A kid who wants to touch space gets ground down by everyone around him, and the movie doesn't flinch when showing you how small his dream looks against the weight of the world. The Royal Space Force builds itself like a real institution, corrupt, tired, moving slowly, which means every inch toward launch feels like it costs something. A 1987 film that looks like tomorrow, moves like a historical drama, and breaks your heart because Shiro's just trying to prove that one person wanting something badly enough still matters. This is what happens when you give a visionary director an unlimited budget and no notes to compromise on the vision.
Shiro Lhadatt joins the Royal Space Force with a singular ambition: to become humanity's first astronaut. His dream faces immediate resistance from a military establishment more interested in weaponizing space than exploring it, while the general population dismisses the entire endeavor as a wasteful fantasy. Shiro persists anyway, driven by an unexpected connection with a young woman whose unwavering faith in him offers a counterweight to the institutional indifference surrounding the space program. As political factions within the military maneuver to hijack the space initiative for their own destructive purposes, Shiro and a ragtag team of veteran scientists work frantically to launch before the program gets consumed by warfare. The clock ticks down, stakes mount, and Shiro must decide how far he'll push himself and those around him to reach the stars. What emerges is a meditation on individual conviction against systemic corruption, and whether one person's dream can survive when powerful forces want it dead. The film balances intimate character drama with sweeping sci-fi spectacle, grounding its grand ambitions in genuine human struggle.