Maestro Bong Joon-ho has long balanced two cinematic worlds: Korean classics and western-friendly vibes. He burst into Western consciousness with Snowpiercer (2013), sealed the deal with Netflix's Okja, then returned to his roots and blew everyone away with Parasite, snagging an Oscar and riding into the sunset. Well, now he's back from that sunset with another western-tinged flick.

Mickey-17 is a grotesque sci-fi comedy that brutally satirizes sleazy politicians, submissive lackeys, and the role religion plays in dictatorships.

The setup: a populist politician, having blown two elections in a row, decides to lead an expedition to the distant icy planet Niflheim to create a utopia with his supporters—mostly rednecks in red caps, thrilled to run away from earthly problems (and debts).

Our main guy, Mickey—a lovable dumbass—is being hunted by the mafia, so he eagerly boards the ship as the "expendable," a guy sent on dangerous, suicidal missions. He dies, scientists collect data, clone him again, and off he goes—thus the title, Mickey-17, indicating one of the iterations.

Of course, nothing human is alien to Mickey or the crew, leading to all sorts of chaos—personal, political, absurd—and it's gut-bustingly funny. Bong Joon-ho stages a two-hour black humor carnival, gleefully juggling characters, death, and bodily fluids. To avoid too much sympathy, everyone (except Mickey) is deliberately cartoonish, spouting cardboard dialogue and openly explaining motivations.

The result is a madhouse, or better yet, a FUCKING CIRCUS (in the best way). There's also an exploitation element: Mark Ruffalo basically reprises his goofy character from Poor Things, and the actor from Beef again plays a shady schemer. Why reinvent the wheel when you can just have them do what they recently did elsewhere? It's all just a silly carnival anyway, right?

That's what's disorienting. As a wild party, the film is a 100% success. But wait—should we dig deeper? Isn’t there supposed to be some deeper message?

Yeah, there's a message, but it’s so blunt and in-your-face, you start wondering if Bong himself actually cares. It’s like casually dropping a thoughtful critique about society mid-conversation, then turning around to make coffee. Like, sure, you said something deep, but did you mean it, or just throw it out there?

Still, from a directing standpoint—it's top-tier. Everything's perfectly calibrated: pacing, visuals, absurdity—every tiny detail is expertly crafted.

Then there’s Mickey. I said everyone’s cardboard except him, because his role is genuinely nuanced. Pattinson—one of the best young actors working today—absolutely kills it. For a long time, I couldn't recognize his voice during the opening narration. Even seeing his face, I saw Mickey, not Pattinson. No crazy makeup, no radical physical changes—just good old-fashioned Stanislavsky acting, fully inhabiting a role from within.

I came for the collaboration of a badass director and an incredible actor—and that’s exactly what I got. Everything else? Didn’t care much.