Words by JANE CROWTHER
Mickey (Robert Pattinson) is a disposable worker, an expendable. Not just theoretically as so many of us feel while slogging in unfulfiling jobs at the knife’s edge of a dwindling industry or for corporations who insist we are replaceable. But literally. Self-described as a ‘meat-cicle’, Mickey gives his DNA to a tech corporation sending people to space in pursuit of new planets to mine in order that he can expire and be 3D printed back out repeatedly. Need a bod to explore dangerous territory? Be a guinea pig for ruinous vaccines? Be cannon fodder? Call for Mickey. And when he dies from pox, freezing, internal bleeding, fire – just print out the next version.
Running from debt and misery on earth, Mickey’s happy to trade Xeroxing himself for a trip to a possibly better life, or lives. But once on a space ship with a despotic, narcissistic politician/CEO (Mark Ruffalo) and his sauce-cooking wife (Toni Collette), he discovers love with Nasha (Naomi Ackie) and that being the lowest lifeforce on the crew is a bummer. Each time he regenerates he remembers his previous lives (and deaths) which builds up to an existential crisis. And when Mickey 18 is printed out when Mickey 17 isn’t expired, all hell breaks loose…
Bong Joon-Ho’s follow up to awards darling, Parasite, boasts the same anarchic mischief – and then some. Sharing more tonal and bonkers DNA with Okja than his Oscar-scooping film, Mickey 17 is frequently funny, odd and disquieting. And it works both as a daft comedy as well as a pertinent anti-capitalist, pro-environmental battle cry against colonialism and blindly following self-serving leaders who operate on social channels (Ruffalo’s boss communicates via a TV show and his supporters wear red baseball hats). It’s a film that gives Nasha a healthy sex drive without repercussion, makes audiences care about weird ice monsters that look like the lovechild of a hairy buffalo and a woodlouse, and allows Pattinson to go for broke with a characterisation that leans hard into his preference for playing oddballs. With his Marmite idiolect, nervy body language and low-energy demeanour, Mickey is a hoot – even when he’s flopping out of a printing machine, forgotten by operators, and slopping onto the floor like wet dough.
Pattinson’s physical comedy and doleful eyes are matched by Ackie’s verve and Ruffalo’s toothy cartoon fascism in a big budget (and big running time) movie that asks audiences to look at corporate greed, current politics, personal integrity and at what price we seek happiness. It’s the sort of Saturday night blockbuster that will divide audiences and might make you consider handing in your notice on Monday morning. And warns to always, always read the paperwork carefully.
Words by JANE CROWTHER
Pictures courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures
Mickey 17 is in cinemas now
