Comparison as a Barrier
There is a popular saying that “comparison is the thief of joy,” and few expressions seem more fitting for the way audiences may approach Bong Joon Ho’s newest project, Mickey 17. This distinct sci-fi tale arrives on the heels of the director’s Academy Award–winning triumph, Parasite, a movie that created a cultural earthquake with its incisive dissection of class disparity and material privilege. With such a remarkable achievement in his recent past, Bong steps into another English-language endeavor—he had previously taken that leap with 2013’s Snowpiercer. Nevertheless, it is nearly impossible to engage with Mickey 17 free from the shadow of Parasite, which continues to shape expectations and color opinions regarding anything he releases.
At its core, Mickey 17 begins with Bong Joon Ho not merely directing but also crafting the screenplay, adapting Edward Ashton’s 2022 novel Mickey7. Robert Pattinson assumes the role of Mickey Barnes, a figure labeled an “expendable,” who embarks on a crewed voyage to explore and settle an alien world. His backstory involves escaping the clutches of a relentless loan shark alongside his best friend Timo (played by Steven Yeun). That threat ultimately nudges Mickey into a desperate situation, since he possesses no unique abilities. Timo opts for the Nilfheim mission, leveraging minimal flight experience as a novice pilot, while Mickey has no choice but to market himself in a darker capacity. The crew designates him for the dangerous position of “living experiment,” and the concept proves as grim as it sounds.
He is fated to die over and over in a series of harrowing events, only to be “reprinted” each time with intact memories and a freshly cloned body.
The Harsh Reality of Reincarnation
Mickey’s predicament exposes the tension between the comedic absurdity of seeing him repeatedly die in spectacularly gruesome ways and the underlying tragedy it speaks to. Each new attempt to carry out his assigned tasks in space reaffirms just how expendable he is to the rest of the crew, who rely on him to absorb lethal risks. The notion of being burned alive by cosmic radiation, only for him to come back in a blank-slate physical form, underlines the disturbing practicality that sets Mickey 17 apart from more traditional survival stories. While the audience may relish the morbid spectacle, one cannot ignore how the mission’s design effectively reduces Mickey to a glorified instrument of convenience. Through this lens, Bong Joon Ho unearths moral questions about identity, bodily autonomy, and the ethics of using “expendables” as walking insurance policies.
Bong’s previous foray into English-language cinema, Snowpiercer, similarly examined themes of class structures and harsh survival settings, but Mickey 17 inhabits a more specialized sphere of sci-fi. In Snowpiercer, the polar train’s compartments reflected social hierarchies, while Parasite zeroed in on a household dynamic interwoven with class lines. Here, Bong channels that same creative insight to a scenario that replaces allegorical mansions and trains with the lonely emptiness of space and the moral complexities of repeated cloning. Nevertheless, one cannot entirely ignore the gravitational pull that Parasite still exerts on Bong’s career. That masterpiece formed a cultural and cinematic milestone, thrusting him into the global spotlight. Many fans who anticipate an equally universal social commentary in Mickey 17 may miss the more intimate and existential focus of this new film.
A Journey of Its Own
In the end, Mickey 17 distinguishes itself from Bong Joon Ho’s previous work by navigating unusual moral territory, relying on a protagonist locked in an endless loop of death and rebirth. The result is a tapestry woven from threads of quirkiness, psychological tension, and measured bits of macabre humor—qualities that very much reflect Bong’s directorial voice, albeit in a form different from Parasite’s grounded social realism. As inevitable as it may be for fans and critics to weigh this film against Bong’s crowning achievements, one must bear in mind that each movie springs from its own conceptual framework.
Rather than stacking them side by side in a direct competition, appreciating Mickey 17 might involve taking it on its own terms, recognizing how a director known for cunningly dissecting societal issues can also thrill us with a character struggling for survival and sanity in the bleak expanse of alien territory. And if that new twist sparks conversations about identity, expendability, and the value of an individual life, all the better for cinema’s ever-evolving dialogue.
On the lengthy, four-year odyssey to Nilfheim, Mickey finds his single ray of hope in Nasha (Naomi Ackie), the security officer he instantly falls for. She provides a bright spot among a crew that leaves him unimpressed, and he repeatedly shares these thoughts through ongoing voiceovers. For Mickey, Nasha is a genuine reprieve from the drab confines of the spaceship’s daily routine. Surrounded by sterile corridors and impersonal colleagues, he yearns for real companionship, and she offers precisely that. Her protective role, combined with the warmth she extends, fortifies a bond that quickly sets the two apart from everyone else aboard.
Marshall’s Grand Scheme
Overseeing this interstellar journey is Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), a politician who envisions a “pure” civilization beyond Earth’s boundaries—mainly because he failed to gain power back home in two separate elections. His wife, Ylfa (Toni Collette), stands by his side, reinforcing his vision, while Preston (Daniel Henshall) diligently tracks every moment ripe for propaganda. Further complicating life aboard the vessel, Marshall has the authority to restrict crew members’ calorie intake, a move that underlines his controlling, even dystopian, leadership style. Though these futuristic details add intrigue, Ruffalo and Collette’s portrayals sometimes feel out of sync with the rest of the cast, giving their scenes a disorienting flavor.
