Bong Joon Ho Presents A Cluttered Critique on Colonization and Corporate Greed In 'Mickey 17'

The visionary Korean filmmaker Bong Joon Ho has established himself as one of contemporary world cinema’s most fiercely original voices, consistently indicting the pervasive devastation wrought by late-stage capitalism, social polarization, climate disaster, and unchecked institutional power. Utilizing a potent blend of satirical allegory, broad farce, visceral horror, and shocking violence, the master director has crafted a series of exceptional genre films—from Memories of Murder to The Host, Snowpiercer to the four-time Oscar-winning Parasite—that function as profoundly subversive critiques of sociopolitical decay, often achieving a signature tonal whiplash. Following his 2019 global smash, the director returns to the realm of science fiction with Mickey 17, a pitch-dark comedy that savagely skewers autocracy and even attempts at genocide in the context of colonial expansion.

The film's objective is stated with frightening clarity by Mark Ruffalo's egomaniacal leader, Kenneth Marshall, who outlines an attempt to create "a pure, white planet full of superior people like us." Given the current global swing toward right-wing politics, the timing for an anti-fascist comedy seems particularly apt. Mickey 17 utilizes the concept of recycled humans and uploaded consciousness as a springboard to target disposable morality and profound incursions into personal autonomy, though it still attempts to nurture a fragile hope for human repair. Based on Edward Ashton’s 2022 novel Mickey7, Bong’s latest adventure charges forward with the kind of chaotic, overstuffed plotting often characteristic of his work. Unfortunately, the ultimate thematic coherence remains frustratingly elusive in this instance.

While Robert Pattinson’s committed dual performance ensures that the English-language feature remains entertaining, the satirical core feels heavy-handed, as unsubtle as the Trumpian sneer etched onto the face of the sinister yet buffoonish Marshall, or the red baseball caps worn by the gullible colonists he addresses. Ultimately, Mickey 17 registers as somewhat trifling, a quality that perhaps explains why its release schedule experienced delays over the past year.

Pattinson plays Mickey Barnes, who, in the year 2054, is lured into a disastrous investment by his shady friend Timo (Steven Yeun), landing him on the wrong side of the sadistic loan shark Darius (Ian Hanmore). Desperate for a swift exit from Earth, the pair sign up for a space expedition bound for the distant, frozen planet Niflheim. There, the self-proclaimed Messiah Marshall and his Lady Macbeth-like wife, Yifa (Toni Collette), intend to establish a colony run like a religious sect. A ferocious sandstorm raging outside a departure terminal—which visually resembles New York’s Guggenheim Museum—suggests that Earth may already be beyond salvation.

While Timo finagles his way into a pilot position, Mickey possesses no qualifications, so he signs up as an “expendable.” This designation means he will be assigned to perilous missions from which survival is improbable, beginning immediately upon landing on Niflheim when he is designated the air-tester. Stepping outside the spacecraft, he instantly contracts a fatal airborne virus the moment he removes his helmet. His body is subsequently “reprinted” from organic compost, and his brain functions and memories are reinstalled from a hard-drive brick. Serving as the primary guinea pig for a necessary vaccine, Mickey dies and is recycled numerous times. Despite the necessity, he dreads the experience, finding solace only in the unwavering love of security agent Nisha (Naomi Ackie), who stands by him through every doomed experiment and subsequent rebirth.

A turning point, previewed in the film’s prologue, occurs when the seventeenth iteration of Mickey crashes down an icy crevasse after the thermals and comms on his suit fail. Receiving no aid from the self-serving Timo, he resigns himself to yet another death, whether from exposure or from the hungry maws of the “creepers,” an indigenous alien lifeform described as a large cockroach-caterpillar hybrid. Ranging in size from tiny newborns to hulking adults, the creatures ultimately appear more goofy than genuinely menacing. When what appears to be the mother creeper drags Mickey 17 to the surface and releases him, he realizes the planet’s native species means the settlers no harm.

By the time he makes his way back to the ship, however, the crew has presumed the seventeenth Mickey dead and birthed Mickey 18. This necessitates subterfuge, as the existence of multiples is strictly forbidden. The volatile temperament of the newly-minted Mickey 18, who harbors an intent to assassinate Marshall, does little to aid their efforts to remain undetected. The situation escalates when a baby creeper is brought aboard the ship and partially dismembered by Yifa, who is portrayed like a futuristic Nigella Lawson, obsessed with dwindling food supplies and finding new ingredients for her sauces. This act causes thousands of the creatures to assemble outside the spacecraft.

In another blunt riff on contemporary politics, Marshall, now sporting a full fascistic uniform, hosts his own version of a late-night talk show. Viewing the assembling hordes of creepers as an opportunity for "glorious annihilation," he announces a plan to eradicate them with a newly tested nerve gas. He enlists his fawning right-hand man and videographer, Preston (Daniel Henshall), to film his final genocidal pronouncements before launching the operation. The function of British comedian Tim Key, who appears as a kind of court jester in a giant pigeon suit, remains perplexing. Meanwhile, armed with a translation device developed by the sympathetic science crew member Dorothy (Patsy Ferran), Mickey 17 defies Marshall’s leadership to warn the creepers, who possess their own resilient means of retaliation.

While the film will undoubtedly garner support among the auteurist faithful, Bong’s storytelling, though undeniably playful, is often cluttered and lacks focus, burdened by too many superfluous diversions. It is presumed that Ashton’s source novel contained a greater depth of complexity. While the director’s irreverent handling of the material has a certain charm, the story as presented here feels somewhat silly, and the political barbs lack true bite. The latter issue is compounded by feloniously over-the-top performances from Ruffalo and Collette, reminiscent of Jake Gyllenhaal’s polarizing turn in Bong’s Okja.

Naomi Ackie breathes an unstoppable spirit into her role, and Anamaria Vartolomei (memorable from Audrey Diwan’s Happening) brings a welcome sense of equilibrium to Kai, another ally against Marshall. Conversely, Yeun is underserviced in a one-dimensional part. Pattinson successfully creates two distinct characters: Mickey 17, who delivers streams of voiceover in a cartoonish American accent, and Mickey 18, who is imbued with aggressive volatility. Their attempts to kill each other provide the closest the movie gets to tangible dramatic stakes. Notes of melancholy are struck whenever Mickey is asked—which is often—what it is like to die.

Fiona Crombie’s production design grants the film an imposing scale, with the ostentatious décor of the Marshalls’ quarters possessing a vulgarity that recalls Mar-a-Lago. However, for a project shot by Darius Khondji and screened in IMAX, the visuals are surprisingly unremarkable. As is typical for Bong, unexpected musical choices—ranging from quirky waltzes to carnivalesque, Danny Elfman-esque riffs—enliven the proceedings.

While the viewing experience of Mickey 17 was never boring, one is frequently left questioning its ultimate audience and its core thematic intent. The dangers of human replication and the potential for unethical abuse of the technology are underscored by a dour warning delivered by a senior official on Earth, played with fiery authority in her final screen role by the redoubtable Haydn Gwynne, to whom the film is dedicated. Yet, the intriguing concept of recyclable people is too often sidelined in favor of a clownish take on the corruption of power, a subject that can be observed at any time by simply doomscrolling current newsfeeds.