it nearly rivals the more ludicrous aspects of that monstrous sci-fi dud. Cliff Curtis and Cillian Murphy lead a group of astronauts on a mission to re-ignite a dying sun with a bomb the size of Manhattan. So far so good. There are some snazzy visuals, with Boyle employing lens flares and distortions to intensify their mission, and a handful of catastrophe-laden moments hold our attention. And there’s a bit of moral drama thrown in, such as the small dilemma of sacrificing less-important members of the crew for the greater good mankind. But when all hell breaks loose, about halfway point, Sunshine loses the plot, degenerating into loopy, psycho-slasher territory that doesn’t make a lick of sense. Not only does narrative logic disappear, but spatial relationships between the characters and and their environment. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, and where. And one has to ask how Murphy can bask in all that flaming heat at the end without having so much as a singed eyelash, when spaceships evaporate within seconds being near the sun. If it sounds like I’m being too picky it’s because Sunshine presents itself with an air of intelligence and artsiness (Boyle, you ain’t Kubrick) that’s both irksome and laughably misguided.