Throughout Mickey 17, Mickey offers continual commentary about the mission’s progress, his romantic draw to Nasha, and his overall dislike for the team around him. The frequent narration reveals how unattached he feels from these people, emphasizing that his future might hinge more on personal bonds than on official mission objectives. While voiceovers can risk redundancy in film, here they highlight Mickey’s internal state and keep the audience connected to his mindset. Each new remark underscores how vital Nasha’s presence is for his emotional survival.
Robert Pattinson commands the screen as Mickey, displaying the penchant for peculiar roles he showed in The Lighthouse and his voice work in The Boy and the Heron. Bong Joon Ho grants him the freedom to embody Mickey’s quirks, which allows for a captivating turn. Not long into the mission, Mickey faces an extreme ordeal involving Nilfheim’s indigenous Creepers. Narrowly escaping death, he returns to find that a new iteration of himself, Mickey 18, has already been generated to take his place. This twist ushers in a fascinating dynamic where two distinct versions of Mickey roam the spacecraft—one more subdued, the other edging toward sociopathy.
Colliding Identities
The original Mickey—scarred by near-death experiences—emerges quieter and more introspective, whereas Mickey 18 embraces an almost unhinged boldness. Pattinson excels at portraying these dual personalities with subtle but clear differences: mannerisms, tone of voice, and overall energy all shift between each Mickey. Meanwhile, the presence of two identical men with conflicting perspectives complicates everything, from Nasha’s affection to the chain of command on the vessel. This creates a layered story that merges comedic awkwardness with deeper themes of identity and self-worth.
As the two Mickeys struggle to coexist, tensions with Marshall’s authoritarian rule intensify. Scenes of rationed meals and forced photo-ops underscore the power-hungry nature of their leader and reflect how humans, even in a futuristic setting, remain driven by ego. Ylfa’s measured support of Marshall raises questions about loyalty, while Preston’s obsession with optics borders on sycophancy. Nasha stands out as a stabilizing force, torn between her official obligations and her compassion for Mickey. The ship thus becomes both a physical and psychological battleground, with survival extending beyond bodily health to include moral judgment and emotional balance.
Inevitably, fans compare Mickey 17 to Bong Joon Ho’s previous success, Parasite. While that film shone a piercing light on class divides, this new outing ventures into cosmic sci-fi territory, fused with existential exploration. Bong’s hallmark blend of wry humor and pointed commentary persists, but the director reshapes these elements for a story of infinite reprints and boundless moral quandaries. If anything, Mickey 17 reminds viewers that Bong’s versatility knows no bounds. Guided by Pattinson’s dual performances, the film offers a bizarre yet compelling journey, emphasizing that creative storytelling can soar even higher when freed from expectations tied to an earlier cinematic triumph.
Evolving Antagonist
Marshall appears to be the main villain, though his menace only becomes evident midway through the story. This turn happens once the spaceship touches down on Nilfheim’s snowy landscape and the crew runs into the Creepers. Mark Ruffalo plays the part with gusto, seemingly parodying the self-important ways of wealthy politicians. However, the film’s social critique sometimes gets tangled or overshadowed by other plot elements, making it less impactful than some of Bong Joon Ho’s previous undertakings.
Ruffalo injects high energy into Marshall, portraying him as a leader who embodies arrogance and control. He leans into this theatrical persona whenever the script allows, while also offering a reminder of how calculated those in power can be. Despite the noteworthy performance, the script’s sharp commentary on privilege doesn’t always shine through—unlike Snowpiercer or Parasite, which made their messaging unmistakable. Still, the specter of a politician with moneyed ambitions remains a striking presence throughout the film.
Eventually, the tension mounts into a protracted final showdown involving the two Mickeys, Marshall, and the Creepers. The visuals in these concluding scenes are both ambitious and somewhat difficult to follow, occasionally blurring the events. Regardless, the payoff lies in watching how the dual Mickey characters find a way to unite and accept themselves as one individual in separate bodies. It’s a satisfying resolution, especially for audiences who have witnessed how differently each Mickey handles personal and existential challenges.
Shifting Themes
Although Snowpiercer and Parasite wore their themes openly, Mickey 17 maintains a more understated approach. Naomi Ackie, a standout in the cast, delivers a striking moment when her character declares that humans, not Creepers, are the real interlopers on Nilfheim. It’s an idea begging for deeper development, yet the movie doesn’t fully expand on that perspective. Consequently, viewers may walk away uncertain about the film’s larger message, which straddles the line between pointed critique and offbeat adventure.
Still, not every production needs a grand statement. Bong Joon Ho presents a spirited and dynamic experience, brimming with clever flourishes and anchored by a strong lead performance. The aesthetic blends futuristic technology with sweeping alien terrain, contributing to a sense of continuous discovery. If this film had arrived closer to awards season, one could argue that the lead role deserved closer consideration, given the layered approach to both comedic and dramatic situations.
By the finale, Mickey 17 proves to be a thoroughly enjoyable sci-fi offering that may not always match the pointed satire of the director’s past hits, but nevertheless stands out with its captivating mixture of humor and complexity. Comparisons to Bong’s earlier achievements are inevitable, yet the movie’s off-kilter style and entertaining narrative confirm his range as a filmmaker. It’s an odd but fascinating watch, propelled by an unusual premise that only someone with Joon Ho’s distinct creative vision could have conjured.
