Project Hail Mary: Looks and feels "Christian" except, it isn't.

Project Hail Mary is a superbly produced, refreshingly wholesome, enjoyable film. Except, it's nowhere near as "Christian" as it's being made out to be.

Trappings abound: Biblical allegories, altruism, salvific mission, salvific figure. But the mask drops at crucial moments.

SPOILERS AHEAD for those who haven't watched; plot summary is here.

When we say a film is Christian, we (usually) mean it is so in style and substance. Not just because it cursorily bears Christian symbols, images or motifs, but because it does so meaningfully.

In this sense, some who're — understandably — swept up by the film's facile Christological symbolism are misreading it to be Christian in truth, when it's not so even in spirit.

When it comes to sacrificing himself, protagonist Grace isn't remotely Christlike. He throws a tantrum, has to be coerced, deceived, even numbed senseless. Worse, he wakes unaware that he's on a mission, let alone that his sole purpose now is to fulfil it. Besides, it isn't his Father's will, he's fulfilling, it's his metaphorical mother's: near-omniscient, near-omnipotent government agent, Stratt. A gender-reveal of sorts, entirely in keeping with the film's cheeky, irreverent tone.

The filmmakers seem to say, a son/man may save the world, but it's a mother/woman who wills it; the saving, that is. As plots go, that's OK. Only, that doesn't quite mirror the Christian salvation story.

Of course, we routinely — legitimately — refer to salvific cinematic figures as Christlike. But the comparison can't, seriously, be stretched beyond a passing, even comic reference.

Superman, for one, is Christlike with Kryptonite around; a near-omnipotent celestial figure, ready to sacrifice himself for relatively powerless earthlings. Fine again. As long as the comparison isn't stretched. With Grace, some are stretching it to breaking point.

There's no universe in which Christ's anguished last-mile monologue with The Father (Agony in the Garden) can be equated with Grace's whiny catch-me-if-you-can with Stratt & Co. Christ intimately understood (and embraced) his mission from the start, used every waking moment to wholeheartedly fulfil it, while paying a price every week of his life, even unto the end.

Grace is on a salvific mission ostensibly out of love for humans, but in the end seems to prefer the company (novelty?) of those who are nowhere near human; some might call that misanthropic. A sequel may redeem that itch, but here Grace's longing to linger with non-humans is barely disguised.

Stratt is apathetic when Grace asks if she believes in God. Her quip "Beats the alternative" is meant to be wise, not just witty. But that's like a Big Mac enthusiast going with burger alone, because there are no fries on Thursdays.

Sure, that's a belief, of sorts. But it isn't a deliberate, purposeful choice. And it certainly isn't faith, not in a Christian sense anyway.

Stratt's little Karaoke rendition of Sign of the Times by rainbow-pride mascot, tattoo-titan, singer-songwriter Harry Styles, has a line that betrays a distinctly unChristian self-loathing, "You look pretty good down here, But you ain't really good."

The chart-busting track recognizes "the end is near" but stays fatalist, "we are always stuck." It's also escapist, "we gotta get away from here...we got to run away." It's so escapist-fatalist, in fact, that when the supposedly reassuring "everything will be alright" or "we can meet again somewhere" do come around, they're like cruel jokes.

It's possible that not (too) much thought went into those lyrics. Or in handpicking them for the film; Sandra Hüller, who plays Stratt, says as much. Still, in rather unChristian fashion, those lines are more fatalistic than hopeful.

Where the track says, "Stop your crying...we never learn," the irrepressible John the Baptist says the opposite: start crying, repent for the sins of your past. Yet he also holds out hope for the future: the kingdom of God — not "the end" — is near. The Baptist defies Styles: people do learn, they can change for the better, they can be born again, here and now. "The end" is really "a beginning."

With more than a touch of misanthorpism, the film suggests that love isn't the preserve of humans; even a faceless, nameless, speechless, multi-legged, (albeit huggable) alien is capable of love. What's more, it's better at sacrificial love than a human — Rocky doesn't need to be coerced when it comes to putting his neck (er, or torso) on the line. Here, it's Rocky's faith in a future (any future) that converts and schools Grace, who's otherwise resigned to death in space, reconciled to not returning home.

Yes, the film's superstructure looks, feels, even sounds Christian. Its core? Anything but. Timed to hit screens ahead of Easter, it's closer to gimmick-filled than grace-filled. And that's all right too.

Let's hope it becomes the runaway hit it deserves to be; too few films these days deserve that. It's a sci-fi comedy for heaven's sake, we're supposed to suspend our overly serious theories.

The screenwriter and director must be allowed the creative freedom to fiddle with their onscreen characters and characterization as the author of the source novel did with his offscreen ones. Thankfully, the filmmakers are more than a little playful with both, characters and characterization.

So some, who're reading too much Christianity into the film are doing it (let alone Christianity) a disservice.

It may be more helpful to see its "obvious" Christian symbolism as not much more than it it is: superficial rather than profound and, largely, incidental. At least it may stop getting in the way of others enjoying the first lovely, lighthearted Hollywood sci-fi comedy in a long long time.

Rudolph Lambert Fernandez is an independent writer who writes on culture and society