A few weeks after its release, it’s curious how little buzz Bong Joon-ho’s latest effort Mickey 17 has generated – this in comparison to what happened about five years ago when Parasite (2019) defined a very important moment for South Korean cinema by winning four Oscars. Aside from the fact that the event marked the first time in history that the Best Picture award was given to a non-English-language film, Parasite’s success also represented a peak and turning point in the reception of Korean culture not only beyond its borders but also in the mainstream discourse.

At that time, the director thanked the Academy – and the world – for being able to overcome the so-called subtitle barrier, which was a subtle argument for international cinema and for a global, open cinephilia that goes beyond the linguistic and thematic limits of Hollywood dominance. (The English subtitles for Parasite were done by critic and translator Darcy Paquet, whom I encourage you to read and listen to whenever you have the chance; there are very few people as generous and deeply dedicated to South Korean cinema as Darcy).

In Mickey 17, Bong Joon-ho slightly breaks his own word, returning to the comfortable embrace of English-language cinema for the third time after the blockbuster Snowpiercer (2015) and Okja (2017). Set in a somewhat-near, dystopian future (are there any other kinds of futures?), Bong brings back some of his favorite themes, such as humanity on the brink of collapse and grandiose experiments, adding a soft anti-capitalist tone and some ecological goals. The new production centers around its titular hero, Mickey (Robert Pattinson), who, to escape some gangster troubles on an Earth already in the midst of a climate crisis, enrolls in a space program that clones him. With his personality uploaded onto a drive and a machine that reconstructs him from the organic waste of the spaceship, Mickey is repeatedly sent to die and reprinted when needed. Despite the director’s newfound international pedigree and Pattinson’s glorious renaissance within the world of art cinema, Mickey 17 quickly fizzled out, ending its short run on the idea of being a big flop for Warner Bros. The big fear seems to be that the film’s financial failure will discourage the so-called original films within the studio system even further, and few companies will be willing to take a chance on experimental or non-franchise projects.

Set in a somewhat-near, dystopian future, Bong brings back in Mickey 17 some of his favorite themes, such as humanity on the brink of collapse and grandiose experiments, adding a soft anti-capitalist tone and some ecological goals.

Bong’s adaptation of Edward Ashton’s almost eponymous novel, Mickey 7, is unsatisfying enough to deserve its forgettable fate, setting aside the simplifications that many accuse the film of compared to the book. I haven’t read Ashton’s novel to form an opinion of my own, but the general consensus is that the film diminishes its existential themes and doesn’t delve as deeply into its dilemmas about cloning and eternal life. Bong seems to be more interested in political satire, channeling much of his attention to the demagogic couple, played by Mark Ruffalo and Toni Collette, who rule authoritatively over the space mission to the distant planet Niflheim. The Marshalls, obsessed with their own personalities but also with various nonsense like miracle juices, are a caricature not necessarily only of the Trumpist variety, as suggested by the vocal inflections and intonations of Ruffalo’s baboonish character, but rather of the entire idiotic class currently in positions of power. In its focus on miracle machines, the rush to space, and placing trust in big tycoons, Mickey 17 takes the pulse of today’s technofascism, especially highlighting its great willingness to treat humans as a disposable resource.

Robert Pattinson’s Mickey embodies such thinking – he arrives in space as an expendable: a cloned individual who is repeatedly killed according to the needs of technological progress and the colony – a sacrificial animal for the sake of progress, at the intersection between Dolly and Laika. This is essentially how Bong portrays Mickey number 17 (as opposed to Mickey number 18), as a cute and innocent puppy, saddened by his fate of continuous death but somewhat reconciled with its inevitability. It is only when he faces his accidental new clone that he begins to awaken. From here, the film explores the big identity dilemmas of the original, the double, and the multiple, but Bong dilutes his critical edge into a genre comedy and artificiality that is off-putting, easing up on the philosophical views in favor of crass jokes about sex or the “alien animal biting the autocratic leader’s finger” type.

It’s hard to feel surprised by Mickey 17, as it bears too much resemblance to Okja, especially in the kind of discourse that caricaturizes false scientists and corporations, but also with the alien animals that the colonists encounter on the hostile planet Niflheim. This reveals one of the recurring themes in Bong’s filmography: his love for the Creature, understood as an element of genre cinema, but also, through the eco-parable, as a natural otherness from which we must learn and which we must respect.

It seems a bit unreasonable to complain about this when it comes to a genre film, let alone a sci-fi one, but Mickey 17 has a deeply artificial and glossy feel that distracts from a deeper empathy with what you see on screen. The set feels like a set, and the characters feel like characters, not in a theatrical sense but in an ultra-cosmetic and flat one. There’s something slightly off-putting about Mickey 17 – his exaggeration as a big, innocent fool who speaks as if he’s blowing his nose strips him of the depth and existential weight of the thoughts he has about himself and the machinery that brings him back to life.

On the other hand, it’s hard to feel surprised by Mickey 17, as it bears too much resemblance to Okja, especially in the kind of discourse that caricaturizes false scientists and corporations, but also with the alien animals that the colonists encounter on the hostile planet Niflheim. This reveals one of the recurring themes in Bong’s filmography: his love for the Creature, understood as an element of genre cinema (as in The Host, 2006), but also, through the eco-parable, as a natural otherness from which we must learn and which we must respect. These cute and playful creatures (deadly if not treated well) reflect Bong’s environmentalist discourse, the story fulfilling itself only when the colonists learn to coexist with them. At the same time, though only in the background, in the interaction between human selfishness and the indigenous existence of these beings, another important pulse captured by Bong becomes apparent – the intrinsic connection between space exploration and the act of colonization.

The problem, however, is that Mickey 17 wears its message too plainly – an overload of themes ends up bothering at various times in the film due to their obviousness and didacticism. Punishing bad individuals and communion with nature risks taking on a schoolbook tone, no matter how sweet and innocent it may ultimately be. Despite some structural clumsiness – the final act, focused on the progress made after the predictable defeat of the mad leaders, is more of an epilogue that drags on – Mickey 17 is far from a bad film, but it’s hard to say it’s memorable, despite everyone’s great expectations, including my own.

As a coda, I allow myself to reflect on one thing, in light of some words that have been bothering me, as they have been creeping into my reviews of recent films: crazy autocrats. I noticed this typology in Gladiator II, but to some extent also in Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu, and now in Mickey 17. I shudder at the thought that it’s time for all of us to pick up Siegfried Kracauer’s From Caligari to Hitler – what do these recurring figures say about the fragilities, fears, and tensions that are no longer latent in the societies we live in?

Dora Leu

Graduated with a BA in film directing and a MA in film studies from UNATC; she's also studied history of art. Also collaborates with the Acoperisul de Sticla film magazine and is a former coordinator of FILM MENU. She's dedicated herself to '60-'70s Japanese cinema and Irish post-punk music bands. Still keeps a picture of Leslie Cheung in her wallet.