My code was very slow and had low resolution. Oliver’s challenge was to convert my equations into computer code that could generate the ultra-high-quality IMAX images needed for the movie.
Oliver and I did this in steps. We began with a nonspinning black hole and a nonmoving camera. Then we added the black hole’s spin. Then we added the camera’s motion: first motion in a circular orbit, and then plunging into a black hole. And then we switched to a camera around a wormhole.
At this point, Oliver hit me with a minibombshell: To model some of the more subtle effects, he would need not only equations describing the trajectory of a ray of light, but also equations describing how the cross section of a beam of light changes its size and shape during its journey past the black hole.
I knew more or less how to do this, but the equations were horrendously complicated and I feared making mistakes. So I searched the technical literature and found that in 1977 Serge Pineault and Rob Roeder at the University of Toronto had derived the necessary equations in almost the form I needed. After a three-week struggle with my own stupidities, I brought their equations into precisely the needed form, implemented them in Mathematica, and wrote them up for Oliver, who incorporated them into his own computer code. At last his code could produce the quality images needed for the movie.
At Double Negative, Oliver’s computer code was just the beginning. He handed it over to an artistic team led by Eugénie von Tunzelmann, who added an accretion disk (Chapter 9) and created the background galaxy with its stars and nebulae that Gargantua would lens. Her team then added the
In the meantime, I puzzled over the high-resolution film clips that Oliver and Eugénie sent me, struggling to extract insights into why the images look like they look, and why the star fields stream as they stream. For me, those film clips are like experimental data: they reveal things I never could have figured out on my own, without those simulations—for example, the things I described in the previous section (Figures 8.5 and 8.6). We plan to publish one or more technical papers, describing the new things we learned.
Although Chris chose not to show any gravitational slingshots in
Figure 8.7 shows a sequence of images, as Cooper’s Ranger swings around an intermediate-mass black hole (IMBH) to initiate its descent toward Miller’s planet—in my scientist’s interpretation of
In the top image, Gargantua is in the background with the IMBH passing in front of it. The IMBH grabs light rays from distant stars that are headed toward gargantua, swings the rays around itself, and ejects them toward the camera. This explains the donut of starlight that surrounds the IMBH’s shadow. Although the IMBH is a thousand times smaller than Gargantua, it is far closer to the Ranger than is Gargantua, so it looks only modestly smaller.
As the IMBH appears to move rightward, as seen by the slingshot-moving camera, it leaves Gargantua’s primary shadow behind itself (middle picture in Figure 8.7), and it pushes a secondary image of Gargantua’s shadow ahead of itself. These two images are completely analogous to the primary and secondary images of a star gravitationally lensed by a black hole; but now it is Gargantua’s shadow that is being lensed, by the IMBH. In the bottom picture, the secondary shadow is shrinking in size, as the IMBH moves onward. By this time the slingshot is nearly complete, and the camera, on board the Ranger, is headed downward, toward Miller’s planet.
As impressive as these images may be, they can be seen only up close to the IMBH and Gargantua, not from the great distance of Earth. To astronomers on Earth, the most visually impressive things about gigantic black holes are jets that stick out of them and the light from brilliant disks of hot gas that orbit them. To these we’ll now turn.