Mickey 17 Review: A Darkly Comedic Sci-Fi Odyssey That Pushes the Limits of Identity and Survival

In Mickey 17, Bong Joon Ho once again proves that genre boundaries are nothing more than suggestions. The South Korean auteur—best known for the searing social satire of Parasite (2019)—delivers a film that is part dystopian nightmare, part existential comedy, and entirely unpredictable. Led by Robert Pattinson, Mickey 17 explores what it means to be expendable in a world that treats human life as little more than a disposable commodity.

Bong’s signature blend of absurdity and poignancy fuels this ambitious adaptation of Edward Ashton’s Mickey7, a 2022 novel about a “disposable” crew member on a space expedition who dies over and over again, only to be regenerated each time. The film oscillates between bleak humor, eerie suspense, and profound melancholy, immersing the audience in a world that is both surreal and eerily familiar.

But does Mickey 17 live up to the lofty expectations set by Parasite? More importantly, does it manage to turn its high-concept premise into a compelling narrative rather than a mere thought experiment? Let’s dive in.

A Dystopian Future That Feels Uncomfortably Familiar

The year is 2054, and humanity has ventured beyond Earth in search of new frontiers. Yet, instead of finding a utopian paradise, society has merely transposed its old hierarchies and exploitative structures onto the stars. Enter Mickey Barnes, played by Robert Pattinson, a man who, through a mix of desperation and misfortune, has found himself in the worst job imaginable.

Mickey is what the spaceship’s crew calls an Expendable—a crew member assigned to the most dangerous tasks, where survival is unlikely. Whenever he dies, a new version of him is printed, retaining all his previous memories but with a fresh body. On paper, this process seems like an innovative solution to space exploration’s risks. In practice, it’s a horror show wrapped in bureaucracy, with Mickey forced to endure an endless cycle of suffering while those around him treat his repeated deaths with casual indifference.

Bong’s world-building is meticulous and chilling. The spaceship’s cold, sterile corridors contrast with the eerie beauty of the snow-covered planet the crew intends to colonize. The futuristic setting isn’t so much about cutting-edge technology as it is about reflecting present-day anxieties—about labor exploitation, corporate overreach, and the dehumanizing effects of unchecked power.

One of the film’s most striking aspects is its juxtaposition of humor and horror. Mickey’s deaths, often played for laughs, eventually give way to something deeply unsettling. How much suffering can one endure before losing their sense of self? At what point does identity dissolve into mere repetition? These are the existential dilemmas that Mickey 17 explores, elevating it beyond its sci-fi trappings into something far more profound.

Robert Pattinson’s Soulful Performance as a Man on the Edge

At the heart of Mickey 17 is Robert Pattinson’s quietly devastating performance. Known for his recent streak of unconventional roles (Good Time, The Lighthouse, Tenet), Pattinson excels at portraying characters caught in psychological distress. As Mickey, he embodies a man who initially approaches his grim fate with wry resignation but slowly unravels as he begins to question the nature of his existence.

His interactions with his shipmates further highlight the bleakness of his predicament. His best (and only) friend, Timo (played by Steven Yeun), treats his deaths with morbid curiosity rather than genuine concern. His commanding officer, Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), is a power-hungry leader who views Mickey’s suffering as little more than a necessary evil for the greater mission.

Yet, despite his bleak situation, Mickey finds an anchor in Nasha (Naomi Ackie), a security officer who sees him as more than just a replaceable worker. Their relationship adds an emotional depth to the film, serving as one of the few genuine connections in an otherwise cold, mechanical world.

Pattinson’s performance is a balancing act between dark comedy and existential despair. He plays Mickey with a mix of bewilderment, frustration, and reluctant acceptance—until the cracks start to show, and his fear of being replaced takes hold. As the film progresses, Pattinson masterfully conveys Mickey’s increasing desperation, making the audience question: Is he truly himself anymore? Or just a copy of a copy, slowly fading into irrelevance?

Bong Joon Ho’s Masterful Genre-Bending Storytelling

Few filmmakers can seamlessly blend tones the way Bong Joon Ho does. One moment, Mickey 17 is laugh-out-loud funny; the next, it veers into psychological horror, making the audience uneasy in the best way possible.

This tonal fluidity is part of what makes Bong’s work so compelling. He refuses to let the audience settle into comfort—every humorous moment is tinged with dread, and every moment of hope carries an underlying sense of futility.

The film’s pacing is deliberate but engaging. Unlike traditional sci-fi blockbusters that rely on action-packed sequences, Mickey 17 thrives on philosophical tension. The real stakes aren’t in intergalactic warfare or alien threats but in Mickey’s battle to retain his identity in a world that sees him as nothing more than a tool.

Visually, Mickey 17 is stunning. The contrast between the spaceship’s sterile, controlled environment and the icy, desolate planet outside creates a stark metaphor for human isolation and existential dread. Cinematographer Darius Khondji (Uncut Gems, Amour) crafts breathtaking visuals that enhance the film’s eerie, dreamlike quality.

The score, composed by Jung Jae-il (Parasite, Squid Game), further amplifies the film’s shifting moods—alternating between haunting melodies and playful, almost cartoonish themes. The music reinforces the film’s themes of repetition and displacement, making each moment feel both surreal and painfully real.

Themes of Expendability, Identity, and Power

At its core, Mickey 17 is a film about what it means to be replaceable. The notion of human expendability isn’t just a sci-fi concept—it’s a reality many workers face today in a world dominated by automation, corporate greed, and disposable labor.

Mickey’s plight mirrors real-world struggles of the working class. He is the embodiment of the modern worker—exploited, undervalued, and stuck in a cycle of meaningless repetition. His every death is met with indifference, much like how companies treat workers as interchangeable parts rather than individuals.

Bong Joon Ho also uses the film to explore the dangers of authoritarian leadership. Mark Ruffalo’s character, Kenneth Marshall, isn’t just a boss—he’s a cult-like figure, leading his crew under the guise of a noble mission while treating them as pawns. His obsession with colonizing a new world echoes historical patterns of conquest, where those in power justify exploitation under the banner of progress.

As Mickey 17 unfolds, these themes become increasingly urgent. What begins as dark comedy soon morphs into a meditation on what it truly means to be human.

A Thought-Provoking, Genre-Defying Masterpiece

Mickey 17 is not your typical sci-fi adventure. It’s a film that challenges, provokes, and lingers in the mind long after the credits roll.

With its razor-sharp satire, haunting visuals, and an outstanding performance from Robert Pattinson, Mickey 17 cements Bong Joon Ho’s reputation as one of the most daring filmmakers of our time. It’s a movie that dares to ask uncomfortable questions about identity, labor, and power—wrapping its bleak themes in a deceptively playful package.

If you’re looking for a sci-fi film that makes you laugh, cringe, and existentially spiral all at once, Mickey 17 is a must-watch.

Rating: 9/10

Would you be willing to step into Mickey’s shoes? Or would you rather take your chances elsewhere in the universe? 🚀