Nolan's visionary and emotionally charged sci-fi film initially alienated many viewers and critics, but in hindsight, "Interstellar" stands as one of his best movies -- dare I say, even better than "Oppenheimer," which often lingers on dry, bureaucratic drama. Furthermore, many of the more common critiques misunderstand how "Interstellar" creates a truly transfixing cinematic experience.

Everything about "Interstellar is big," from the "2001: A Space Odyssey"-esque visuals of the vast galaxy to the walloping emotional punch the film's protagonist Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) endures as he watches decades pass in his family's lives before his very eyes. The consequences of Cooper's mission in the film -- he must find a new home for humanity after Earth begins suffering from dwindling amounts of plant life in the year 2067 - are immense, with the entire fate of humanity resting on his shoulders. Yet, despite including an often-mocked scene that visually explains how wormholes work using a pencil and paper, there's a lot of other astrophysics jargon in the movie that many viewers found too confusing.

According to astrophysics lecturer Dr. Roberto Trotta, much of the film's science is hyperbolic or straight up wrong, despite Nolan having had physicist Kip Thorne serve as an advisor. For starters, Trotta has argued that the film's watery planet, where one hour on the surface equals seven years back on Earth because of gravitational forces, is unlikely. Trotta has also pointed out that Cooper's two-year journey to Saturn in the movie would actually take nearly five years, and that a scene where a robot is sent into a black hole to transmit data is nearly impossible, as the robot would be destroyed.

But with all due respect, who cares? All this cosmic complexity serves a story that has me on the edge of my seat. I don't need to fully understand the nitty-gritty of wormholes to be swept away by Cooper's travels to an unforgiving, unknown world that makes no promises -- so far away from Earth, family, and the familiar. When I see Cooper desperately trying to make it back to his ship so that he doesn't miss any more time with his loved ones, and I hear Hans Zimmer's resounding score marking every minute of the clock that passes by, every drumbeat echoing my heart pounding in my throat, the last thing I care about is scientific accuracy.